photo by Lucy Hodge; others by Vanessa Armand
Before embarking on my latest travels abroad, I took an additional step in preparing for the experience ahead. I normally make an attempt to learn some basic phrases in the local dialect, read about the area's historical background, and make lists of the must-visit sights along with some off-the-beaten path ideas to gain a better sense of local life. This past trip to Morocco, however, called for something extra: the study of the nation's religion and its reference to the local culture. Morocco holds the title of two firsts for me; my first time on african soil, and my first time in a politically and religiously islamic state. As a woman of the western world, I knew some of the dangers and stresses I would face in my travels in a world dictated by the Qur'an, and felt both intrigued and anxious about the experience. I fought to keep an open mind amid warnings and cautionary tales from westerners and one-sided perspectives of western news stations. I find that it is very difficult to learn the truth about Islam in today's world when we are faced with, and subsequently shown, only extremes and extremists.
I began my discussions about Islam with a coworker a few weeks back during our semi-weekly walks in the countryside of Provence. It seems a strange setting indeed for such a debate, being as the subject of muslim immigrants in france is a sore one, and that even in a small town such as Lorgues, rather hidden from big city lights and controversy, the "Islamic issue" is overtly apparent. The wearing of the headscarf by muslim women is outlawed in french schools and state-run establishments (which is most of them), as are all other displays of religious signification or identification. The key word is "digression" when speaking about religious paraphernalia, allowing, for example, small necklace charms; but the veil is far from discrete, and thus causes great disturbance in the normal french order of things. In my experience, it is viewed by non-muslims as a symbol of the confinement, limitation, and even servitude of muslim women. In talking with my colleague, a woman born of an "ahead-of-its-time fusion marriage" (british mother and french father), who has lived on 3 different continents, and who converted to Islam after spending time in Istanbul and subsequently marrying a muslim man of Iraqi decent. She was neither pressured, nor forced to convert to her husband's faith, but rather found solace in the messages of the Qur'an.
Contrary to what we are led to believe as westerners, the Qur'an does not preach holy jihad and the oppression of women. Its main message is that of peace and understanding with a heavy emphasis on respect and self-analysis. My friend informed me that the Qur'an grants women the right to choose whether or not to cover, and that the extreme cases, such as in Afghanistan, are products of tradition, and not directly of the word printed in the Qur'an. She admitted that even muslims are frustrated with the treatment of women in such countries, that their extremist catch-22 laws, and especially those regarding female physical health, is a outrage to muslim women across the globe. She reminded me that it is important to remember that extremists do not necessarily represent the majority of those practicing a religion, and that more often than not they misuse ambiguous wording of religious texts to strengthen and support their radical perspectives. The Qur'an itself predicts its misinterpretation and misuse by muslims and non-muslims alike, and reminds the reader to be mindful of what is in his/her heart.
In any case, we discussed the level of need for a western woman to cover while traveling in such a country as Morocco, where tradition is very much a part of everyday life, but tourism and western influence are equally as strong and hold increasing importance. My friend does not cover in france, as she is a private person, and chooses, as is very much the french fashion, to keep her religion hidden from the public eye. She did inform me that she willingly covers when she travels to Istanbul, and that she does so enthusiastically. I could not quite understand how someone would be excited to restrict their range of motion by wearing a tightly donned headscarf, nor how such an accessory would not become a nuisance in such a warm climate, but in keeping an open mind, I decided that I would give it a try if the opportunity presented itself.
Upon my arrival in Morocco, I was instantly hit with culture shock to find that the headscarf was anything but an infringement on the display of personal style and attitude. I immediately noticed several different manners in which women wrapped their scarves to cover their hair, and it became a sort of personal challenge to take note of the styles that seemed the most complex and to attempt to deconstruct them in my mind. It was not only the multitude of styles that shocked me, but also the vibrant display of personality in the choice of color and pattern. I was astounded by women wearing fire-red djellabas (traditional robe) and matching headscarves as they proudly marched down the tiny, crowed medieval streets of Fez. The djellabas themselves were a sight to see, and throughout my time in Morocco, I had to fight the urge to purchase one. With their full- or wrist-length bell sleeves, sweeping hems, fabulous fabrics, and intricate decoration, these T-shapes garments, worn by what seemed to be 90% of the natives, appeared to be not only the latest (and most ancient) craze, but also the most comfortable choice in clothing. I noticed that matching the headscarf to the djallaba was unnecessary, and that contrasting patterns and colors were often preferred as an expression of personal taste.
Even on the outskirts of Morocco, where the fashions of the cities are more or less unknown to the locals, I experienced the powerful use of the scarf. Lucy and I traveled to the rock climbers' heaven known as the Gorge Toudra and its surrounding towns such as Tamtatatouche, which are largely inhabited by the Berber people. The Berber people are groups of nomadic shepherds and nature dwellers, whose title of Berber is attached to a great number of different tribes across Africa, traditionally marked by the face-tattooing of the female members of the tribes. From what we witnessed, they live simple lives, inhabiting tents, grottos, lean-to structures in the mountains, and occasionally small towns a bit lost to tourists. Even here, the motto seemed to be "the more color the better," and the headscarf was no exception. I was overwhelmed by the beauty of one woman with whom we shared a taxi into the mountains, and I was mesmerized by the patchwork of patterns that made up her traditional garb. I descreetly snapped a photo, hoping she would not take my zealous enthusiasm for that of a camera-happy tourist (though I may have been), but for that of a western woman in love with this style a world apart from her own, its historical, political, and cultural significance, and its breathtaking poise and grace.
On multiple occasions, I was granted the opportunity to take part in this tradition. I had brought along my favorite scarf for the occasion, which seemed only natural considering I wear it everywhere I go and in all types of weather. It took on a new life and meaning in Morocco, tethering itself to memories brimming with a sense of security and comfort. I had never imagined that this symbol of "confinement" and "lack of freedom" would bring me such a feeling of inner warmth and safety. In one instance, Lucy and I wandered into a local quarter of Marrakech, not normally traversed by tourists--or so we sensed from the tension expressed as we walked by. I later expressed to Lucy that in my unease, my first instinct was the desire to cover (I had not been wearing my scarf on my head but rather around my neck). Somehow, the sensation of the tightly wrapped fabric translated itself to me as that of a blanket or a hug, a familiar closeness with the therapeutic ability to calm my nerves.
In the end, I gained a great appreciation for this internationally infamous symbol, and was able to discover its many other faces, by far more positive than negative. It still retains for me its sense of mystery when combined with the similarly scandalous veil, but in Morocco, I learned that while the woman may hide her face, she does not hide her individuality; she wears it on her scarf.
