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Incandescent
bother us: though that is something of a curse not having women or
any allies at all in the political sphere.
In the last six months, however, word has got around and I have
been inundated with bright young women who are extremely self-
aware, searching for ways to improve their lives and opportunities.
I’ve even had a couple of older women come and talk to me. I am
reminded daily by the extraordinary women with whom I meet of
just how fortunate I am. I never understood the impact that simply
the place of your birth can have on the rest of your life. In Australia,
the world was my oyster.
I am Alison Tatchett and I can do anything
. Here,
opportunities for women are, by comparison, severely limited. Most
haven’t had a secondary education and are incredulous when I tell
themwhy I am here. Of course they have heard and seen on TV that
women can do tertiary study, run a company, do anything a man can.
In practice, however, the situation is different. I do believe that the
Arab Spring has helped… but I am terrified of the Muslim
Brotherhood. I fear that they are the Taliban in suits, enforcing
sharia
one bureaucratic step at a time. It’s been ages since there has
been any reform, and for women barely anything has changed.
I was so naïve a year ago – unaware of the subtle differences
between Australian and Egyptian society. It was a rude awakening,
one terrifying night out on the streets.
Walking through Cairo it’s clear that it’s a modern city with wide boulevards,
stretches of suburbs, and shopping districts full of vibrant markets near the centre
of the town. But it is not a safe city, which is painfully clear in this moment. Dusk
has just fallen and I have not made it back to my apartment yet. I am the only
woman currently walking the streets. I feel a thousand dark eyes following my
every footstep as I briskly move through the crowded city centre. Walking within
‘the light-spilled streets’ narrow banks, the metal stream rolling ceaselessly between
them’ should not be such a terror. Yet as a white woman without a headscarf, I see
hostility rolling off the pedestrians I pass like an inky black shadow, encircling me
with its clinging tendrils and raising the hair at the back of my neck. I am not too
far from my apartment now, thankfully. My shopping feels unnaturally heavy in
my arms.
I find myself wishing for a headscarf to cover myself. My inner idealist has
always railed against the social convention of having to wear one. A dog barks
somewhere in the distance and I stumble, quickly righting myself. I find myself
counting the alleys that I pass on the streets. I’m almost home. Ten minutes, six
alleys. I cannot help but imagine what fate may befall me in one of them.
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