Qatari Simone?

This photo wierds me out... I look like someone at work whose name I should remember. Was it Fatma? Maryam?




Before anyone goes right off the deep end, I should inform you that I have NOT converted. But a couple of fabulous Qatari colleagues suggested I dress up as a Qatari with their help to see how it felt, and it seemed like to good an offer to refuse… This is what the Koran actually says about headscarves…

And say to the believing women that they should lower their gaze and guard their modesty; that they should not display their beauty and ornaments except what (must ordinarily) appear thereof; that they should draw their veils over their bosoms and not display their beauty except to their husbands, their fathers, their husband's fathers, their sons, their husbands' sons, their brothers or their brothers' sons, or their sisters' sons, or their women, or the slaves whom their right hands possess, or male servants free of physical needs, or small children who have no sense of the shame of sex; and that they should not strike their feet in order to draw attention to their hidden ornaments. And O ye Believers! turn ye all together towards Allah, that ye may attain Bliss.

…so you may be wondering about the crap makeup? Or the flashy, over-the-top rings and decoration on the headscarf itself? (This is the least glitzy headscarf I have ever seen, by the way. They are usually covered with pink sequins and orange and gold metallic embroidery.)

Well, yes, we all do a bit. The black I can get – at a pinch. The ‘ugliness’ of the colour apparently represents a lack of adornment (although give me the vivid reds, blues, green and lavenders of the Sudanese any day). The sequins and eye make-up – and mine is a very mild version – are harder to get one’s brain around…

Anyway, it was a very weird thing to transform into this pseudo-Muslim. Even without the makeup (the women wouldn’t let me take photos at this stage - they said that I looked like a Palestinian, which, sadly, is not a compliment in this part of the world) I could hardly recognize myself. And then they had some very firm ideas on what was cute, or feminine or something for the photographs themselves – well as you see. (Apparently the made up version is more Syrian, and it is true I did look exactly like I could be the mother of one of the Syrian girls in my club.)

I should also disabuse you of the notion that the cuts on my hand are self-mutilation. Her Smallness, Ant, has entered a new phase which involves maniacal rushes at a variety of objects in whichever room I am currently in, interspersed with ferocious attacks on her human (me). If this language seems extreme, I should tell you that cats here are very different from Australian cats. They have longer bodies, legs and tails, and much longer, sharper teeth – fangs. The really big ears though, are all her own.

Fortunately, in between chewing chunks out of me and any book I happen to be reading, she has very lovely moments when she curls up happily as she is now – under the laptop on which I’m typing this, wedged in and fast asleep. She likes sardines, chicken and blue cheese but not salmon. She adores being talked to regardless of whether it’s in English, Arabic, Hindi, Japanese or Tagalog. And, apart from having successfully negotiated greater variety in her diet, is an otherwise amazingly obedient and lovable animal.

Absolutely no other news. I finish work this Thursday but am not going anywhere until Scotland in mid-August. It’s too hot to travel in the Middle East – well over 40 during the day here now. Mostly planning on sleeping and feeling like a human being again (well, one can hope). Qatar still pissing me off totally. I did finally find a post office without a queue, but they sent one of my letters bound for Australia to Sri Lanka (whose postal system duly stamped it and sent it back) so naturally it was returned to me and naturally I had to listen to the bullshit explanation about how this was all my mistake….