As a Western Muslim living in Cairo, Hadeel Al-Shalchi ponders the cultural significance of hijab for her surrogate society It's a sea of scarves out there. Pink, blue, and black on white -- a yellow floral print. As a person from the West, and as a practicing Muslim who wears the hijab, I was overwhelmed with the number of scarves on the street on arriving in Cairo. At first, it impressed me. After living as a veiled woman in Canada for almost 10 years, it was nice to blend in so seamlessly somewhere else. I looked like the majority, a feeling I'd never experienced in my life as a Western Muslim. I took the veil after a lot of thought and internal debate. My family didn't pressure me into the decision, and influenced me only by allowing me to explore the different types of people in my community. But what was I getting myself into? I already looked different in a society made up of mainly pale-skinned people with European heritage. But the famous words in the Qur'an regarding the veil spoke to me in a traditional sense and I was happy to follow them as such. It was part religion, part exploration of identity in a country that is still exploring its overall identity -- Canada. I didn't feel it was going to change my personality but, rather, make me more aware of my faith, and bring me closer to how I believed I should practice Islam. Otherwise, I was still as ambitious, outgoing and intelligent as I was pre-scarf. My decision came as a shock to some people in my circle of friends, who didn't know how to approach me with questions and were puzzled when they perceived me as a changed person with my veil. It took a lot of work on my part to convince them that I was still the old Hadeel -- merely with an extra bit of clothing! I knew hijab was predominant in Egypt, but I wasn't expecting what I saw. At first I was excited, finally I blended into a community that saw the hijab as a norm. But once I looked carefully, I didn't recognize myself in many of the girls on the street wearing their scarves tucked closely around their faces. I couldn't shake the feeling that many women in Egypt wear the hijab as a cultural gesture in which they are part of a herd mentality. It has become a fashion statement, something that "everyone's doing" and something that doesn't carry the weight I believe it should carry. I must admit I'm guilty of feeding the business that hijab has become in Egypt. Coming from a country lacking in scarves, I spent time in scarf shops like a person at an oases in a desert. I would stand wide-eyed in a shop and think to myself, "Oh my God -- I want them all!" I was also amazed by the number of accessories that these shops contained. Strange twisty things, and super tiny scarves that are supposed to accent other bigger scarves, strange stretchy bandana type items, beaded gloves and arm sleeves. And of course, psychedelic pins of all sizes and sharpness to keep everything in place. I'm lucky that my roommates have made it their duty to curb my spending in these shops, because you have to admit they are alluring. Besides the shops and wild accessories, magazines like Hijab Fashion have made their way onto newsstands, teaching women how to wrap and tie headscarves. Attractive, heavily made up women in veils lean on fake set-up accessories and look dreamy as they model the latest designs and color schemes. As all excellent business people, "hijab traders" tap into female sensitivities and vanity, promising each to look individual and different from the other if she tried such and such a wrap or such and such a colour combo. And as women, we lap it up. I just came back from Luxor with nine new veils. What strikes me is there is actually little space dedicated in the media to an honest and intellectual discussion of the topic. The subject normally makes the papers and TV shows when some politician or forlorn actor makes a rash comment about veiled women being backward members of society. That's when emotions run wild and no one seems to be talking about it in an any sensible way. My friend in Canada blogged about her experience with the hijab and how she hates precisely that "I don't like a lot of the things I've read on hijab," she says on her blog, commonplacer.com. "Most often I end up finishing an article or book on the subject with a profound sense of dissonance. I cannot for the life of me identify with a jewel or a tasty confection. When a woman is described in this way to justify hijab she is rendered immobile, inanimate and illiterate. I've sat with others and watched while a speaker or an average Jamal, with awe in their voices has said, 'just as a diamond is wrapped in a protective cloth, women are precious enough that they too must be thus wrapped. Not everyone can see this diamond.' Sometimes some of the women watching with me raise their eyebrows with pride and high-five glances at each other." I agree implicitly. Many women seem to wear the veil without thinking. They use phrases like "I don't want to go to hell", or "it's something I have to do", "my parents told me", "it's what everyone does"... Stickers decorate metro stations warning girls to wear the hijab before meeting their God on the Day of Judgment -- do you feel guilty for not wearing it? Do you want to be seen in this immoral state? And if a girl chooses not to wear the veil, then she is either ready to be catcalled or harassed by men on the street, or she's a Copt. An unveiled editor I know told me everyone at work thought she was Coptic until she was seen walking out of the small area designated for Muslim prayers. And those unveiled women feel intimidated by those who are veiled, feeling less of a person or a Muslim. Then there are those in Egypt who see hijab as uncultured, backward and uneducated. Women who are disgusted by the idea of a scarf on their head, feeling that the West will look poorly on cultures here as an oppressive symbol of patriarchy. My conclusion is that like most things in Egypt, this topic is treated with the same extremism that other issues and emotions are dealt with. There's no grey area; people are emotional, angry, and likely to get up in arms. People insult each others (you're either backward or an infidel), but the actual meaning of the hijab, as many women like me understand it, is lost.
