The Traditonal Way

That is the way of the Muslim woman.  The way that we are all expected to follow; similar to the inevitable life cycle of a plant, the natural order of the universe.  The way the planets are aligned around the sun, orbiting the golden orb endlessly, suspended perpetually in limbo, inevitably turning, turning.  It’s natural.

 

Thus, the Traditional Way is to be born, and in our birth there is mush rejoicing, celebratory congratulations: it’s a girl, no shame in that; after all, we’re not Hindus are we?  She’s so beautiful; she’s so fair mashaAllah; she has her mother’s eyes, let’s pray inshaAllah she’s pious like her. 

 

The rejoicing leads to schooling, teaching and learning, life skills and the useless ones they teach you at school too.  Our schooling always involves the art that is being a girl, a true girl.  The clang of cooking pots, the powerful sting of onions: a reminder of the tears of injustice felt during our adolescence.  The Traditional Way involves learning the art of Womanhood: negotiating the complex world of kitchens, housekeeping, sewing, attending to the sick, moving graciously through the political world of family social events, serving guests, making the tea at just the right time: not too early after their arrival as it may be seen as trying to get rid of them too quickly, but not leaving it too late as one does not want to leave one’s guests sitting without a table filled with tea, biscuits, those evil cake rusks from the Asian shop and a pile and fruit, for fear that they might starve whilst they sit in your house for two hours.  The delicate balance of the timing of hospitality, hanging precariously like the moustache of an Asian Aunt over protruding lips, an art form, a kind of pre-meditative state, only to be achieved through rigorous training and exercise.  Very much like the moustache, the art is a cruel master, little reward offered for success but the prick of a thorny moustached-kiss on the cheek for every failure: every kebab not cooked perfectly, every roti (chapatti) not perfectly round.    

 

Once mastered, the art of Womanhood is an invaluable skill, an art form akin to a Buddhist’s achievement of the state of nirvana, a higher state of consciousness, a state to be revered and treated with great care.  Those who fail to master this art, as women, are often seen as incomplete; having said that, those who slot into the Traditional Way need not worry about the art of Womanhood, as often women who can’t wipe their own arses, let alone make a eight-course Asian dinner are accepted into Traditional Society as they fulfil the requirements of marriage and copious procreation.

 

Thus, it is natural that after mastering the much-revered, little-recognised art of Womanhood, there is a progression onto better, greater things.  It goes without saying that many “women” who have mastered the art of Womanhood have also excelled in professional worlds too, seamlessly weaving domestic education with their chosen field, a patchwork quilt woven with the material of impeccable organisation, sewn together with the precarious stitches of hard work, living a double-life in order to reconcile domestic duties and a secular education. 

 

Secular education and living a double-life aside, it is a natural progression, part of the sacred Traditional Way that a woman is quite rightly to be placed officially on the marriage market.  In extreme Traditional Ways, this is often an insular family affair, with extended families involved at every stage; this is clearly dependent upon families and their circumstances.  In some cases, the carefully “outing” of a woman expertly trained in the art of Womanhood is a little less insular, with family friends making introductions, aging “Auntie-types” suggesting the local bad boy as a potential mate.   Searching for a spouse the Traditional Way warrants its own novel, its own saga; it’s a topic that one cannot do justice to without flags, banners and that very tacky tinsel used at Christmas and Asian weddings.

 

Therefore we will ignore the digression and console ourselves with the knowledge that the natural progression, if one is to follow the sacred Traditional Way is to marry into a well-respected family and live out a “happily-ever-after”, procreating, rearing, cooking, slotting seamlessly into the new family, adopting them as your own.  All of this is natural and quite necessary, far be it for me to scoff or scorn at this; this is after all what the loins are for; don’t misunderstand, this is all to be revered, a conditional to aspire to; we all want to find a suitable life partner, grow old and be comfortable with one another’s corns, trimming them when necessary.

 

Life under the Traditional Way involves living out the ultimate dream: living within close proximity of in-laws – sometimes even in the same house – or close enough to your parents if your Traditional Way marriage involved a trip abroad to secure the good; working not too far from home, arriving home to share your chores – if the husband is a woolly liberal – cooking the dinner, cleaning the house, only to do it all over again the next day.  Weekends function pretty much the same way: cooking, often for the in-laws, inviting guests over, going to visit your parents or numerous relatives, cooking, eating and talking.  This all sounds very serene and relaxed, a perpetual holiday if you like, living the dream of the Traditional Way.  Bliss. 

 

But what of those for whom this is not enough?  What of those who want a little more?  Not only in the musical Oliver! Did they exclaim, “What?! You want MORE?!”  This exclamation rings out throughout the corridors when one dares to suggest the Traditional Way is not enough, shattering the illusion of a world based on perpetual happiness through procreation and deference to one’s spouse.  Some of us want more than the cooking, cleaning and copulating like which is presented before us as an ideal, causing problems with the society and raising questions of our sanity. 

 

It’s not considered a part of the Traditional Way to want to use your skills to help people less fortunate.  Of course charity is important, they exclaim, but what is wrong with donating some money?  Women who want to travel, yes, travel, (with spouses I might add) are considered slightly deranged, if not a little unhinged. 

 

Look, volunteering is all very well and good, but when will you have children?  This question rings out at every turn, as if a woman is a baby-producing, breast-feeding bovine, raised only to raise her own, a vessel for carrying and feeding.  Can one travel and not have children at the same time?  After all, women are naturally gifted at multitasking – one only has to observe one making a fifteen course Asian dinner to see this.  If a woman can cook fifteen courses, look after her in-laws, feed the baby, iron her husband’s clothes and also have a career at the same time, would it not be safe to say she could have children AND (haven forbid) help someone in another country for a few months of the year?

 

The Traditional Way does not allow for such reprobates and renegades to exist without being labelled as “independent;” a word that cannot be uttered without its characteristically damning inverted commas, a slight sneer on the lips and a shake of the head.  “You know Muhammad’s daughter?  Yes, she’s quite, ‘independent’, does charity work.”          

 

Let’s hope one day, somewhere out there will be the male equivalent of such an ‘independent’ woman, the same ideals, unfulfilled with the Traditional Way, wanting a little bit more.  In the meantime, we can but pray and occasionally hum the songs from Oliver!