With a Scarf of My Head

From the fist day, the moment I stepped out of the hotel I had a black scarf draped over my head. It hangs loosely with the front of my hair still visible, but it hides my undercut, stretched ears and the tattoo of flames that runs up the back of my neck. In essence I feel like it hides me; who I am, my rebelliousness and my diversion from the conservative gender norms that rule the country. In short that scarf is my security blanket and my shield. The security it has provided me, I am certain, is not in my own head: it is real.

I haven’t felt scared in Jordan at all, I feel physically very safe, regardless of the constant staring, giggles and comments from everyone around us. Every man we pass ogles and every woman stares. I certainly don’t get the impression that these stares are innocent and judgement free.

Molly hasn’t been covering her hair, though she has been dressing fairly conservatively out of respect for the local culture. I have been forced to cover up a lot more than she has. Because of my tattoos I wear long sleeves and because I am prone to dress in men’s clothes I had raced out to Kmart at 10pm the night before my flight and bought some feminine long shirts and some Aladdin style loose pants. So I dare say I look very respectable for the first time in my life. We joke around that men want to sleep with her but marry me. Every time I catch a glimpse of myself I am taken aback by how demure the scarf makes me look. Though I cant imagine how one bit of cloth can so drastically change a persons persona and so I put it down to the symbolism behind the scarf and everything I have learnt that it represents to people.