The Allegory of a Burqa

Essay from non-fiction writing cohort (Great Books Summer)

The Allegory of a Burqa

by Ruby Gardner

My father would often stop and buy fifteen petit packets of Middle Eastern spices. I turned my head and my mother would be speaking to all of the sellers around this souk. 

“These are gorgeous rugs. Did you weave them yourself?” she questioned.

“Yes, all of them!” the seller noted as she followed her hand throughout the whole room of colorful carpets; almost as if she had a wand that sprinkled magic above her fingertips. “The wool that I weave the rugs with originates in Saudi Arabia from the fat-tailed and fat-rumped sheep races.” 

The women in the market spoke with such passion and enthusiasm about their craftsmanship--it was their life's work. Everytime we stopped inside what were called the bedouin shops, my brother would be entranced in the reflection of all of the gold products pressed against his gaze. 

And then there was me. A seven year old girl running through the souks of yesterday. I pictured myself waiting for a magic carpet ride. Sweat piling up around my hairline from the Arabian sun. The air felt as if I were trapped in a boiling teapot. Before moving abroad to Dubai, United Arab Emirates, I got used to icicles on my windowsill, so being in such a close proximity to one of the hottest urbanized cities in the world shocked my skin, my bladder and my sweat glands. I was drinking much more water and exposing my frail skin to the scintillating sun. With my adolescent attention span, I passed most of the spice shops and rug boutiques and carried on hanging out with my imagination. Until I spotted it. 

This beautiful piece of covering that was flowing in the softest of breezes. I glanced at the top where it covered the mannequin's head in all but one section: the eyes. The rest of the body was covered in black polyester fabric. I thought it was breathtaking.

“Mom, what is that dress on the windowsill? Can we go inside and touch it?” my young and naive self inquired.

As I stroked my hand against the garment I couldn't help but think how magical it would feel to have one of my own covering my tiny body and revealing the beauty of my eyes. I had no filter. So now, I was a young girl running through the streets of a souk in Dubai with a burqa on. I felt free. 

My parents ordered a cab to pick us up from Old Town and while waiting we were soaking up this new place that we could now call home. The call to prayer rebounded off the corners of the shops and back into our hearts. I knew it was veering toward 6 pm and the souk was closing. The women in hijabs and burqas and the men in thawbs all walking out of their shops after a successful business day. One lady was walking towards me. I was taught to not stare at people because it would have probably made them feel uncomfortable, but I couldn’t help it. I peered directly into her eyes. They were absolutely magnificent. Her pupil was drenched in a darkish vegetable green. Mascara lifted her eyelashes. Heavy dark eye liner winged off the side of her face. She was wearing what I was wearing. Covering everything but her eyes. Except she had something different around her eyes: what looked to be a gold plate resting on her nose. It shimmered in the spirited light as she came closer.

I could feel her smile through her eyes as she greeted me. Her perfume smelt of the spices from the market I had felt tickle my nose earlier in the day but with an accent of sweetness. She knelt down, her hand gently held my face up and adjusted the head piece I was wearing. My eyes moved down towards her hands. The henna that I had on my ankle, she had also woven around her fingers and wrist. 

Back then I was blinded with juvenile innocence. All I could see was magnificent beauty in this covering. It let me fully take in a woman's being just from looking deep into their eyes. I wonder what the lady thought of me emulating her dressing. She shared a moment with me and gave me the gift of connecting with people whilst disregarding judgement. My innocence coupled with that exchange taught me volumes. 

* In my Arabic class I learned the reasons for islamic women wearing hijabs, burqas, niqabs and chadors. It is a sign of modesty that men and women show towards their opposite sex, but above all else it is a spiritual choice. Some muslims say that it brings you closer to Allah. The Holy Quran preached that your outward looks do not define your beauty. You have to find your beauty from within and you will forever be on the journey with Allah. It is written with “O Prophet, tell your wives and your daughters and the women of the believers to draw their cloaks close round them (when they go abroad). That will be better, so that they may be recognized and not annoyed. Allah is ever Forgiving, Merciful.” (Quran 33:59).*

Many thanks for reading,

Ruby