The Saudi Feminist

I see a lot of Arab men for tutoring at my job. Whenever I see an Arabic name on my schedule, I am careful to comport myself in a culturally sensitive manner: I consciously avoid any kind of physical contact, even a bumped elbow on the desk, as we work through grammar problems. I don't want any misunderstandings about my availability.

Consequently, when a student named Saleh appeared on my schedule for Tuesday, I prepared for that kind of reserve. I am usually something of a toucher. Without even realizing it sometimes, I will reach out and lightly touch my interlocutor's arm during a conversation. It's mostly unconscious, but it might have to do with trying to make certain the other person is engaged in the conversation. Maybe it's a holdover from my singing telegram days, when flirtatiousness was de riguer. I don't know. Whatever the reason, I am aware of my behavior and make every effort to curb this habit with Saudi men.

So I was completely surprised when Saleh extended his right hand to shake mine as I greeted him.

I hid my gut reaction and proceeded to begin our tutoring session as usual. We sat at my desk, I jotted down his student ID number, and he got out the essay he wanted to work on. As with most international students, Saleh wanted to look at his grammar, but also to make sure the organization and content were good.

Within the first paragraph, I knew I was working with a very unusual Saudi student.

His essay was about how shocked he was to see women driving cars in the US. But that's not the surprising part. I knew women were not allowed to drive in Saudi Arabia. The surprising part was his attitude toward the phenomenon.

Saleh was writing about the reasons Americans need to drive as an everyday survival skill. And his point of view was that women driving was a good thing.

As we worked through his paragraphs comparing the ways families function in his homeland and here in the US, I couldn't keep a silly grin from my mouth. His essay discussed the isolation and powerlessness women must feel when they cannot drive a sick child to the hospital, but have to wait for an ambulance that might arrive too late. He also cited the common absence of fathers in American families, and the extra burden this places on women, making the ability to drive a matter of survival for them and their families.

I suddenly realized that I was tutoring an extremely rare type of student: Saleh was a Saudi feminist!

I never knew such a creature existed. And I felt extremely lucky, once again, to have the job I have. I get to listen to the interesting and often bizarre stories of students from a myriad of backgrounds and experience level. They share with me their struggles with teenaged parenthood, drug and alcohol addiction, physical abuse from parents and partners, abandonment, adoption, death, disease, and fear of all kinds.

And now I have heard the story of a Saudi who believes women should be able to drive and have more power and independence.

I believe I might have heard it all now.