Desperate housewives of Arabia
I penetrated the heart of suburban Muslim culture last night. A liberated, upper-class brand, but nonetheless.
After watching sexless midgets in drag (10 and 11-year olds – pre-Lolita even) re-enact a whistle-stop one-hour version of Grease, pissing myself at the double innuendos, the camp lisping sports coach, the innocent air humping of Grease Lightning and the teachers goading like beauty queens with flower bouquets, I stepped into a land cruiser with “Sandy” and her mother to be whizzed off to a real house. This is the first “house” that I’ve been in, only apartment blocks exist in the city.
“Sandy” was a way cool kid. “Ew” she went when we said the production would have been better if Frankie had been played by a guy. And when her mother announced that we were visiting a friend of hers, her eyes lit up and she told me: “They’ve got the coolest house. It’s like a palace and they used to have a German Shepherd puppy, but then the gardener left it outside and it got too hot and it DIED.”
Yes. These are the extremes: either you live in a three-storey palace or a three-room apartment. Beyond the doors, lay the hanging gardens of Babylon and the man of the house, watching soccer with his third wife and some mates. Bottles of booze were displayed prominently everywhere. We were entertained by the second wife – the first wife has died.
The second wife is a dynamic woman. She owns a restaurant and a couple of other things and made her man his fortunes. They’re at a financial level of flippantness – he was watching the soccer in Germany, but got bored and came home. But they have a higher understanding of virtue and respect. She set the conditions for his new wife.
I had the privilege of witnessing a make-up session with this high-profile family woman and her single-mother Christian friend. They had been parted by their various social groups’ bickering and gossip about the other, and the inappropriateness of their friendship. It was interesting going inside the veil and learning the obvious: stereotypes are for sissies. Also that the values of friendship and honesty, and the power of judgemental gossip are universal. They kept saying “this is the small-mindedness of our culture” and I kept saying “it’s not only your culture”. They called their bickering social groups the desperate housewives of Arabia and complained of their lack of education and class. Oil is nouveau riche.
That is, it was interesting the first time the story was told to me. Then, over a couple of bottles of red wine and sambuca with toasted coffee beans, the story was repeated to me three times.
But it reinforced what I saw on Friday: The beach we went to was on the other, south side, of the island – only half an hour away. There are 700 000 inhabitants. This place is smaller than Johannesburg and probably closer in attitude to Vrede.
After watching sexless midgets in drag (10 and 11-year olds – pre-Lolita even) re-enact a whistle-stop one-hour version of Grease, pissing myself at the double innuendos, the camp lisping sports coach, the innocent air humping of Grease Lightning and the teachers goading like beauty queens with flower bouquets, I stepped into a land cruiser with “Sandy” and her mother to be whizzed off to a real house. This is the first “house” that I’ve been in, only apartment blocks exist in the city.
“Sandy” was a way cool kid. “Ew” she went when we said the production would have been better if Frankie had been played by a guy. And when her mother announced that we were visiting a friend of hers, her eyes lit up and she told me: “They’ve got the coolest house. It’s like a palace and they used to have a German Shepherd puppy, but then the gardener left it outside and it got too hot and it DIED.”
Yes. These are the extremes: either you live in a three-storey palace or a three-room apartment. Beyond the doors, lay the hanging gardens of Babylon and the man of the house, watching soccer with his third wife and some mates. Bottles of booze were displayed prominently everywhere. We were entertained by the second wife – the first wife has died.
The second wife is a dynamic woman. She owns a restaurant and a couple of other things and made her man his fortunes. They’re at a financial level of flippantness – he was watching the soccer in Germany, but got bored and came home. But they have a higher understanding of virtue and respect. She set the conditions for his new wife.
I had the privilege of witnessing a make-up session with this high-profile family woman and her single-mother Christian friend. They had been parted by their various social groups’ bickering and gossip about the other, and the inappropriateness of their friendship. It was interesting going inside the veil and learning the obvious: stereotypes are for sissies. Also that the values of friendship and honesty, and the power of judgemental gossip are universal. They kept saying “this is the small-mindedness of our culture” and I kept saying “it’s not only your culture”. They called their bickering social groups the desperate housewives of Arabia and complained of their lack of education and class. Oil is nouveau riche.
That is, it was interesting the first time the story was told to me. Then, over a couple of bottles of red wine and sambuca with toasted coffee beans, the story was repeated to me three times.
But it reinforced what I saw on Friday: The beach we went to was on the other, south side, of the island – only half an hour away. There are 700 000 inhabitants. This place is smaller than Johannesburg and probably closer in attitude to Vrede.
posted by Nadine at 9:33 AM
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