May Musings - 19

On the True Nature of a City

Day Two in Dubai was a whirlwind of The Modist’s operations center, studio and offices, followed by a glorious iftar and suhoor in a majlis setting - the traditional seating of the bedouins, a little more jazzed up (exhibit A, pictured).

The entire trip has been a thought provoking experience, providing many moments of reflection as I pack my bags to leave the city. It’s intriguing to note that although I have been here many times before, this trip has somehow been so different. Perhaps it’s because I am not traveling with family, because I am not wearing the more traditional clothing (of a jalabeeya or abaya, that I would usually wear in the Arab world), perhaps because I’m a little older and wiser… it’s likely a combination of all the above. But I’ve had the pleasure and honor of seeing Dubai and the UAE in a light I’ve never seen it before, and that’s largely due to seeing it through the eyes of it’s many types of inhabitants.

It reminds me of an old film I saw by a director named Ali Mostafa that my father took our family to see at the Arab film festival years ago. City of Life was a film about Dubai’s parallel existences. It was almost never shown, due to it’s very real depiction of life in the UAE with all it’s light and shade, however a last minute pardon from the country’s ruler meant it graced our screens. It broke box office records, toured internationally and launched the career of Mostafa, who has gone on to make successful Emirate films across various genre (comedy, thriller, etc). Word on the street is that City of Life 2 is in development, so I look forward to it, inshallah!

The reason why the film is so powerful is that it depicts what I still feel about Dubai, despite having a slightly richer understanding: the lives of folks are so separate from each other. Emiratis, who make up less than 20% of the population of the UAE, may go to the same schools and universities as the expatriates, but rarely marry foreigners, and seem to keep their culture - as rich as it is - close to home, reserving it for family and close friends in a way that is different to say, the Levant folk just nearby. Expatriates love the place for its opportunity and luxury and comfort, but feel slightly out of sorts by not being able to really ever have a path to citizenship, making one feel like a visitor no matter how long they’ve lived there. As for the service folk - the majority from South East Asia and the Sub continent - I wasn’t able in my time here to have a conservation that was beyond the superficial, but it seems to the observer to be a system whereby they are not afforded the same comforts citizens and expatriates enjoy. Why they are not even considered expatriates - given they are here for work - is a clue into the informal caste system that has somehow found it’s way into the development process of the region…

I could wax lyrical about my feelings and reflections. At the moment they are poorly formed, vague inferences rather than solid conclusions. However, what I do know is that I have been treated so kindly, welcomed so warmly and made to feel so comfortable - mashallah - that one thing is for sure. The culture of hospitality is alive and strong, and runs through the Dubai DNA.

(PS - they also seem to revere Sheikh Mohammed and Zaid in a way I haven’t heard of a leader - alive - who is respected in the same way. Fascinating! But for another day - I’ve gotta catch a plane!).

Much love,

Yassmin

Just figuring it all out, ya know 😅😇

May Musings - 09

My Best Tourist Self

Day Two in Georgia, and what a delight!

Before I begin, I want to make an amendment. I was alerted by a reader yesterday that referring to Georgia as a post-Soviet nation may be seen as disrespectful, as it more acknowledges a political experience visited on the nation rather than the true ethnicity of the people themselves. As such, I’ve learnt, the ideal way to refer to the region is the Caucasus. Interestingly, it’s where the term ‘Caucasian’ comes from - so rather than the term simply meaning ‘someone who is white’, as I’d always imagined, it means ‘someone from the Caucasus’, a specific area between the Black and Caspian Sea.

Fascinating, right? It is also a reflection of my ignorance regarding this region’s history. It’s humbling to be reminded that although one may have deep expertise or knowledge about a particular part of the world, that knowledge is hyperlocalised. In my case, I am most familiar with the North African and Middle Eastern context, as well as Australia, but I’ve studied near nought about the Soviet Union, or the history of the Slavs, Central Asia or the Caucasus.  This makes being here in Georgia particularly thrilling: learning about a totally different history feels like gaining an understanding of a completely different way of being in the world, in a way I’ve not previously understood possible. 

It has also been interesting to notice that the tensions associated with travelling as a Muslim or a black person in Europe are virtually non-existent here.  Obviously, it’s only been a few days, but the lack of hostility has been remarkable - until one remembers that their political history is markedly different. Georgia doesn’t have a history of African slavery, for example, or indentured labour from South Asia. Its tensions are related to Russia and the Soviet Union, and so it’s much less about colour and more about ethnicity, language, and ostensibly, politics.  I’m curious to talk to Muslims and people of colour who live here though, so hold that thought until I do a little more digging…

All in all though - loving Tbilisi so far, and my, the Georgians are kind. Mashallah!

***

In other news, here’s a great read on Harper’s Bazaar on men, how notions of masculinity are toxic and how women have shouldered the burden for too long.  If this is an area of interest for you generally, the article might not present new information but it does give a good overview of the changes underway (or needed!) for men to be their whole selves. It also sites a shocking recent British study which reports ‘2.5 million men admitted to having no close friends’. What a state of affairs indeed.

After several failed relationships, Scott Shepherd realized that despite  being an empathetic, self-aware guy, he was still missing a key element  to his emotional health: a few good (woke-ish) men. 

The article reminded me of the many conversations I’ve had with my self-aware, male friends who enjoy speaking about personal and vulnerable matters with me, but have said they struggle to do so with their male peers. One hopes that, inshallah, these things are changing. However, it’s also one of the few areas that I personally - as a woman - don’t think it’s my place to get directly involved in. Yes, women can uphold the patriarchy and notions of toxic masculinity in many ways, but we will not be the ones to change it. I do believe men need to be brave and take the leap themselves. Other genders can support those who are driving the change, and help provide an environment amenable to it, but ultimately, the change needs to come from within.

What do you think? Are these changes something all genders need to be involved in driving, or should it be led by men?

May Musings - 08

Tbilisi, Georgia

I write to you from the city of Tbilisi, Georgia’s capital city. I’m on a rare excursion to a new country for the main purpose of pleasure rather than business: a privilege I treasure, Alhamdulilah, and one that I am lapping up with rich delight. It’s my first trip to a post-Soviet nation; an introduction to a whole new history which I know embarrassing little about. I look forward to that changing, inshallah!

Tonight won’t be the night I write about Georgia, however. Partially, this is due to only really having spent a few hours walking around the city, and what does one know of a place after only a few hours bar superficial observations like ‘people stare a lot’? I mean, girl - when you’re wearing bright mustard trousers and white sunglasses, what do you expect?

No. Today I write about two things on my mind. One, this brilliant article on the Castor Semenya case, written by a woman who formerly raced against her:

I competed for Australia in the 800m against Semenya at the 2009 World Athletics Championships in Berlin. Today I am convinced that the court of arbitration for sport’s decision to endorse rules aimed at excluding Semenya and other women athletes with naturally high levels of testosterone is the wrong one.

The author talks about how she initially was in favour of the decision to exclude Semenya, but later changed her mind, as a result of her sociology studies, an education in the history of these sorts of exclusions, and befriending women who have naturally high testosterone. Key was this final point, and it reminded me that nothing creates empathy and the potential to change minds like the deep simplicity of human connection. She goes on to say:

As a sociologist, I have now spent several years immersed in this  issue, interviewing elite track-and-field stakeholders from around the  world including athletes, coaches, officials, managers, team staff and  media personnel. In their accounts I have seen so many echoes of my own  experience in Berlin: an astounding lack of information, an absence of  alternative viewpoints, a fear of the unknown, weak leadership from  national and international governing bodies, and a stubborn refusal to  dig a little deeper and reflect critically on where their views come  from and what biases might be underlying them. The path of least  resistance is to turn away from information and perspectives that might  undermine one’s investment in the simplistic notion that sex is binary  and testosterone is unfair (at least in women).

A worthwhile piece, I thought. Check the rest out here. What do you think about the decision?

***

The second thing on my mind is related to an experience from this afternoon at a local Georgian mosque. I had no idea I’d find one, given the country is largely Orthodox. Perhaps, I thought, they might have a hostile attitude towards other faiths. On the contrary, the mosque had a clear sign pointing to it from the main street in the old town, loud and for all to see. Off I traipsed, hoping to catch the Maghrib prayer before the time was up.

At the front of the mosque stood a man who I immediately understood found me an object of interest. I quickly queried the whereabouts of the women’s wudhu section and after providing directions, he followed up with asking whether or not I was married, where I was from, and whether or not there would be a chance of hanging out the next day. I learnt he was a football player who’d lived in the city for two years, but he had obviously found it tough, especially during a month like Ramadan. So I was sympathetic to the idea that he was looking for friends. But it was also clear that he was interested in more, and this was a sentiment I neither shared, or was willing to entertain.

Herein lies the rub: in a simple world, I’d love to be able to help a Muslim brother out. I’d love to feel like I could make connections with folk on my travels who share the same faith and the same love of a football club (Liverpool!). But so often, I find myself forced to choose between my urge to connect with a fellow from the Ummah and my safety as a woman. Even more tragic is when the individual is a man of colour, as this man was, because my urge is to think well, life in Georgia must be lonely, and it’s hard to find community at the best of times…!

Ah, the interaction underscored the complications of living at intersections. It reminded me why the concept of intersectionality is so useful. Intersectionality names the challenge of say, being an Arab speaking, black, Muslim woman. The culmination of all these identities reveals that an appraisal of the world through each one of those lenses alone is not nearly enough to understand it’s complex lived reality.

***

In the end, I bid the man a farewell and kept him in my prayers. That’s all the capacity I have for the moment. Khair, inshallah. But it’s certainly a stark reminder of how much longer we have to go.

***

The old town

Seeing yourself reflected...

It was my first night settling in. I wiggled into a comfortable nook in the couch, put my feet up on the edge of the coffee table and switched on the TV. 

...only to release a high pitched squeal.

There was a hijabi lady reading the news, in Britain! THERE WAS SOMEONE WHO KINDA LOOKED LIKE ME! And she wasn't even talking about terrorism, or women's oppression! 

My first instinct was to send a pic to my insta story, the next to tweet about it. I had to share my excitement, after all. 

Coolest thing - there are hijabi women reading the news here in London. I was like OMG IT ME! In the best way. Is it terrible I’m so stoked? pic.twitter.com/D1n0BGhg1g

— Yassmin Abdel-Magied (@yassmin_a) September 26, 2017

That's honestly been the most remarkable thing thus far about this move. Seeing myself, reflected.

I can't quite explain what it is like to walk around a city - an English speaking city at that, which, for better or for worse, feels more like 'home' - and see myself in the faces of those around me. London is (visually, at least) truly multicultural in a way no other place I have been is. To think of myself as becoming part of that is something that feels remarkable, subhanallah.

It's delicious. I'm walking around and seeing hijabi women - of all the colours - wearing all the styles wander past me. I am yelling 'Al-Salamu Alaikum!!' to every single one of them, my toothy grin in their face.  They look at me with bewilderment, but that's fine. Their confusion increases my joy. Because who they are isn't unusual here, and I guess that means I am not unusual either. Who would have thought it would feel so good to be 'not-unusual'? I mean sure, I've only been here for a few days, so it might be hubris, and sure, I am proud of who I am wherever I am, and sure, I love standing out...

...but for the first time, I know what it's like to be one of the crowd.

To have people say 'oh you're from Sudan? I love Sudanese people!' instead of being the first Sudanese person they know.

To walk around and see my aunt, uncle, brother...

...to hear my aunt, uncle, brother, grandmother.

And to see them right alongside my neighbour, my boss, my colleagues.

What a gift. 

Subhanallah. 

Have you ever had a "OMG IT ME" moment like @yassmin_a? @MingYLong and @TracyHowe67 share theirs #TheDrum pic.twitter.com/tDBZIlUNtP

— ABC The Drum (@ABCthedrum) September 26, 2017

London!

So, I've arrived, Alhamdulilah. Two suitcases, my social media accounts and a smile - that's what I bring with me to this new adventure. 

I'm based in Shoreditch for the next three months at least, inshallah. If you're around and would love to hang, let me know. I'm up for all the recommends, all the meet ups, all the things. If you'd asked me a year ago where I would be, I would most certainly have not said 'setting up a new home in a new city halfway across the world', but subhanallah, here we are. 

The weather is a little cooler, and I think the cloud cover will take some getting used to... but the bubble of anticipation and childlike excitement in my stomach is hard to contain. Yallah!