Speak Up

 

By Anina Tweed

 

Anina Tweed is a 2012 AUA Mosaic Fellowship recipient and World Teach Fellow in Bangladesh. To find an amazing volunteer opportunity, search the AUA Directory of Recommended Organizations© today.

 

It surprises me how proud I can feel of my students and the work that they have done. It is not your own, and it’s not a pride derived of ownership or selfish success, but there is a deep swelling of the chest when you watch the ones you’re rooting for succeed. The past two months have marked a series of amazing events in women’s empowerment that I couldn’t have been happier to participate in. Seeing these women take charge, take chances, and tackle issues has been the most rewarding experience. From private readings, to community-wide conferences, to flash mobs for awareness, they’ve kept us on our toes this semester.

Since January, I’ve been a teaching assistant in a Women and Auto-ethnography course. The girls have been tackling the challenge of conveying their stories with an eye towards making larger cultural, political, and social. The writing is challenging; it’s neither purely autobiography nor ethnography. The trick is to tell a narrative that captures the reader in a way that engages them, barely allowing them to realize that they are actually learning about wider societal issues from your story. A large part of the goals for this course is to help the student’s begin to feel comfortable sharing their stories and speaking up about their experiences.

A few weeks ago, Jason, our professor, arranged for a reading to be done at Bishaut Bangla, a local arts and community center. About eight brave students agreed to read their works. We collected in front of the university gates and nervously giggled our way over to the center. The reading was held in a small, intimate room, leaving no chance for the girls to ignore the audience practically sitting on top of them. While I took up my position in the back, a group of lanky, awkward Bengali boys stumbled in and crowded onto the floor in front of the girls. Their more composed, stately fathers lined the back. I looked around nervously, there were a handful of girls from the university there to support their peers, but the small audience was largely composed of Bengali men. I wondered how they would receive a collection of eight stories about what it is to be a young woman in society today. I wondered whether our giggling girls would be able to compose themselves and convey their stories as powerful women. But after the first few students began to read their stories, quivering at first and then building strength, I realized that the audience was surprisingly engaged and receptive. By the time the fourth student knelt in front of the audience to read, she belted her opening line proudly: “My body has never embarrassed me.” Dressed in a shocking orange and fuchsia salwaar kameez, she stood out a midst the sea of black men’s blazers, her appearance matching her bold statements. The girls took their turns in front, telling the audience what it felt like to lose a cousin, to be a girl in a physical education class, to learn English, to decide to leave your country, to experience freedom, to struggle for education, and to have all the weight of your mother’s dreams upon you. They were all at once hilarious, heart-breaking, brave and shy. At the end of the reading, the owner of the center led the audience in a Q&A session. One of the adolescent boys in the front raised his hand shyly and said, “You girls are an inspiration.” My heart melted as the girls broke out in smiles. Mission accomplished. I realized that I had both underestimated our male audience and the ability of our students to articulate their messages in a powerful way.

Several weeks later, a project that had been in the making since last semester finally came to fruition. Since last fall I, along with another teaching fellow and a professor, had been advising a group of girls who wanted to raise awareness about violence against women. The project started as a vague idea, but slowly the girls began to give it shape, draft a proposal, and present it to the chancellor. They certainly faced a large amount of discouragement, organizational setbacks, and struggled to define their ideas, but with only minimal guidance from us, they eventually put together the “Speak Up Against Violence Against Women,” conference at AUW. Inviting activists, professors, media and university students from the Chittagong area, they were able to successfully organize a speaking panel and interactive workshop groups.

While the conference was successful, it also brought out a lot of frustration and gender-related issues that the girls face every day. Among the many male participants, few seemed to really have a grasp on gender sensitivity or to even ever have contemplated issues such as rape or sexual harassment and how to solve them. Unfortunately, some of the male participants felt the need to voice hurtful or even unproductive opinions, along the lines of girls needing to wear less provocative clothing and other common victim-shaming ideas. Feeling down and out after hearing these views, we all started complaining and venting. But while the conference had its own problems, it was nothing if not realistic. These kinds of attitudes and opinions reflect the reality facing women activists the world over, not just in Bangladesh, and in the end, it was productive for the girls to see what kinds of challenges they will be up against as young women seeking change on controversial, taboo subjects in their communities.

The rest of the month involved marches and flash mobs to promote awareness of violence against women, all as a part of the One Billion Rising campaign leading up to V-Day as part of the overall campaign of the Vagina Monologues movement. Perhaps the most inspiring and entertaining event of the month, was AUW’s performance of the Vagina Monologues itself. After several months of working closely with the girls, Meghan, our fellow World Teach volunteer, sat back and watched her prodigies let loose on stage. Our jaws dropped as we saw girls who could previously not even say the word “vagina” without extreme discomfort, belting out uninhibited renditions of various sex moans on stage. Their performance of the monologues was real, honest, inspiring and so empowering, not just for them, but for those in the audience as well. I have to admit that I myself, could not have stood in front of an audience and recited some of the very vagina-oriented monologues that the girls did. I can’t really explain the huge amount of appreciation I felt, however, watching others embrace their “womanhood” without fear or embarrassment. In some way, it pardoned the rest of the audience from having to do the hard work of turning something that often gets framed as secretive, shameful, and inappropriate in many cultures into what it truly is: a natural, beautiful power that comes along with being a woman.

I think it’s safe to say, that this year, and especially this semester has been one of the most rewarding experiences. As we start preparing for our last month at AUW, I can’t help but already get nostalgic for the huge amount of personal growth, strength, support and inspiration that I’ve received from all of the amazing women around me.

Voices of Women through Textile Artwork

The following is a post from AUA Mosaic Fellowship recipient Laura McAdams. Laura is currently volunteering in Morocco working with women in the textile field. To find an amazing volunteer opportunity, search the AUA Directory of Recommended Organizations© today.

Unlike the large Arab cities of Fez, Rabat and Casablanca, Ain Leuh is considered a Berber, or Amazigh village. The Amazigh people have populated North Africa for thousands of years -the textbooks say since 1500BC – and historically have wandered the landscape in nomadic or semi-nomadic tribes. These tribes generally avoided urban centers, and even today most Amazigh people inhabit the rural countryside, or small villages like Ain Leuh.

Because tribes avoided central power, cultural exchange was limited throughout the centuries. There still exists much diversity among the Amazigh people today. The language spoken in Ain Leuh is called Tamazight, whereas in the south, Tashalhiet is spoken. Likewise, Amazigh weavings differ in technique, appearance, pattern, and typical colors even within the Middle Atlas region.

In and around Ain Leuh, weavings were made for personal use and were purely utilitarian. The weavings here are flat-weave and rarely pile carpets, which are more functional in the colder winters of the High Atlas mountains of the south. These flat-weaves were used as sleeping mats, covers against the cold, door coverings, or turned into clothing, like a jellaba (cloak) or handira (shawl). It was only during the French protectorate that weavings began to be produced to be sold.

Photo courtesy to Laura McAdams

Before the introduction of Islam to the region, the Amazigh were animistic, that is, they believed humans, animals, plants, mountains and other geographical features contained souls or spirits. Weavings were an outlet for a woman’s spiritual and artistic expression, and patterns relating to protection and fertility evoked these animistic beliefs. Although much of the original meaning has been lost with many of today’s weavers, they still use many of the same motifs their ancestors used, which in some cases have taken on new meanings.

Amazigh identity in Morocco is a complex issue that scholars have devoted their lives to studying. What it means to be “Amazigh” varies widely from region to region, depending on economic status, education level, gender, and many other factors. For example, a friend of mine traveled to the south last year and met a well-educated Amazigh man who would only speak to him in Tashelheit or French, never in Arabic, because he considered the Arabs the true colonizers of North Africa.

I have experienced quite the opposite here in Ain Leuh. The women I work with are all  “arabized”. That is, Arabic is spoken in the house, despite the fact that most of the women speak Tamazight, and all women consider themselves Muslim. Khadija, for example, was brought up speaking Tamazight as a child, but her children only speak Arabic. One woman my age, whose mother was Amazigh, said pridefully that she could understand not a word of Tamazight.

Some women have expressed embarrassment at their Amazigh heritage. Among the oldest generation only, it is typical to see women with thin linear and geometric tattoos on their chins, foreheads, hands, even jawlines and ankles. The tattoos are an indication of marital status, or simply to enhance a women’s beauty. When I asked Mehma, a cooperative member about her tattoos, she explained apologetically that it was a tradition carried out before everyone knew that tattoos were forbidden according to the Quran.

However, the cooperative is the only place I’ve heard women speak Tamazight with each other. Yesterday, Jamila, one of the younger members of the cooperative, showed me how dried pomegranate rinds are crushed into a powder to be used later as a yellow wool dye. She made sure I knew that this was a technique invented by rural women generations ago. To me, the one place where the women can express pride in their Amazigh heritage is at the loom.

The Unveiling of Many Myths

The following blog post is written by AUA’s Advisory Board Member  Sarah Hassaine. Her article has also be published by the Arab American Institute. Read below to see what she has to say about the recent AUA trip to Jordan. To find an amazing volunteer opportunity, search the AUA Directory of Recommended Organizations© today.

Marcela is not ready to talk yet. But at the same time she wants to. Her recent trip to Jordan left her reeling with unanticipated emotions and experiences from the people she met.  Before her departure, Marcela Garcia, a behavioral therapist and a Masters Candidate in Special Education, described herself as someone who “lives in the moment, and in the seat of my pants.”  She enjoys traveling and learning about people’s dreams and aspirations in life. Her trip to Jordan, however, has proven to be an unanticipated life-changing experience.

Marcela has lived in Japan for a year and has done some international traveling, but none of her trips took her to the Middle East, and none were volunteer-based… until last month, when she joined six other Americans at New York’s JFK airport and flew to Jordan for a 10-day trip through America’s Unofficial Ambassadors (AUA) to build homes in the village of Salt. AUA aims to improve America’s relationship with the Muslim World by providing opportunities for private citizens to volunteer in various development projects across the globe, from Indonesia to Morocco. Unofficial Ambassadors volunteer in various fields like education, health, human rights, and economic development in communities throughout the Muslim World.

AUA Team Members Marcela & Constance learn how to “dabkeh” after a long day.

Marcela’s recent trip with other Unofficial Ambassadors was entitled Build Peace by Building Homes, which focused on building homes for deserving families in collaboration with Habitat for Humanity. Before her departure, Marcela said she was going on this trip “because I always wanted to volunteer and the opportunity never presented itself… I have always wanted to help build a house for others.”

After a whirlwind of ten days in Jordan, Marcela found herself crying in her hotel room the night before their flight back to the United States. “I came back feeling sad – very sad. While packing in Amman – I just started crying, I was not ready to leave,” shared Marcela. Ultimately, this trip opened her eyes to the fact that she wasn’t doing enough with her skills in behavioral therapy: “I wanted to stay and work with teachers and children there… the people were so amazing!”

Like many Unofficial Ambassadors, Marcela had not had much exposure to the Arab world or to many Arabs or Muslims in general. She said,

The trip exceeded my expectations.  Anything I knew about Muslims or Arabs was from the media or from people around me and it was so way off!  I thought they would treat me ‘badly’- but they appreciated that I was different – there was so much love, we did not know what to do with it!

Every day, Marcela and the AUA team helped a family build a second story on their home, and in the evenings they would field invitation after invitation to people’s homes. They were repeatedly offered tea, food, sweets and given gifts. “The people were always feeding us and they treated us like family [even though] we are nothing like them,” said an awed Marcela, “The hospitality and love and care were amazing. Every day brought more than we could take.”

Marcela went on to say that the “most exciting” part of the trip was being around “women of all ages, in all jobs, because they have so much to contribute to society and their families. They are articulate, intelligent and powerful.” She also joked about how all the women she met, be they villagers or university students, seemed “happy in their relationships;” which is not something you see often.

Marcela, like many westerners, had viewed women in the Middle East as oppressed silent women: “I thought they did not work and that they just stayed home and had kids and wore the scarf, boy was I wrong. I am so glad I was wrong.” Marcela and her AUA female counterpart Constance Castrence spent some alone time with the women. When men were not around, Marcela was shocked to see the women take off their headscarf and dress as they want: “I was so surprised to see them in short dresses and laughing and happy and talking about the same things we do here.” Marcela also noted that “so many women in Jordan are educated and worked,” and discovered that headscarves were not imposed: “I learned that it was their choice. They chose to wear the hijab, one girl explained how she opted to wear it but her sister did not… in the same household, two sisters with different approaches to clothes.”

For Marcela, learning more about women in Arab and Muslim cultures really opened her eyes and helped build a bridge of understanding.  She experienced firsthand how open-minded the people were and how non-judgmental they were of her. She admits that her expectations of the trip were beyond exceeded, and she came away having learned so much about a people and culture that she did not even know existed. “I was so wrong about everything – so wrong. It is great to have friends there now,” she said happily. She concluded by saying that her “message to people is that Muslims are amazing and loving people… And I want to tell people that the women are amazing!”

The Kindness of Strangers: Women and My Trip to Egypt

The following is a guest post from AUA Mosaic Scholarship recipient Laura Mills. She is currently volunteering with Hands Along the Nile Development Services, Inc. in Egypt. To find an amazing opportunity like this one, search the AUA Directory of Recommended Organizations© today!

It’s hard not to get to know someone over shisha, but that statement couldn’t be more true in Cairo, where your chairs are tucked up close to one another between parked cars, the crazy Cairene nightlife happening in real time around you. One night during our trip we met with a group of American University of Cairo (AUC) students, and were starting things off like college kids usually do, swapping favorite movies and music recommendations (mingled with more than a little talk about politics and the revolution).

But when I stopped to look around, there was one thing that struck me: our group of American students was mostly female, but the Egyptian group was almost exclusively male. I shrugged it off, putting it down to coincidence—these were, after all, supposed to be the most progressive, westernized representatives of society, and both their travels and their knowledge of American chain restaurants far outdid my own. But the next day, during an English-language conversation club at the American Embassy, it was the same case again, with one or two girls in a crowd of twenty men.

So where were all the ladies? I knew that in coming to the Middle East for the first time, one of my greatest shocks would be encountering gender roles I personally opposed. I also realized that I would have to conform to these roles myself in whatever small way, even if that just meant pulling on a long-sleeve shirt and jeans instead of shorts on a hot day full of pyramid-climbing. But the mere absence of women in my trip to Egypt meant that, as much as I could infer or read up on women’s issues today, I couldn’t simply sit around a table and get an honest, personal perspective—I couldn’t understand those problems as real.

On the eve of our departure we met with Gihan Abou Zeid, human rights activist and an expert on women’s issues in the Arab world. She talked to us about what women are demanding in post-revolutionary Egypt, and about the tenuousness of their position. For example, women were elected to only 8 out of 508 (or less than 2%) of parliamentary seats. Gihan explained to us that the majority of these 8 seats belong to the Muslim Brotherhood, and that these women often resided in “the most traditional wings of the party,” spearheading calls for conservative measures like the reexamination of previous legislation with regard to Sharia law.

Perhaps these statistics underscore something else—the fact that in a democratic Egypt, these numbers are an honest reflection of the barriers to political entry many women face around the country. Gihan explained to us that, while quotas had enforced female representation in parliament before the revolution, these seats were so easily controlled by the ruling party that they had virtually no political force. In essence, the system was dishonest and representation was virtual. And therefore, as disillusioning this lack of representation may be in the short-term, it is perhaps this stark absence of women in the newly elected parliament that can teach people the most about the reality of women’s rights in Egypt, and enable them to finally discuss and address the issues.

But what really struck me in our meeting with Gihan, the first Egyptian woman I had really interacted with throughout our trip, was her kindness and care for each member of our group. We were sitting in the lobby of our hotel, and more than half of our group was coughing violently in rounds like some kind of sad, sickly chamber orchestra. She stopped several times in the midst of a discussion on women’s rights to ask us if we were all right or to sternly but kindly advise us to get better before our flight home. Most of the Egyptians we met were absurdly generous and almost overwhelmingly kind, but I was struck by Gihan’s particular, almost familial care for each member of the group. Meeting Gihan, both on a personal and a professional level, made me hope that if I ever get the chance to come back to the Egypt (and I do hope this trip was not my last) that I will make an effort not only to talk about women’s rights issues more openly, but to interact with more Egyptian women who—if Gihan was anything to go by—were capable of so much kindness and so much care.

The Story of Miss Lalbanu

 The following is a guest blog from AUA Mosaic Scholarship recepient Alison Horton. She is currently volunteering with BRAC in Bangladesh. To find an opportunity like this one, search the AUA Directory of Recommended Organizations©.

 Meet Lalbanu, a feisty, humorous, spitfire of a Bangladeshi woman whom I had the honor of befriending on my first day “in the field.”  Although she didn’t speak a word of English, and my Bangla was quite minimal, I felt comfortable with her right away.  We smiled largely at each other, and she immediately handed me the baby she had been holding in her arms.   Later that day I would hear her story, a triumphant one that I will never forget.

This first trip was to Mymensingh, a rural district about a two to ten hour bus ride from Dhaka, depending on traffic.  Yes, the traffic in and around Dhaka city can be that crazy.  Bright and early my first morning in Mymensingh, we headed out on rickshaws to a nearby village.  We were to attend the Village Organization (VO) meeting.  The VO is a creation of BRAC, and is the backbone of their many programs.  Each VO is composed of only women, an approach BRAC has taken in recognition of both the great need for women’s empowerment and their amazing potential to impact village-wide changes.  Recent statistics count 303,616 BRAC VOs throughout Bangladesh—wow.

The thirty ladies of each VO meet weekly, sitting in a circle on straw mats right on the well-worn dirt in front of someone’s home in their village.  The main and obvious function of the VO is to facilitate BRAC’s microfinance program.  This program offers small loans, usually around 500-5,000 taka (US $6.50 – $65) to women in the villages.  The amount is based on the woman’s situation, family, assets, and plans.  BRAC does not offer these loans to men, with the hope that by working strictly with women, they will gain power and respect in their families and villages. 

As soon as I entered the village and approached the VO circle, I was warmly welcomed and included.   Thirty beautiful Muslim women dressed in traditional sari dresses, smiling at me.  Lalbanu stood up and directed the other women to do the same, a sign of respect and hospitality.  Lalbanu shined as the clear leader of the group.  As I sat down next to her, she placed the baby in my lap and the meeting continued.  We were off to a great start. 

I noticed just one man in the circle: the BRAC program officer.  He attends the weekly meetings, where he takes attendance, recites the “18 Promises” with the women, and receives their weekly loan repayments.  The “18 Promises” are an ingenious aspect of these meetings, and serve to spread awareness regarding a variety of healthy practices.  So, the women of the villages who have joined the VO for the purpose of receiving a small loan end up learning and spreading much needed lessons well beyond just finances.   These promises include “We will send all our children to school,” “We will adopt family planning,” “We will treat our boys and girls equally,” and “We will always drink clean water.”  Such statements address the needs and social injustices most common to the rural areas, and the women have become pioneers sparking great changes. 

After the promises, loan repayment collection, and discussion of any current issues, the women look towards me, eager to ask me questions and happy to answer mine.  I am undoubtedly the whitest person they have ever seen, but to be fair, I am very pale and often whitest person in any setting.  The first question is always whether or not I am married, so I quickly learned to respond, “Ami bibohita na” (I am not married).  Most village women are accustomed to the practice of marrying very young, often in an arranged marriage.  BRAC and other organizations have done great work in shifting respect and prestige for women away from early marriage and onto continued education.  This recent effort to curb early marriage and dowry practice has successfully contributed to a nationwide trend towards further education for girls (more on that in a future blog!).  Regardless, I greatly enjoyed having my translator explain that I am 26, very happily unmarried, and plan to continue my studies until I am 30.  The women always found this quite hysterical.

Lalbanu was especially amused by my ramblings and we planned to meet back up in the afternoon to talk more.  She had been involved with BRAC for over 20 years, and she happily agreed to share her story with us.  We learned that like many women of her generation, she was married off at a very young age (13, she believes) to a much older man.  As is still the practice for most Bangladeshi marriages of all socio-economic strata, she moved in with her new husband and in-laws.  Though unsure of the reasons, she recalls being harassed and beaten by her new “family.”  At some point she realized that she was the man’s second wife.  When they realized that Lalbanu was unable to bear children, the abuse worsened.  She remembers the entire village calling her names and continually disrespecting her.  When things were at their worst, she found the courage to do the unthinkable and leave her in-laws home.  Her husband chose to stand by her and come along.  Though culturally discouraged, they moved elsewhere on their village and tried to make it on their own.  This is when she found BRAC.  

Lalbanu's Husband

Lalbanu’s first involvement with BRAC was in microfinance.  She chose to take a small loan, and thereby joined the VO.  Her husband supported this decision, and they decided to use the 900 taka loan ($12 USD) to buy poultry.  BRAC then gave them free training on raising these chickens and hens, including how to check their health and keep them productive.  They also received training on planting and raising healthy plants on their small property.  Later, BRAC began a program that gives day-old chicks to poor families, and Lalbanu and her husband received these as well. 

Lalbanu had managed to escape a horrible situation and bravely started from scratch.  She successfully managed to get herself and her husband on their own feet, but her road to a better life did not stop there.  Her village had finally begun to respect her, even though she was a second wife and had no children of her own.  About seven years after taking her first loan, BRAC officers had become well aware of her noteworthy strength and feisty spirit.    BRAC chose her to become a “Shasta shebeika”– a health volunteer.  She accepted this challenge and honor, and began receiving trainings from BRAC on veterinary skills, midwifery, infant care, sanitation, and curable disease detection and treatment.  She has now been working as a shasta shebeika for her village for over 12 years.

So, in addition to raising her livestock for food and income, she dedicates her time to the health of her fellow villagers.  She explained that yes, some of her village members are the same who tormented her years ago, but she is a woman of forgiveness and love.  With this health position, she makes a very meager income (300 taka ($4 US) per month) from the medicines she sells.  Moreover, she is a true saint of a volunteer, visiting households for four hours, six days a week.   In total, she covers 176 households.  The seventh day each week she travels to town to collect medicines to bring back and distribute.  She regularly diagnoses and treats TB, a once common cause of death in her village.  She teaches mothers a simple oral rehydration therapy to treat diarrhea, a condition that previously took the lives of over half the village’s babies. 

Her work has not gone unnoticed.  Her dedication has earned her adoration, respect, and appreciation from the very same village that once tormented her.  When she speaks of the work she does as a health volunteer, she completely lights up.  It is clear that this woman has truly found empowerment, confidence, and esteem though this work.  She proudly notes that whenever anyone has a problem, she is the first person they call.   Hard to believe this is the same timid 13 year old girl married off, shunned by her family, and disrespected by her neighbors.  She rocks.

She tells us (and our video camera) her story with confidence and pizzazz, completely comfortable in the large crowd that has gathered around her in adoration and curiosity.  We ask Lalbanu how many babies she has delivered, and she says too many to count, but at least seventy.  Wow, we think, what an amazing accomplishment.  Previously, due to very treatable but undetected and misunderstood birth complications, an absurd amount of mothers and babies were dying in childbirth in her village.  As I sit listening in amazement, with this content and chubby (healthy!) baby in my lap, I wonder, did Lalbanu help deliver this baby?

So we have our translator ask: did she help deliver this baby?  Yes, she casually replies, and that one, that one, that one…and so on.  She points to over twenty babies and children, newborns to teenagers, in the crowd who she helped bring into this world.  The mothers beam with pride for their children, and obvious affection and appreciation for Lalbanu’s amazing service.  We ask to take a picture of Lalbanu with the children she has delivered, and she efficiently starts organizing the crowd.  She takes our request very seriously and does not allow any child in the picture that does not belong!   None of these kids have ever had their photo taken, so naturally we promise a long, fun photo shoot for all after our official Lalbanu-and-her-babies-only shot has been captured. 

By now we are all in love with Lalbanu, her village, and her story.   At a time and place when women had little say in the direction and quality of their lives, she dictated her own path and has become a heroine in her own time.  She may have a dirt floor, just barely enough food to eat, and only a handful of possessions, but she is happy. 

When we ask her what she is most proud of, she casually and quickly mentions the changes her work has brought to her village, the health of the children, the empowerment she feels, blah, blah, blah, and then proudly and slowly announces that BRAC once “picked her up in a car!”  The crowd behind her beams with pride at their feisty and dynamic leader: so amazing she has even been given a ride in a car.   And she is that amazing.

 Keep up the great work Alison!