Cairo—In the Turgoman Bus Station in Cairo I'm having a Turkish coffee when the proprietor of the shop turns the television from LOUD prayers to videos of Egyptian pop—a very Eastern kind of disco that I loathe. But then he switches the channel to stunningly gorgeous women in sparkling gowns with plunging necklines, mini-skirts, blue jeans, and short-shorts, dancing that sinuous, gelatinous, classically Egyptian dance that is so frankly sexual that I can't believe it's on any TV here at all, much less on one hanging in the Cairo bus terminal right across from several smoking Bedouin men and women in hijabs with children.
[UPDATE: May 17, 2012—According to the Associated Press, Egypt's vice police arrested the owner of a belly dancing TV station in Cairo on suspicion of operating without a license, inciting licentiousness, and facilitating prostitution.]
The issue of what is and is not covered on Egyptian women has been a matter of debate for decades, with women ultimately choosing the veil for themselves after Iran's Islamic Revolution made it a point of pride to do so. (The Salafists, radical Islamists who just won a respectable showing in the recent Parliamentary elections here, don't like even the suggestion of female breasts on statues and have moved to cover them up.) But the hijab is practically universal now, even among children; in four weeks traveling the country I can count the number of unveiled women I've seen on one hand, and I doubt they were Egyptian.
The Prophet Mohammed called for his wives, daughters and the faithful to pull their veils "down low" to cover their "ornaments," according to my translation of the Koran, which has been variously interpreted to include their hair, eyes, lips, bosom, and/or their entire body. But the "ornaments" on these Egyptian dancers are right out there, wagging, and in case you haven't noticed this, the dancers look right into the camera and flip their hair, bat their eyes, roll their hips, purse their lips, and otherwise spotlight ALL their ornaments, which in their case are considerable.
The few women I've been comfortable enough with to ask about why they wear the hijab say simply that it's a declaration of faith. But besides sounding too automatic to be heartfelt, the answer sounds dubious in a country where EVERYBODY is Muslim, or is expected to be, and if they're not, they keep it to themselves. Other than the hijab the young women dress just like girls in Europe and America, with snug sweaters, jeans, and shoes that can't possibly be comfortable on the broken, rubble-strewn pavements of the cities and towns. I will add the dancers in the bus station to my questions for Omar when I return to Cairo.
[UPDATE: May 17, 2012—According to the Associated Press, Egypt's vice police arrested the owner of a belly dancing TV station in Cairo on suspicion of operating without a license, inciting licentiousness, and facilitating prostitution.]
The issue of what is and is not covered on Egyptian women has been a matter of debate for decades, with women ultimately choosing the veil for themselves after Iran's Islamic Revolution made it a point of pride to do so. (The Salafists, radical Islamists who just won a respectable showing in the recent Parliamentary elections here, don't like even the suggestion of female breasts on statues and have moved to cover them up.) But the hijab is practically universal now, even among children; in four weeks traveling the country I can count the number of unveiled women I've seen on one hand, and I doubt they were Egyptian.
The Prophet Mohammed called for his wives, daughters and the faithful to pull their veils "down low" to cover their "ornaments," according to my translation of the Koran, which has been variously interpreted to include their hair, eyes, lips, bosom, and/or their entire body. But the "ornaments" on these Egyptian dancers are right out there, wagging, and in case you haven't noticed this, the dancers look right into the camera and flip their hair, bat their eyes, roll their hips, purse their lips, and otherwise spotlight ALL their ornaments, which in their case are considerable.
The few women I've been comfortable enough with to ask about why they wear the hijab say simply that it's a declaration of faith. But besides sounding too automatic to be heartfelt, the answer sounds dubious in a country where EVERYBODY is Muslim, or is expected to be, and if they're not, they keep it to themselves. Other than the hijab the young women dress just like girls in Europe and America, with snug sweaters, jeans, and shoes that can't possibly be comfortable on the broken, rubble-strewn pavements of the cities and towns. I will add the dancers in the bus station to my questions for Omar when I return to Cairo.
No comments:
Post a Comment