I need help finding the persuasive techniques in this article..
Dressing to discourage prying eyes ... to little avail
Selma Milovanovic
May 29, 2010
HE IS about 18, dressed in a fake Ralph Lauren T-shirt and jeans. I am 30 and covered from head to toe, according to local custom.
As I walk through a narrow bazaar in Banda Aceh, the young salesman sitting on a barstool outside his tiny shop has this to say: ''Mee-ow!''
The high-pitched squeal is as hilarious as it is surprising.
Advertisement: Story continues below
I didn't catch his next utterance, or the loud comments of his mates, but an Indonesian woman later explained it was better for me not to have understood it.
Apparently, the boy's next offering was a phrase akin to the Australian trucking vernacular ''show us yer tits''.
In this conservative pocket of Indonesia, where partially introduced Islamic law stiffly punishes unmarried people seen in public with members of the opposite sex, everyday life is usually governed by extreme politeness.
Apparently, this rule doesn't always apply to mouthy youngsters, who, like confident young bucks everywhere, wolf-whistle and yell out as they see fit.
The vast majority of Acehnese women cover their hair, elbows and ankles at all times. My outfit consists of a jilbab, or headscarf, tightly fastened with a pin, a below-the-knee tunic and very loose, long pants.
I am travelling through Aceh with a group of Western journalists, mostly women. We stick out like sore thumbs anyway, so it is easier to follow local dress rules. Besides, politicians, religious and civic leaders are more likely to answer our tough questions if we wear the jilbab. Or so we think.
The first briefing is with Husaini Syamaun, a local government official. But after exchanging greetings, his first comment has nothing to do with local politics. ''Thanks for wearing the jilbab,'' he says. And then, more surprisingly, ''You look just like Indonesian women, only prettier.''
His posse, sitting in a small adjoining room, break out in peals of laughter. We smile politely, but later discuss how such a comment could have been received in an Australian context. Imagine, say, a state government minister making the same aside to a visiting delegation of sari-wearing Indian women who suddenly decide to change to jeans and a T-shirt. Offensive? You bet.
I have visited other countries with a Muslim majority before, travelling alone.
In Syria - where Muslim women's dress varies from loose headscarves with tight jeans and a long shirt to a black burqa with gloves - I also covered up. There, as in Aceh, I was stopped by many elderly women, and some elderly men, pointing to my headscarf and offering broad smiles and a thumbs-up.
''For you [Western women], there are no obligations to wear it,'' says Tengku Faisal Ali, spokesman for Aceh's most prominent religious group, which backed the introduction of sharia (Islamic law). ''No one will be offended if you don't wear it but if you do, it is seen as a sign of respect.''
The last word goes to a male friend in Australia, whose comment on my Islamic outfit was not much different to that mentioned at the start of this column.
''Hot,'' he offered, in response to a mobile phone shot of me in my jilbab. Boys will be boys.
Dressing to discourage prying eyes ... to little avail
Selma Milovanovic
May 29, 2010
HE IS about 18, dressed in a fake Ralph Lauren T-shirt and jeans. I am 30 and covered from head to toe, according to local custom.
As I walk through a narrow bazaar in Banda Aceh, the young salesman sitting on a barstool outside his tiny shop has this to say: ''Mee-ow!''
The high-pitched squeal is as hilarious as it is surprising.
Advertisement: Story continues below
I didn't catch his next utterance, or the loud comments of his mates, but an Indonesian woman later explained it was better for me not to have understood it.
Apparently, the boy's next offering was a phrase akin to the Australian trucking vernacular ''show us yer tits''.
In this conservative pocket of Indonesia, where partially introduced Islamic law stiffly punishes unmarried people seen in public with members of the opposite sex, everyday life is usually governed by extreme politeness.
Apparently, this rule doesn't always apply to mouthy youngsters, who, like confident young bucks everywhere, wolf-whistle and yell out as they see fit.
The vast majority of Acehnese women cover their hair, elbows and ankles at all times. My outfit consists of a jilbab, or headscarf, tightly fastened with a pin, a below-the-knee tunic and very loose, long pants.
I am travelling through Aceh with a group of Western journalists, mostly women. We stick out like sore thumbs anyway, so it is easier to follow local dress rules. Besides, politicians, religious and civic leaders are more likely to answer our tough questions if we wear the jilbab. Or so we think.
The first briefing is with Husaini Syamaun, a local government official. But after exchanging greetings, his first comment has nothing to do with local politics. ''Thanks for wearing the jilbab,'' he says. And then, more surprisingly, ''You look just like Indonesian women, only prettier.''
His posse, sitting in a small adjoining room, break out in peals of laughter. We smile politely, but later discuss how such a comment could have been received in an Australian context. Imagine, say, a state government minister making the same aside to a visiting delegation of sari-wearing Indian women who suddenly decide to change to jeans and a T-shirt. Offensive? You bet.
I have visited other countries with a Muslim majority before, travelling alone.
In Syria - where Muslim women's dress varies from loose headscarves with tight jeans and a long shirt to a black burqa with gloves - I also covered up. There, as in Aceh, I was stopped by many elderly women, and some elderly men, pointing to my headscarf and offering broad smiles and a thumbs-up.
''For you [Western women], there are no obligations to wear it,'' says Tengku Faisal Ali, spokesman for Aceh's most prominent religious group, which backed the introduction of sharia (Islamic law). ''No one will be offended if you don't wear it but if you do, it is seen as a sign of respect.''
The last word goes to a male friend in Australia, whose comment on my Islamic outfit was not much different to that mentioned at the start of this column.
''Hot,'' he offered, in response to a mobile phone shot of me in my jilbab. Boys will be boys.