She is a Diamond

I recently traveled to Abu Dhabi with family and friends. The purpose of the trip was almost exclusively vacation-based, but I was hoping for some type of spiritually reflective experience as well. In the days leading up to the trip, I was not feeling as excited as I should have. I could not quell the nervous feeling I had about traveling to the Middle East. It's not as if I have only traveled to cozy, Western nations, engaging in comfy Western amenities, and feeling completely socially accepted. In fact, I have never been to Western Europe, or even Canada. I have almost exclusively traveled to non-Western, homogenous nations, but something was making me feel uneasy.

Looking back now, I realize I was fighting off fear. Afraid that my clothes were not conservative enough, scared that I was going to stand out as a Black girl, worried that I would make the wrong move or say the wrong thing. I was in fear of negative attention in a culture that is said to devalue their women. I carried this nervousness with me all the way across the seas, along my journey to the UAE.

Upon our arrival to Abu Dhabi International Airport, we saw (what was, for me, a first) women completely shrouded-- no face, no mouth, no eyes uncovered. A couple of us hypothesized, quite ignorantly, that perhaps, the women who had 'disobeyed' their husbands or embarrassed their families were subject to such apparent punishment. Because, what other reason could there possibly be, right?

Fast forward a couple days and we found ourselves at Al Whada mall in the center of Abu Dhabi, spending the afternoon walking aimlessly and people-watching. Eventually, we landed at a cellphone kiosk, engaging the man at the desk in small talk. At the height of our curious and wide-eyed interrogation, the most important question was asked: Why are some of the women covered from head to toe? 
With a slight smile, and without hesitation, he replied, "she is a diamond that not everyone is meant to see."
For a moment, my heart stopped. The conversation faded out around me. I was somewhat speechless; unprepared for the reverence and admiration for woman in that explanation.
To be honest, I almost do not care whether his answer was a simplification of true sentiments or a complete rearrangement of a less-than-favorable societal standard. The clarity and seeming genuine quality with which he answered left me questioning myself. As he continued to explain engagement and family for the covered woman, I realized what a fool I had been. I was projecting everything negative I had assumed about this unfamiliar culture from my own society.
Had I actually allowed myself to be indoctrinated with a judgmental worldview? 

As we made our final rounds through the mall, I started to look at the women differently. I noticed the nuances in their garments-- some embroidered, some plain, all long and loose-- and the ways in which their individuality manifested. Young women donned impeccable makeup and designer shoes, mothers matched their children’s clothing to their purses, and older women walked with confidence. Why hadn’t I noticed this before? Why was I so blind?
Walking through the Sheik Zayed Grand Mosque later in the day, I could not have felt more comfortable. Looking at the tourists in their assorted states of (un)dress, I knew I had packed appropriately for my trip. For the most part, I was no-skin-Sally in Abu Dhabi, and it was the greatest feeling.

No doubt, there are varying degrees of enforced rule and oppression for veiled women. While for some, the hijab, niqab and abaya represent the limiting of their freedoms and rights, for so many, these garments represent religion, tradition, family, and pride. Never did I imagine I would feel comfortable in a styling which I once saw as limiting. I do not entirely know why I was so worried about dressing in modesty mode on this trip. It is not as if I only wear skimpy clothes in the States. I think, subconsciously, the tradition of female modesty signified, for me, an overarching inequity and a constant reminder of how to "properly" engage men. Blame it on the Western, democratic, liberal-arts educated, outspoken sense of entitlement that I have comfortably situated myself within these days, but I was not feeling the idea that I would have to watch what I said and did in public for fear of scrutiny.
Perhaps, consciously, my worries originated from a place of vanity. Would my inner glow shine less brightly if covered? And even, would I like the pictures of me with little more than my face exposed? 
Terribly young and American, I know. But there is something important hidden beneath the narcissism.

I found that covering up did not hide me away. It was quite the opposite.
Covering up exposed me.

I had to face... my face. I felt assured that if someone was looking at me, it was for the purpose of seeing-- gasp!-- what my face looks like. I had to come to the realization that, yes, my face was enough. Covering oneself did not equate a loss of self, but rather a selective celebration-- the choice of with whom it is shared, dependent on religion and tradition. I was reminded of my overall confidence, and successfully bolstered in another capacity. Living in the United States, where, ironically, the common sign of body confidence is how comfortable one is with wearing as little as possible, makes it easy to forget how it feels to have utmost confidence in the lack of reveal.

While I would terribly miss donning shorts and crop tops if I decided to assume a more modest approach to my style here at home, I have gain a increased appreciation for the oversized sweater and the maxi dress. Aside from being incredibly comfortable they are a small reminder of my experience covered.

Living in a society where women are praised for being dime pieces and bad chicks, it is incredibly affirming to hear women referenced as "diamonds".

a dime... diam... diamond... diamond

I will forever remember what it felt like to walk around feeling as if I were a diamond in a culture where my freedoms were less apparent. The truth is, no matter what I am wearing, the feeling remains and is strengthened by the knowledge of my inner beauty.

For my new perspective, kiosk man, I thank you.