Wednesday, July 14, 2010

Floating through the midnight wind

Anyone who has ever walked down an empty beach in the black of night, knows the magical enticement this act will then have on a person for the rest of their lives, and will also understand the frustration at being so close, yet so far away from taking pleasure in the moon kissed sand between one's toes.

I love the chitter chatter of daytime existence, being acknowledged and spoken to as a fellow member of human kind has always been a custom I am fond of. However, there comes a time, when I desire nothing more, than to slip silently out my front door, may that door reside in Poland, Oman, the USA, or anywhere else in this overstimulating world. I envision myself ghost like, invisible to all, except the passing cats and dogs which sense my presence and nod, or stylishly saunter past accordingly. Usually, I am very good at this. I possess a keen knack at slipping past, unnoticed. I know this may however be completely fabricated in my own mind, and may merely be me, shutting out the rest of the world, letting them slip past unnoticed, as I come off bitch-like and aloof... either way, it is not something I can seem to manage here, in Oman. I can not walk down a dusty street lamp lit street, unnoticed. I can not transform into my preferred invisible night form and float silently to the calling shore. I smell the sea air, see the darkness of the water and I can practically hear the surf, as it pushes it's sea life, back and forth, in a soothing lullaby fashion.

I walk out my door and eyes instantly turn to me. Day, night, men are everywhere in these streets and they watch me, as I move – most, silently, some with whistles or insinuating comments. Manners they would never put forth in front of an Omani woman, but my presence breaks all rules. They're harmless in their prying eyes and mimicked American movie slang, but sometimes it takes all my power not to haughtily tell them to “fuck off”, as I have been so rightfully trained to do, growing up in the US.

There are three ways men view western women here (that I have at least been able to assess). The first is that of an easy woman of lose western morals, and lack of values. Yes, she will sleep with anything that has a cock... and yes, that person should probably be me. The second is of debauchery – a viperous, devil worshiping (or Christian) whore. Since you do not abide by the laws of Allah, you are evil and NOT to be trusted. (Thankfully, this is a mindset rarely experienced here). The third and most common is of simple curiosity. While some of the first beliefs might still be present, they are more like teenage boys in a video game shop... overstimulated and super curious at how the, just released game consul works. It's more or less innocent and even sometimes rather endearing.. and I often find myself feeding into these little boy antics.

Neither of these men however, are what I want to deal with while attempting a midnight stroll to the beach. So, out of frustration for my lacking anonymity, I sit in this air conditioned flat, smelling of Indian cooking, I listen to a remix of Abdullah Ibrahim and drink the Campari I obtained through duty free.

A sand storm begins to kick up vengeance outside these walls, so perhaps it was a much better decision to stay indoors this evening anyways...

No comments:

Post a Comment