Burqa - A Dying Tradition

Published December 18, 2012 - Muscat Daily.

If you live in Muscat and spend a considerable amount of time in shopping malls, chances are you've spotted a rather large number of women in fashionable abayas wearing the black face veil with a slit for the eyes.
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It's safe to say that almost every one of those women is from the south of Oman. The veil, more commonly referred to as simply 'the burqa', is almost exclusively Dhofari. The south of Oman has traditionally been more gender-segregated and conservative than any of the other regions. Women in Dhofar start wearing the burqa from the age of about 18.
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During my years at a public girls' high school in Salalah, most of my classmates were already wearing it. When I first started college, I was one of a handful of females on campus who did not wear it.

All the hundreds of other females at my university were hidden behind veils. The only time I ever saw my colleagues' faces was in the prayer hall.

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In 2005 while I was still at college, the government enforced a burqa ban in all institutions of higher education in the country. Naturally, the ban hit Salalah like a tsunami. Tribal meetings were held non-stop for weeks on end while furious families tried to decide what to do. Locals staged demonstrations and wrote long letters to various ministers, but to no avail. Many young women dropped out of college because their families couldn't handle the so-called 'shame' of having their daughters' faces exposed to the world for the first time.

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For months Dhofar suffered what can only be referred to as severe social unrest. Slowly but surely, the young women got used to having an identity on campus. They became more confident and started carrying themselves differently. Some of them even stopped wearing the veil outside campus. The changes were fascinating to watch. Today, most young women in Dhofar don't think twice about uncovering their faces at college or at their offices.
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The past couple of years or so have also witnessed hundreds of young women obtaining their drivers' licences and heading out onto the road without a face veil. Things are changing, but the general consensus down south continues to be that a woman's reputation and identity should be concealed and 'protected' whenever possible. The burqa is a symbol reflecting that mentality.
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The one and only time I wore a burqa was about ten years ago when I was forced to go wedding crashing with my cousins. You may lower your raised eyebrow while I explain. Dhofari wedding crashers, otherwise known as ‘mutafarrigat’ are women whose greatest pleasure is putting on their burqas and slipping in to strangers’ weddings anonymously to view the bride and guests without being recognised. I refer to them as simply 'Dhofari paparazzi'. Many families line up chairs along the walls of the wedding ballrooms especially for these women.

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As much as I respect freedom of choice, I am sorry to say that the face veil is not something I would wish upon anyone. Covering a woman's face is not something I associate with my religion. If a woman makes the decision to wear the burqa, then it is entirely her choice - if it really is her choice. From my experience, I can assure you that no young woman wants to wear it nowadays.Once you've become empowered and discovered what it's like to have a public identity, there's no going back. The tradition of the burqa is dying slowly in Dhofar, but it couldn't go away soon enough.

Thobe Budhail

As we survive one of the worst heat waves Salalah has witnessed in the past few years, I am grateful for many things in life. I'm grateful for airconditioners that work.

I am grateful for a demanding office job that keeps me at work until after 5pm when the heat is slightly more bearable and I am able to walk to my car without turning into a puddle in the parking lot. I am grateful for iced tea, sunglasses and cool showers.

Most of all though, I'm grateful for my thobe budhail. If you're not familiar with the term, you're probably new to Oman. Thobe budhail translates into 'Father of the Tail'. Exclusive to the South of Oman, it is basically a loose-fitting square colourful garment with holes for the hands and head. The back of the dress is about a foot longer than the front and it comes with a big matching rectangular headscarf, commonly referred to as a losee or leeso.

There are many folktales attempting to explain the tail at the back of the dress. One common tale tells the story of a man who fell in love with a woman and she refused to marry him. He traced her footsteps to know where she lived and put a curse on her. To protect other girls, a tail was added to the dresses to erase their footsteps.

Another myth has it that a king used to sprinkle magic powder on the ground and any woman whose feet touched the powder would fall madly in love with him. To protect themselves, Dhofari women would use their tail to sweep the powder away. Many Dhofaris tend to agree that a few generations ago the thobe budhail sported a leather tail to erase women’s footsteps in the sand when they were out herding their animals.

Regardless of how it all started, the tradition of the thobe budhail is still going strong in Dhofar. Every single female over the age of about 12 wears the thobe budhail at home at all times. That goes pretty much without exception. Even babies wear them occasionally! They are available in every type of material imaginable from delicate silk to denim. Day-today thobes are cotton and come in a thousand different prints from delicate flower prints to wild African designs.

Some even have designer brand names illegally printed all over them. Recently, I saw someone wearing a thobe that had ‘Blackberry’ written all over it. I’ve also seen Prada, Louis Vuitton and Versace. Day-to-day thobes cost about RO3 each and are worn by all females; rich and poor, young and old. My wardrobe at home hosts about 40 of them.

For special occasions, women may don thobes made of slightly more expensive material. Wedding thobes are usually made of velvet and have a million little crystals sewn onto them. These can cost up to RO500. Since women in Dhofar are very much into fashion, the thobe budhail business is always thriving. There is an entire section of Salalah's main stretch – Al Salaam Street - dedicated to thobe budhail shops. It is lined with about 40 or 50 shops selling different prints.

A colleague of mine who used to own one of the shops on that stretch told me that during the weeks before Eid, he would sell up to 500 thobes a day in his tiny shop. The only argument against this popular garment is that it’s not very practical, especially for active women. I’ve almost mastered the art of skilfully hitching it up while doing housework, but it can be a nuisance sometimes. Wearing them can also enhance weight gain in my opinion because it conceals pretty much everything. You also need to replace them regularly because their lifespan is short. I’m not a big fan of shopping, so I usually buy five to ten at a time.

As far as I’m concerned, the advantages of wearing them completely outweigh the disadvantages. They’re beautiful. The way they flow is extremely elegant and feminine. They’re comfortable. They’re affordable. In extreme situations, they act as a mobile dressing room. They're great gifts. Last but not least, they’re perfect for hot weather. Did I already mention that I’m not a fan of heat waves? Monsoon in Dhofar is 17 days away!

Published June 5, 2012 - Muscat Daily. Click here to view the column on the newspaper's website.

Bridal Woes

Published April 10, 2012 - Muscat Daily. Click here to view the article.

Don't be fooled by the title of this column. Fortunately my current woes are limited to work and academia. After five years of procrastination, I decided to dust off my nerd glasses and start a post-graduate degree.

Having just survived my first intensive session of classes, I'm afraid my brain isn't as focused as it should be right now on tackling social issues in Oman. I shouldn't feel too bad, though. The day after my recent column on women's rights was published, it was announced that Oman will be establishing a committee to work with CEDAW to eliminate all forms of discrimination against women in Oman. Coincidence? Who knows!

In the meantime, let me entertain you with a story. On a quiet afternoon a few weeks ago I was packing for a business trip to Muscat. My plan was to be in bed by 8pm in order to be up in time to catch my flight out of Salalah at 5am. My phone rang suddenly and I recognised the number of a bride whose wedding was taking place that same night. When I answered, I heard the frantic voice of the bride's mother shouting into the phone 'We need your help! You need to accompany the bride!'

Accompanying a Dhofari bride is a task usually given to an unrelated female with a vehicle. It involves picking up the bride from her home, driving her to beauty appointments, and then making sure she arrives at the wedding on time. My friend's companion had cancelled at the last moment. It was clear what needed to be done.

Within a few minutes I was on my way. As we loaded her humongous wedding dress into the back of my car, the make-up artist called in a panic demanding we pick up three sizes of fake eyelashes on the way over.

Half an hour and three eyelash shops later, we arrived at our destination. We were escorted by a nervous housemaid through a dark alleyway and into a house hidden in the shadows.

We were then shown into a room with a sofa set and no mirrors. Sitting on a large armchair in the centre of the room was a tough-looking woman who introduced herself as the infamous makeup artist.

On a coffee table next to her sat the largest collection of makeup this person has ever seen. On the floor was a young bride who was receiving the final touches to her bizarre wedding makeup, (think Michael Jackson's Thriller video meets Nicki Minaj). The so-called final touches took over an hour. It was going to be a long night.

For the next three and a half hours (I kid you not) I watched the woman plaster my friend's face and shoulders with white paint then proceed to use every colour of the rainbow on her twitching eyelids. Towards the end of the session, we got into an argument about the amount of glitter I was allowing her to apply to my friend's face. She wouldn't take no for an answer. The makeup scene ended at 11pm with the artist running down the hall behind the bride with a pot of glitter swearing she'd apply 'just a little more!' We escaped just in time.

The next two hours were spent with the hair stylist who ran an illegal salon business from her spare bedroom. I watched her glue my friend's hair to her scalp then attach a huge wig using what looked like 100 hair pins. She then proceeded to curl every single lock of fake hair using an entire can of hairspray and a curling iron. By the time we left, it was 1am.

We finally made it to the hotel only to discover the wedding photographer had failed to show up. The patient groom was sitting in the parking lot in his car counting the hours. As we helped the bride into her dress, it became apparent that I would have to be the spare wedding photographer as I appeared to be the only person among the 400 guests with a professional camera.

To cut a long story short, I managed to get home at 3am. I had 30 minutes before the airport check-in counter closed. Fortunately, I decided to be sensible. I called Oman Air and postponed my flight to the week after. I then sent explanatory e-mails to my colleagues who were expecting me in Muscat.

And that, my friends, is what most brides go through on their wedding day here in Dhofar. Not a very happy occasion, don't you think? My ordeal was a harsh reminder of why I removed myself from the Dhofari wedding scene several years ago. Never again!

Why The Black Abaya?

Published February 8, 2011
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Have you ever wondered why women in Oman and in the GCC wear the black abaya? I certainly have. We started off pretty well. Take a look at photos from Oman in the 1960s and 1970s. Women wore modest, traditional and colorful clothing. I’m not quite sure when the black crept its way into Oman, but many people blame Iran and Saudi. Today, the concept of the black abaya has become so engrained in our society that we can’t imagine our lives without it. Most girls in are told by their families to start wearing it when they turn thirteen or fourteen and are stuck with it for life. Once you start, there’s no going back. 

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I started wearing an abaya in grade eight because all the girls in my class wore it, and I didn’t want to stand out. Now, ten years later I can’t even drive to my sister’s house down the street without putting it on. Why? Because I’m afraid of what will happen if I don’t wear it. I feel as if I’d be committing a crime against society by not wearing it. In fact, I’m pretty sure society here in Salalah would also feel I’m doing something wrong, and someone would surely feel the need to report my scandalous behavior to someone from my tribe!   

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 I asked my male colleagues (regular victims of my random feminist outbursts) why they think women should wear the black abaya.  Most said girls must start wearing the abaya when they reach puberty to protect their 'reputation'. I asked them to explain what they meant by that but they just went around in circles repeating the argument about reputation. A couple of others believe society looks down upon girls who don’t wear it. My favorite answer was from a guy who said men wouldn't be able to concentrate at work if their female colleagues wore colors. Really?! 

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Don’t get me wrong here. I’m not against the abaya at all. In fact, I love wearing it. It’s practical and comfortable and I can wear whatever I want underneath it. Furthermore, it’s extremely fashionable. Black happens to be very elegant especially when studded with jewelry or adorned with silver or gold linings and other designs. The cost of abayas can range from twenty to two or three hundred rials depending on the detailed hand embroidery, designer brand, and crystals. Wearing the abaya is also an easier way to cover up without having to worry about coordinating an entire outfit. On the other hand, it gets dirty easily, gets stuck in the wheels of my office chair at least twice a day, and is a constant tripping hazard. Furthermore, during the summer the abaya becomes your own personal heating pad. Black absorbs heat like a sponge absorbs liquid.

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 So, why do we wear it? Because we’ve gotten used to it and are afraid of what people will say if we don’t? Why the obsession with conformity? Society in Oman has always had a problem with anyone different, more so here in Dhofar where it’s almost taboo to stand out of the crowd, especially for females. As a young woman who practically worships individuality, I find this very hard at times. I'm sure many young women out there share my sentiments. 

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 From a religious point of view, wearing black isn’t strictly required by Islam. Muslim women should wear loose fitting and modest clothing that covers the body. Can that not be achieved with green or purple? I knew a woman here in Salalah who made beautiful colored abayas and tried to market them to the local women a few years ago but most claimed their husbands would never let them. The word ‘let’ is what gets on my nerves. Abayas are beautiful, but every woman should have the right to choose whether she wants to wear it or not.  What concerns me is that girls all over Oman are being forced to wear black from a young age by their families. There is absolutely nothing wrong with a little color. In Muscat, things have changed and it’s not uncommon to see women in color but as for the rest of us, black rules. I don’t predict any changes in the near future in Dhofar because we haven’t even started tackling the issue of the black face veil, let alone the abaya!  Goodness knows how long it’ll be before women here can start choosing what they want to wear. Food for thought…