I have become a streetwalker. I love getting lost in the alleys of the souk (Souq Waqif) in Doha, which mixes that tradition of the Arab world with hints of modernity that appear in the corners. It is a market where you can find everything, from the most typical to the most surreal. The other day a gray parrot from one of the stalls stared at me and I was tempted to strike up a conversation with him but gave up as he only spoke Arabic. As you walk, the smells guide you: spices, the sweetness of honey or intoxicating oriental perfumes.
One afternoon I came to a square surrounded by beach bars, I was a little tired and I sat down on a bench to watch the people. Suddenly, some Qatari women approached me, covered from top to bottom, who greeted me very kindly and asked if they could sit next to me. And there began one of the most interesting conversations I've had in recent years. One of them had a glass in her hand. I asked her what she was drinking and she told me, to my surprise, that it was a Spanish latte. I confess that I was somewhat perplexed, because I did not know of its existence. And the woman, without hesitating for a moment, went to get me one and invited me. It is the traditional coffee with milk, in a hot or cold version.
While I was sipping the coffee, which I chose to drink cold because the heat was quite unbearable, the mother told me that all the women in the family had gone out together to have fun that afternoon. They wore the classic abaya and covered their faces with a Qatari burqa (it differs from the Afghan because the latter has a piece of black cloth on the nose). I asked them if they wouldn't like to dress like me and they answered that they already dress like that. They showed me what they were wearing under their black clothes and assured me that when they are not in the street they also wear low-cut, with straps or showing their arms. The conversation was livening up. They began to rehearse ways to celebrate their national team's goals: if they would wave their handkerchiefs, if they would do a dance (at home, of course)... And they began to laugh out loud and shout, synonymous with having a good time. . A café full of laughter that was interrupted by a group of Qatari men, dressed in white and turbaned, who glared at them. Suddenly the laughter died down, they sat down on the bench and looked scared. "But why?" I asked them. They answered me: “We have been scandalous. Men have been offended and we cannot do that. Not well". Offended? They? For a few laughs in the middle of the street having a coffee?
Despite everything, they were happy and even asked me for a photo. I did it and I asked them for one too, to take the memory of those good times with me. But they didn't let me. His response was blunt: "If the emir sees us in photos out there, he will cut our throats," and they made the gesture with their hand. A gesture that struck me and they noticed it. The farewell was something that I did not expect because of the affection they showed. They shook my hand and their eyes were telling me that they had a good time. I had the same feeling, although in this case, apart from my eyes, they could also see my smile that reached from ear to ear and there was no black cloth to cover it.
