Looking back at my life, I have only written 3 letters. One was an overly sappy love letter to an ex that I’m pretty sure was thrown away as soon as she got it. The other was one from “my parents” to the school excusing me from band because I was horrible at it. And the last one was a strongly worded letter to Kinder for changing the toys in the Kinder Surprise chocolate eggs. This letter shall be added to my portfolio of fascinating literary works and this letter is an ode to the humble Shawarma.
I was first introduced to feminism in university in the land down under, Australia. One afternoon during a rather intense game of Call of Duty, I heard rhythmic chants and the mumbled voices of protest. Curious, I went down to see a group of women, both young and old, holding signs which read “Equal Pay, we won’t go away” and my personal favorite “Girls just wanna have FUNdamental rights.” My curiosity then took a sudden turn to intrigue as I had never seen a protest before. Scratch that. I HAD NEVER SEEN WOMEN PROTEST BEFORE.
I live in the Middle East, to be more specific the Arabian Gulf region. The GCC is a melting pot of different nationalities and cultures and we all live in acceptance and adopt a lot of the characteristics that these cultures bring with them. For example, until 1965, in Bahrain, the Indian Rupee was used as a form of currency and this has lived on. The official denomination is Fils but it is commonly called a “Rubiah” which is a direct alliteration of the word Rupee. Additionally, this mixing of influences can be seen in the food, dialect and cultural and societal norms.