Final thoughts

            I am so grateful to have been born a woman in America. However, my sisters in other parts of the world are so much less fortunate.

            I have visited France, Italy and Germany in Western Europe. German and France actually rank higher than the US on the 2014 Global Gender Gap Index. But, lower employment rates, more temporary occupations, under representation in government and violence against women are still the norm in all these countries.

            In cosmopolitan Rio de Janero, Brazil and Capetown, South Africa the dramatic difference between rich and poor gives the illusion that wealthy, educated women are doing well. But we know these cultures spread misinformation about AIDS being cured y copulation with a virgin and continue patriarchal traditions that de-value women. In the rural areas of these countries little has changed for women.

            In the large cities I have visited in China, I got the sense that communism leveled the playing field, everyone was equally miserable. But gendercide of baby girls, forced abortion for gender selection and higher suicide rates for women combined with the high number of sex workers creates an oppressive environment for women.

            Even with my experiences of traveling to these countries and eleven others throughout the world, my eyes were opened to the plight of women in the world when I recently visited Turkey and Morocco, both Islamic countries. It is one thing to know something in the abstract and quite another to see it for yourself.

            My visit to these countries occurred during Ramadan and perhaps that is something that influenced my perceptions. People flocked to Istanbul and Marrakesh during the observance of Ramadan to celebrate their faith.

            I saw their obedience to their religion on the grounds of the Hippodrome as they waited for the Iman’s call from the Blue Mosque in Istanbul with sumptuous picnics laid before them. I saw women covered in burquas, veiled so completely that they had no choice but to be led by their husbands through the throngs . . . because they simply could not see well enough to navigate on their own.   

            In many ways Istanbul is very cosmopolitan. On a single bench I saw the full range of appropriate dress, from a completely veiled woman to a woman in a burgua with her face uncovered to a woman in a “coat” over western clothes to western clothes with only a hajib to a woman in shorts and a t-shirt. They were chatting gaily among themselves as if their clothing was of no consequence.

            When men were present, these same chatty women became quiet and seemed to draw into themselves. Even alone, they were reticent to make eye contact with me. And, if they were curious about me, they seemed afraid to engage with me.

            Even though I dressed with respect for their culture in a long skirt, long sleeved shirt and scarf at the ready to cover my head, I experienced the contempt and disgust of several men when I walked by. Just being “western” and obviously foreign was enough to invoke the disapproval of many of the men I saw around the Hippodrome. Frankly, it disturbed and frightened me and I asked my husband to never leave my side.

            These women of Islam are victims of a religious dogma that never blossomed through a reformation to acknowledge the value of women in their society. What I saw confirmed my belief that the demeanor of the women is in place to protect them from the consequences of a system over which they have no control.

            Again, I say, I am grateful for having been born a woman in America.

            In Morocco, the Islamic women wore colorful caftans with hoods thrown back leaving their hair and faces uncovered. They walked with a lighter step, spoke to me and looked me in the eye. However, they too were never alone, never far from a male or other women or children. While I felt their situation was much improved over the Islamic women of Turkey, I knew they were subject to many of the same restrictions. There weren’t women shop keepers, or taxi drivers or waiters. The women seemed to occupy the lower levels of employment, maids and cooks. In the  2014 Global Gender Gap Index, Morocco ranks 129^th out of 136 countries in the state of women in four categories; health, education, economy and politics. So their situation over all, is actually worse than Turkey that is ranked 125^th.

I also had the privilege of visiting the Republic of Georgia on my recent trip. Georgia is primarily orthodox Christian. The women in Tbilisi, the capital, were open, dressed in Western clothing and the ones I met were cosmopolitan. The women I met in the remote villages of the Caucasus Mountains were relegated to the kitchen in which they prepared the amazing traditional dishes for our dinners.

Only my female traveling companion and I were allowed to sit at the table with the men. I learned later that this was because we were considered honored guests, a status conferred upon us because of the men with whom we were traveling. We were expected to participate in the numerous toasts but were instructed not to stand as the men did with each toast.

The women of rural Georgia were much more outgoing than the Islamic women I encountered in Turkey or Morocco. They dressed western clothing and their peasant scarves were for warmth first and covering their hair when they entered a church second. They were proud of their culinary accomplishments, and rightly so. But they were not allowed to eat with us. This tradition, formed over generations of isolation in the mountains, felt very different from the subjugation of the Islamic women I’d seen. However, I have to recognize that subjugation is subjugation regardless of the reason or motivation.

Some of the most impactful moments of our trip were when I ventured into Georgian kitchens after our meals to thank our hostesses. Even though I spoke no Georgian and they spoke no English, we were able to make ourselves understood. Tears glistened in all our eyes as I took each of their hands in mine and thanked them for the honor of dining at their table. Somehow they knew my sentiments were heart felt.

As I reflect on this amazing experience, I am reminded of how lucky I am to have been born a woman in America. My options are almost limitless. Yes, there are still things that need to change to make American women as equal as American men. But, after seeing the way women in other parts of the world live their lives in constant fear of the men they “belong” to, I am proud to stand up and say I am an American woman.