The Dystopian Men

At the start of our contract, we were told that we may be hit by the Spleen Baudelèrien and by the theory of habbits.

At the time, the Spleen was dodged but it has grown on me, which probably explains why it is getting increasingly difficult to write about this country. On one hand, it feels like the outside chaos has contaminated my mind, feeling as though all the drawers in my mind and my emotional wardrobe have been left open, with the sandstorms throwing them all around in my head. On the other hand, the prospect of leaving is getting more and more real, leaving me on a fun emotional rollercoaster ride…

Lately, ANGER has been predominant, especially after a recent walk in Khan El Khalili. I once tried to establish a grading scale to explain how bad a woman will be harassed, depending on her attire but also on her marital status: 

" I also have to point out that there seem to exist different status, which work kind of like a ladder:
5 : Egyptian and conservative married women
4 : Egyptian married women
3 : Egyptian single women
2 : foreign married women with one or several children
1 : foreign married women
0 : foreign single women"

Well, a year and a half later, it is time to update it.

Here, in our glittery, “quiet” and “clean” bubble, harassment is mild – except for my favourite bunch of workers, but even they are now down to a little whistling or today's special which I named "the breeding courtship dance", which I have also learnt to accept. In Khan El khalili, Al Azzar Park and Islamic Cairo,  you don’t see many blond heads, with tight trousers and this time, as you stroll around with your husband “only”, you don’t get the extra point of respect because you bore two children.

So how do they look at you? Most will start by your feet, perhaps because the conservative ladies ( the 5 points worth ladies) wear long galabeyas, which hide their legs… Then, they will work their way up, all the way to your face. Some will painstakingly linger in certain areas, whilst whistling, grinning, and grunting or for the desperate ones, they will bump into you for physical contact. Their last move in this filthy, disgusting and demeaning ritual is a final lock on your eyes with a smile, as if after taking your pride, they could now extract some more of your light through them. The climax of the anger is when all those animals have just been released from Friday's most important lunchtime prayer. They are camouflaged under the flag of piety and respect to their God, and can not seem to respect a fellow human being, who is from the same gender as their own mothers and sisters.

The question is who are those men? Well, they range from the age of 10 to late fifties in my experience. Evidently, we are not talking about men, we are talking about mere shells, filled with lust, oppression, aggressiveness, and misconceptions about relationships with women, and this mix sprinkled with a huge serving of ignorance. 

Despite the occasional enchanting sound coming from the city’s minarets, the beauty of some of the buildings, the peace of the deserts and the Red Sea creatures, there is nothing that can redeem Egypt for some of its male population. 
Having felt it personally is one horrible feeling, but imagine that if we should ever settle here for good, this could happen to my daughter, my blood boils to the point of madness. 

One has to bear in mind, though, that there are a lot of decent, “normal” men in Egypt, such as the young minds I am fortunate to teach, their fathers who have offered more than once to come and give a nasty talk to the workers I cross path with daily. And there are many more...