One of the biggest problems facing a female traveler in the Middle East is that no one can decide just how big the problem is.
I recently attended a Women’s Safety Meeting hosted by our school, which had little to offer in the way of practical advice and seemed chiefly an excuse to indulge in paranoia. The primary suggestions of the conference were:
1. Don’t talk to men.
2. Don’t look at men.
3. If men insult you, don’t say anything back – you’ll insult their machismo and then they may attack you.
4. Don’t go anywhere alone.
5. In fact, don’t go anywhere. It’s not safe.
6. Don’t ever carry a knife because an attacker will take it away and use it on you.*
It was primarily two older women who were harping upon the belief that Cultural Differences Make Middle Eastern Men Animals. I spoke later with several other students who had been present and they agreed that not only was the advice largely unnecessary, it wasn’t practical in the least. “Dangerous” though it was, all the women in that room routinely visited many places in the city, rode in taxis, and spoke to men – an absolute necessity in a city where all the cab drivers, waiters, and shopkeepers are men. The reason we didn’t point out the obvious during the conference itself was because one of the older women had actually been sexually assaulted, and we feared that by downplaying her extreme warnings, we were also downplaying her horrific experience.
Contrast that session with my visit to Petra, during which I was not only a female traveler in the Middle East but a single female traveler in the Middle East. Actually my group was quite large, but after touring the wonders of Petra (which truly live up to the title and about which I will write in the future) we had lunch and split up to explore by ourselves. Faced with a headache, I decided to return alone to the hotel. In the process of negotiating my way from the far end of Petra to its canyon entrance, I:
1. Took a chance and trusted my instincts. I was offered a free donkey ride to the spring by one of the local Bedouins. When he led me off a ways into the bushes, far from where any tourists customarily went (as proven by the bare-assed Bedouin I saw disappearing hastily behind the leaves), I decided that the situation was unsafe and turned the donkey around, insisting upon returning to the safe, crowded areas of Petra’s main road. He was courteous during our return and invited me to take tea with him under the bridge. There I sat among a group of eight to ten Bedouin, some officers of the Tourist Police, and several children, happily discussing fiancées. All’s well that ends well.
2. Flirted. Mostly with another Bedouin named Haroun, who was leading my camel back to Petra’s entrance (camel riding, by the way, is not recommended for those prone to sea-sickness or with a tendency to sea-sickness or back problems. Otherwise, it’s wonderful.) I felt like a queen sitting high on my camel, and I must have looked it, too – I got any number of admiring glances from passerby (if I say so myself), was called “Mrs. Bedouin,” and accepted Haroun’s offer of visiting me in Amman (platonically, of course). There’s nothing wrong with being playful sometimes – particularly if you’re certain you’ll never see him again.
3. Got free beverages. Besides the tea under the bridge, I also had free tea at a shop and free tea in a cave, this last courtesy of the Bedouin whose horse I was riding (yes, I rode a donkey, a camel, and a horse. I love animals and I was tired.) The horse ride was also free, and Hamsa explained later that he’d considered the time he’d spent drinking tea with me and galloping with me a pleasant break from work, which was the nicest thing I’d heard all day. He even invited me to his sister’s engagement party.
4. Touched a man - see “galloping” above. Hamsa was in the saddle and I was behind it, bouncing on the horse’s rump and holding onto his middle for dear life. However, this episode was also proof that some of the dire warnings offered by my supervisors had gotten through – as a last attempt to preserve propriety, I kept my hands balled into fists. I don’t know why I thought that just holding on with my arms and not my fingers somehow made the situation less familiar, but it must have made sense to me at the time.
5. Got another free beverage. Talking with the hotel waiter for twenty minutes earned me a free Bitter Lemon soda.
Perhaps I’ve been unfair to the ladies of the Women’s Safety Meeting. Some of their suggestions I follow instinctively. As a woman, it’s easy to tell when men are looking at me in a way that makes me feel uncomfortable, and I always just refuse to look back. If someone speaks suggestively to me on the street, I don’t confront them, I just leave. Generally, I avoid taking taxis alone, and if it’s necessary I make sure to pay attention and am always prepared to stop the driver if we’re going somewhere that’s under-populated or otherwise suspicious (I’m also prepared to stab him, but that’s another story).
Overall, I think the lesson female travelers can take away is this: You’re in danger in the Middle East. But you get a lot of free stuff.
*This is a piece of disinformation that I consider very harmful. I always carry a knife, and I’m always prepared to use it. I’m five foot two, for Heaven’s sake! I’m already absolutely going to lose in a confrontation with even a small man. How much worse can it be if he takes away my knife? At least with it I have a chance. The trick is to keep it concealed as long as possible and stab him before he knows you have it – and once you’ve stabbed him, to stab multiple times, as one knife wound probably won’t stop him from chasing you/raping you/killing you. This is Heroine's Public Service Announcement of the day. (Thanks for teaching me this, honey.)
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