The dirtiest words I've heard in Doha: "Mobile number?"
Let me explain...
A few months ago I went to a local grocery store. A small, simple one, nothing fancy. As I pulled into the parking space an older Qatari man pulled in next to me, in his SUV. There was brief eye contact, a smile and nod, and we went into the store separately.
As I walked through the store we crossed paths occasionally, and again, as most American do, I smiled a little and gave a quick nod.
We checked out around the same time, I put my groceries into the car, got in, and was about to start the car when he came over and knocked on my window. I opened it.
I can't remember exactly what was said, but it became clear that he didn't speak more than a couple of words of English, and I speak no Arabic. He indicated that he was Qatari, asked my nationality, and kept talking. I tried to indicate that I didn't understand him. He leaned on the edge of my window, and gestured, with his hands coming into the car, chucking me lightly under the chin.
None of this felt particularly threatening, but in a world where western expat women don't interact with locals, let alone local men, it did seem strange.
He asked for my mobile (cell phone) number, and I had a warning twinge in my gut. I said no, if we don't speak the same language, what would we talk about on the phone? He pressed the point a little bit, but eventually I was able to disengage and drive away.
I was left confused. Had I just been hit on? Was this a Qatari man proud of his country who would want to invite me home to dinner with his wives? Had I just dodged a creepy bullet, or just missed a chance to make a rare personal connection with a local?
A few days later I was having lunch with a Kuwaiti friend. I told her the story, asked if she thought he was hitting on me.
Oh, yes, she said. He was absolutely hitting on me.
There is no way that he ever would have acted like that with a Khaleeji woman, particularly the way he got into my personal space, and touched me, however briefly.
And let me be clear about what was being implied. This man is surely married, probably to more than one woman. He would not be suggesting a pleasant dinner, conversation, getting to know one another and building international goodwill. No, he was assuming, and hoping, that a western woman is up for anything, at a moment's notice and with little preamble. Though he was probably using more flowery language, this was a raw come-on, pure and simple.
A few weeks later I went back to the same store, and again, an older Qatari man in his giant SUV parked next to me. This time I tried to avoid eye contact. We went inside, and moments after we passed the row of shopping carts he grunted out to me, "Mobile number?"
This time, knowing what that meant, I pasted a dramatic scowl on my face, wagged my finger at him, and said with as much disdain as I could, "No, no, no!"
I still saw him several more times as I did my shopping, glaring at him whenever we passed. He finished more quickly than I did and was gone by the time I got back to my car.
For the next few days, whenever I thought about this, I felt dirty. A stranger saying "Mobile number" had felt as gross to me as seeing a flasher on an American subway.
But it WAS gross. The assumptions that these men make about western women, about our sexual behavior and standards, are gross. Their treatment of us in ways that they would never treat local women, in ways that would distress them if a man behaved this way toward their women relatives, is gross.
But it's a little funny too. I am a middle aged, educated woman, who works in a field that is often stereotyped as asexual. At this point in my life I was not expecting to be painted as a woman of easy virtue. But I guess it's never too late.
Let me explain...
A few months ago I went to a local grocery store. A small, simple one, nothing fancy. As I pulled into the parking space an older Qatari man pulled in next to me, in his SUV. There was brief eye contact, a smile and nod, and we went into the store separately.
As I walked through the store we crossed paths occasionally, and again, as most American do, I smiled a little and gave a quick nod.
We checked out around the same time, I put my groceries into the car, got in, and was about to start the car when he came over and knocked on my window. I opened it.
I can't remember exactly what was said, but it became clear that he didn't speak more than a couple of words of English, and I speak no Arabic. He indicated that he was Qatari, asked my nationality, and kept talking. I tried to indicate that I didn't understand him. He leaned on the edge of my window, and gestured, with his hands coming into the car, chucking me lightly under the chin.
None of this felt particularly threatening, but in a world where western expat women don't interact with locals, let alone local men, it did seem strange.
He asked for my mobile (cell phone) number, and I had a warning twinge in my gut. I said no, if we don't speak the same language, what would we talk about on the phone? He pressed the point a little bit, but eventually I was able to disengage and drive away.
I was left confused. Had I just been hit on? Was this a Qatari man proud of his country who would want to invite me home to dinner with his wives? Had I just dodged a creepy bullet, or just missed a chance to make a rare personal connection with a local?
A few days later I was having lunch with a Kuwaiti friend. I told her the story, asked if she thought he was hitting on me.
Oh, yes, she said. He was absolutely hitting on me.
There is no way that he ever would have acted like that with a Khaleeji woman, particularly the way he got into my personal space, and touched me, however briefly.
And let me be clear about what was being implied. This man is surely married, probably to more than one woman. He would not be suggesting a pleasant dinner, conversation, getting to know one another and building international goodwill. No, he was assuming, and hoping, that a western woman is up for anything, at a moment's notice and with little preamble. Though he was probably using more flowery language, this was a raw come-on, pure and simple.
A few weeks later I went back to the same store, and again, an older Qatari man in his giant SUV parked next to me. This time I tried to avoid eye contact. We went inside, and moments after we passed the row of shopping carts he grunted out to me, "Mobile number?"
This time, knowing what that meant, I pasted a dramatic scowl on my face, wagged my finger at him, and said with as much disdain as I could, "No, no, no!"
I still saw him several more times as I did my shopping, glaring at him whenever we passed. He finished more quickly than I did and was gone by the time I got back to my car.
For the next few days, whenever I thought about this, I felt dirty. A stranger saying "Mobile number" had felt as gross to me as seeing a flasher on an American subway.
But it WAS gross. The assumptions that these men make about western women, about our sexual behavior and standards, are gross. Their treatment of us in ways that they would never treat local women, in ways that would distress them if a man behaved this way toward their women relatives, is gross.
But it's a little funny too. I am a middle aged, educated woman, who works in a field that is often stereotyped as asexual. At this point in my life I was not expecting to be painted as a woman of easy virtue. But I guess it's never too late.
