The Oak among the Willows

Camouflage is a set of methods of concealment that allows otherwise visible animals, military vehicles, or other objects to remain unnoticed by blending with their environment or by resembling something else.  - Definition from Wikipedia.

Coming from parents with mixed backgrounds, I took features from both sides of the family. A universal face, medium complexioned, I am more comfortable being a child of the universe than from one particular place. Are you Iranian?  Moroccon? South American? Afghan? Middle Eastern? Turkish?, are some of the most common guesses of strangers I meet. I take pride that I am able to camouflage so very easy and fit into many cultures or countries without actually employing any methods of concealment. This pride was enhanced when I arrived in Afghanistan. I look Afghan, I wear the chador (headscarf) and boom! I fooled everyone... and most, even when I opened my mouth! 

Very soon, I started disliking that I looked Afghan. Afghan women are so beautiful, its the biggest compliment to be mistaken for them. But looking Afghan exposed me to how Afghan women are treated by the Afghan men. Everytime I fly out of Kabul airport, the afghan police at the airport order me to put my chador on screaming "you haven't even left the country and you are trying to behave like a foreigner". I flash my passport and they profusely apologize.  

A few months ago, I was invited to a party very close to the President's Palace. By virtue of location, its a heavily guarded area. I arrived in my car and the security at the gate would not let me in, insisting I was Afghan trying to cover up and this was a party for "Kharigis" (foreigners). I showed him my passport and he thought it was fake (I have 2 passports clipped together). The guard spoke to me in Dari, I answered back in English, insisting I wasn't Afghan. "Nice try madam, you speak good english, don't be ashamed to speak your language, dari" he mocked me. He broke into a laugh and told me he was not going to allow me inside no matter what as he had all the power to do so. He continued to laugh watching me wait helplessly at the gate, at which point I got upset with the mockery and screamed at him. My friends came to get me from inside and the security guy said "This girl is crazy, see her screaming, thats why I didn't let her in".   I was humiliated and felt my spirit crack. I wasn't sure if I was angry at his manner or shocked at how skillfully he manipulated the situation. When I went inside, my friend said, "don't worry Rima, this man is known to harrass all the Afghan women who come to work here every morning".  

I will never ever be able to understand an Afghan woman's pain nor the obstacles and impediments this society places in front of her from the time she enters this world. Its very simplistic to say that day I had a glimpse of how the men treat women. All I know is that I was not happy that I had a face that can camouflage, I was not happy to look Afghan, I lost my temper and I didn't like being disrespected.  

 The dictionary definition for resilience is "the ability to work with adversity in such a way that one comes through it unharmed or even better for the experience. Resilence means facing life's difficulties with courage and patience - refusing to give up. It is the quality of character that allows a person or group of people rebound from misfortune, hardships and trauma."   That day, I had a sudden recognition of the quality of the character of an Afghan woman, a realisation of how rooted resilience is, in the tenacity of her spirit.  

Someone once said, "The oak fought the wind and was broke, the willow bent when it must and survived." I dont want to be an oak among the goddess willows, therefore I do not wear my chador anymore. I admire the Afghan woman from a distance, nervous that I am may be challenged, yet again, to a trial of strength...