'I pass by these walls, the walls of Layla /And I kiss this wall and that wall /It's not Love of these houses that has taken my heart /But of the One who dwells in those houses'- Majnoun Layla
Similar to Romeo and Juliet, Majnoun Layla is the tragic love story ofa Bedouin poet of the 7th century. He fell in love with Layla, whose"hair was dark as layl [night]." The poet was not permitted to marryher and went majnoun [mad].
Almost every Arab woman grew up on this poem, expecting this kind of"mad" love in her own life. But of course, in their minds their ownlove stories will end in a happily-ever-after.
I was no different.
In an all-girls school in Saudi Arabia, we were just 15 years old whenwe were first taught this poem. Some of us even memorized thiscomplicated long series of anguished verses.
Around the same time, just one wall away on the other side of ourschool, was the all-boys section. They too were being taught MajnounLayla.
It was near that wall that I had what my diary entry calls "my firstreal love story." It lasted about five minutes, and it involved arandom boy I never actually saw. He threw me a piece of crumpled paperwith one line: "I love your hair." I had pixie-like hair then.
I had gone over near the wall to get a basketball that had gone out ofour playing field and hit the "boys' wall" in mid-game.
I was the co-captain and popular among the girls, and often would getletters from them. But when I received this "love letter" I feltannoyed, excited and angry all at the same time.
I crumpled up the paper again, and threw it back over the wall. I amnot sure why I reacted that way, but I soon regretted not keeping thatnote.
In most societies where genders don't mix outside of family, therelationship between males and females are often tense, muddled withimaginary expectations and fears about what the other gender is reallylike.
People bank on stereotypes and what they have been told represents a"good man" or a "good woman." They search for those ideals when theymeet. From how a partner should look to what he should say, the listwent on, and was all scripted in our young minds back then.
My father is a former professional athlete, muscular and fit, whowould always be working out in a corner of our house. So I imagined myfuture husband to be like him or, if I was lucky, looking more likeArnold Schwarzenegger.
I don't think Arnie realizes just how much he influenced Arab boys andgirls in the 1980s and early 1990s.
When Arnie -- with his long hair, animal skins, armor and hornedhelmet -- got his big break swooshing his sword about in the 1982 movieConan the Barbarian, he left a mark on a whole group of us. I thought,"Wow, now that is the ideal man," in terms of body shape anyway.
And somehow the muscular man we imagined would also have to be"sensitive" like a poet, like the writer of Majnoun Layla and othergreat poets of the Arab world.
Looking back, I see that before the age of internet and exposure, wewere quite innocent and sheltered. We simply didn't understand thereality of things and how complicated intimate relationships reallyare.
The word "sex" was never mentioned directly, and more scientific wordslike "copulation" were rushed through unexplained in our biologyclasses. That was the curriculum in most Arabic and Islamic schools inSaudi Arabia and other Muslim countries.
Marriage was presented as the ultimate goal of every human being;without it one would die "alone and miserable." In Islam, by gettingmarried you "complete half" of your religion, according to ProphetMohammed.
We were encouraged by our teachers to get married as soon as possible,for "men don't like older girls."
So when one of the students in our classroom stopped showing up, wewere told to be "happy" for her as she got married. She had justturned 15. She was indeed one of the prettiest girls in our class, ofmixed Saudi and Syrian origin. She was often called Snow White, thefairest of us all.
The obsession with fair skin and blond hair has long existed acrosscultures, so it was nothing new that she was considered the mostbeautiful cause of her blondish hair, light skin color and greeneyes.
Being more of a tomboy, I was often dismissed and warned that if Idon't become more "ladylike" I would be rejected by all mothers ofsons, who often came to our school's grounds hunting for brides fortheir sons.
I was into sports and into building cupboards back then, too busy forthis marriage stuff. For some odd reason, I had this urge to become acarpenter.
I was lucky to have parents who allowed me to take up odd hobbies, forthey believed these things "build character."But most of my relatives and friends were not this lucky. Their focuswas on getting married as soon as they could.
When we heard the news about Snow White, we clapped and whistled forthe absent bride.
The teacher took us over to our friend's new home. We went in a schoolbus to her mansion in the private-villas part of the coastal city ofJeddah.
When we arrived, we were given the royal treatment, each of us gettinga gift bag filled with perfumes and toys. The bride sat in the centreof a gold and white majlis, a special sitting area. She looked mucholder with her face done up in full make-up.
She kept the same smile the whole time we were there. We chatted awayexcitedly, firing at her all sorts of random questions, which shenever really answered.
"Can we see a picture of Prince Charming?" we kept asking. When themassive framed photo was brought in by two maids, it was the only timethe room went silent for a few minutes.
This was no Arnie, no Cinderella's Prince Charming. We saw a reallyold wrinkly man, whose traditional dress -- a white dishdasha [longrobe], with a matching head gear (ghutra) and black and gold bsht[cloak], didn't manage to hid his unfit body and big belly.
Some of us managed a "congrats" or two, but most of us weren't thatdiplomatic and simply laughed. I cringe when I recall how I made funof his "Muppet-like eyebrows."
The poor bride couldn't hide her tears, and broke down there and then.Before we could do anything about cheering her up, her mother-in-lawdescended from God knows where. We were quickly ushered out and blamedfor making the bride tired with our "silliness."
But before we all left, I spotted the husband leering at us from oneof the balconies. I pointed him out to my close friend, and on cue, weboth stuck our tongues at him and yelled: "You ugly!"
My views on marriage have changed drastically since that time, but Istill feel that there is a widespread perception that Arab and Muslimmen in general are all poetic mad lovers. But then, once they actuallymarry, they become "practical husbands," with certain expectation ofwhat the wife should be like.
Of course this is a generalization, but it would be good to be awareof this next time you wait for your Majnoun Layla.