Angels of the Shooting Club
Youssef Rakha broaches social transformation
Starting a conversation with a 12- or 13-year-old girl is somewhat like threading a needle. You try to make the thread as thin, as pointed, as unobtrusive as possible. You hold the needle fast. You aim. And the motion of your hand must be as subtle, as direct, as effortless as possible. Only then can you pull the thread through the fabric.
The combination of a complicated question -- how might present-day middle- class girls in their early teens be different from their counterparts from previous generations? -- and five interlocutors at the Shooting Club is at best a disorienting experience. Some ways in which they are not different become apparent even before the conversation is underway: the surface frivolity, the giggles, the sudden bouts of self- righteous seriousness, an altogether overbearing self awareness. And certain well-worn topics demonstrating the universal character of the female teenager crop up spontaneously: television, the telephone, the competition between school work and fun.
"I mean, what exactly is it that you want to talk about?" one garrulous, bespectacled specimen begins her session of intermittent sermonising. "If you're going to write something, you must have a specific topic in mind." Others have gathered, listening intently, contributing the occasional guarded comment. "Call back in an hour," one of them says as she fields another mobile phone call from an absent friend, lounging within walking distance. "We're busy talking to some journalists. We're busy with the press, I said."
As you explain your intentions -- "what is it that makes you and your group of friends different from girls like you 20 or 30 years ago, or girls like you in Europe?" and so on, the elements begin to fall into place. As middle- class city dwellers these denizens of the Shooting Club are, on the surface at least, indistinguishable from their counterparts elsewhere in the world -- or from those of earlier times. When they're not doing their homework -- and one suspects they are often not doing their homework -- they listen to pop music. (One interesting development is that, contrary to their predecessors of not so long ago, who listened exclusively to Western music, these girls whole-heartedly embrace Egyptian pop.) They spend inordinate periods of time watching television and chatting on the phone. "One thing that's specific to our generation," the bespectacled specimen points out, "is the Internet." Yet it turns out that the use of the information highway tends to be restricted to chat sessions -- often with the same friends.
"We spend a lot of time together in each others' homes doing all these things or just sitting about," the most self-possessed among them explains. "And then we go out." It is at this point that what little overlap exists between their largely sheltered world and the rest of society becomes manifest. The fact is that they seldom go out individually. If they are not in each others' company, their parents will be hanging about. Very often at the Shooting Club, their parents are not too far away.
"We socialise with boys, yes, of course," the self-possessed little lady offers. ("It was only to be expected that, our parents having sent us to mixed schools, we would end up having boyfriends as well; nor should it be seen as strange or unbecoming that we mix with boys, so long as both boy and girl do not overdo being friendly or overstep the normal boundaries." The bespectacled specimen's gloss, this.) But where boys are present they only go out in groups -- that seems to be the rule -- or else, and this is when the conversation becomes interesting, they will be with their boyfriend, usually within the club precincts and, to all intents and purposes, within sight of the aforementioned parents.
One way in which these girls differ from their counterparts in previous generations is their lack of romanticism. "Of course, eventually," the smallest in the gathering , who also happens to adopt the most grown-up attitude, points out, "I want to get married and have a family. But when I am with someone it never really occurs to me that it will go on, no," she considers, "not till the time when we're old enough to get married."
Others point out that such relationships are merely temporary, that "men" have the tendency to get bored and run away before too long and that one mustn't get too involved emotionally or take a serious risk. "What, a kiss on the cheek -- are you mad?" The interaction remains as Platonic as it should, of course; and all that differentiates between a friend and a boyfriend is the nature of the feelings. So long as the prevailing status quo is maintained, nothing can be labelled wrong or haram [forbidden]. "You have to remember that there is such a thing as reputation," the embodiment of self-possession puts in, "as people will talk about you. If you are seen walking around alone with a boy, let alone kissing him in greeting, that immediately implies that the two of you are together. Then, if the next day you are seen doing the same things with someone else, that means you're a bad girl, doesn't it?"
Notwithstanding the bespectacled specimen's protestations to the effect that, even if there was no danger of people talking about you, that wouldn't make such actions right, the general tenor is one of conservatism. "In Europe they are very different," one girl explains. "Their thinking, their relationship with religion, their morals. We are not like them, but we are not like traditional Egyptians either. This must be the source of the confusion. No matter what happens, though, we cannot let ourselves do these things. Have a boyfriend by all means, if you're going to be serious about it, but let him kiss you on the cheek? No." ("And if that boyfriend had an ounce of respect for you in the first place, why on earth would he want to do such a thing. In the end it's the girl who determines whether boys will respect her or not. If you behave in the wrong way, they might think it's okay to do such things. But then, rightly I think, they won't ever respect you." The bespectacled specimen again.) Never mind that we dress like them, speak their languages and look up to their culture. In Europe, all agree, people are just "over" -- too liberal in their behaviour, that is. Nor is it a question of identity. "How can our parents allow it?"
As the grown-up girl reviews her history of nine boyfriends -- relationships that "just didn't work out" -- she notices that her current boyfriend's friend has spotted her talking to a grown-up man and becomes a little apprehensive about it. "Of course not," she murmurs, looking down. "None of them kissed me on the cheek, no." Others have launched into conflicting accounts of particular episodes, arguments and disputes are breaking out. But the most overpowering feeling is that concerned middle-class parents are sipping drinks within walking distance of the gathering, "open- mindedly" monitoring the girls' behaviour even though they can't see it.
