Feminism, Saudi Arabia

Finding a Voice in the Dessert

desert

We whisper in the desert, afraid that our voices may be heard.  We have been conditioned by the stories of the desert to believe that a voice above a whisper may awaken the harsh desert winds that fill our mouths with searing heat and stinging sands, strangling us into silence.  We close our mouths, we cover our faces to sneak across the desert, cloaked in black silently to avoid awakening the snake and scorpions that are awaiting their easy prey.  The predators of the desert have learned that the winds of the desert have made us easy prey.  We silently fall to the ground without an audible voice believing that our voices have no power of the truths we may speak; we have been conditioned by the desert that our feminine mystique makes our God given gift of voice, is instead an error of our evolution.

There is beauty in the desert, in which silence has its place: a time of reflection, a time of introspection, and a time to nurture ourselves at the oasis.  My journey across the desert has taught me survival skills, in which silence does not always have a place.  The scorpions and snakes, which await their prey, often scurry into the sand when a voice calls out, putting them in their place.  The mirages in the desert can make one lose their way, wasting a voice on illusions, and losing one’s footing as quicksand sucks them into the ground.  Surviving the desert involves learning when to whisper and conserving our energy, and when to raise God’s gift of having a voice.  Thus far I have survived both the beauty and hell of the desert  as the changing winds blow,  the gritty sand may find its way to my mouth; a  price to pay for having a voice, but alas I have survived.

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