I want to marry an Egyptian, or what is Arab love. Eastern love - a fairy-tale mirage or cruel reality

Photo-1L “Finally, I’ve arrived,” I thought, landing on Egyptian soil. I don't like flying, but for the sake of a trip to the land of dreams, I will overcome this phobia. When I went outside, I immediately felt the pleasant rays of the sun, a light southern breeze, and I could already hear the sound of the sea nearby. And a wave of arrogant and persistent male attention immediately hit me: all women who set foot on the eastern soil feel it...

Often, at such a resort, the hot sun begins to bake into your head, a slight intoxication hits you, and in your soul there are only feelings and emotions. And even more so with such colossal male attention... In southern countries, any girl (woman) feels like a queen, catching the admiring glances of men. To add some zest to a delightful vacation, you need to start a holiday romance with one of the local macho men. There are a lot of candidates for the role of a resort lover, there are a dime a dozen of them here, and everyone rewards you with pleasant compliments and boundless attention... It’s very hard to resist. They tell women that they are ready to destroy all the pyramids into small grains of sand for their sake. And many single girls who are disappointed in men of the “domestic manufacturer”, and women who for a long time they walk alone, holding hands tightly, take risks and fall into the pool of beautiful phrases and promises of eastern men.

This is how a fairy tale called “Eastern Love” begins... Looking at Arab men, one gets the impression that in their heads, instead of thoughts, rousing music constantly sounds, and crazy wine flows in their veins. They intoxicate, intoxicate with their beautiful phrases, with compliments that we have never heard in our lives, they give us the fairy tale we dreamed of, they know how to beautifully present a story about the meaning of life and the fairy-tale love that they saw in our eyes. We look at them with fascination and sincerely believe that this is true. They give something that a European man could hardly give.

Of course, many of us do not consider Arabs at all as candidates for a holiday romance, but this will not stop them and they will still bombard us with compliments and look at us as a lady who is in search of love. Photo-2R

Everything at the resort is developing at an enviable speed. There are too many extraordinary and spectacular actions there. An ordinary holiday romance quickly develops into love and for many girls it becomes a drug: they will no longer be able to live long without these oriental vibes. It is these Arabs who know how to love that make you feel truly desired and loved.

We enjoy every minute of this false love that so abruptly burst into our hearts and drove us crazy. All this sounds so fabulous and fantastic, but, as you know: “in a barrel of honey, not without a fly in the ointment.” Maybe we should look at the other side of the coin?

When we arrive at the resort, we cannot soberly assess the situation. There are too many fabulous things around: the sea, the sun, palm trees, and too much male attention. The most interesting thing is that the attitude of local men towards our tourists is not serious. They often, behind their backs, call Slavic girls “sharmuts”, i.e. prostitutes. They believe that our girls come to the resort not only for new experiences, but also for new love. We reason and blame the Egyptians for their immoral behavior, but, most likely, we ourselves create all these unworthy situations. Many of our actions cease to obey logic, the mind turns off, and we become hostage to our feelings and emotions.

Unfortunately, girls forget that Eastern men are suitors by their calling. And yet, they forget that the period of beautiful courtship and stormy nights ends as quickly as it all began. Often, Eastern love ends in tears, broken hearts, and sometimes even destinies. A fairy-tale mirage crumbles like a house of cards. It brings very strong bitterness, and after a while, already in her homeland, the girl understands the banal truth that after a stormy holiday romance it hurts her, and not the one who remained in the distant eastern country.

Photo-3L Why, as soon as we gain what we have been looking for for so long, we immediately lose it? It’s good if, upon arrival home, the brain turns on and the girl stops raving about her unforgettable vacation and the macho resort. But sometimes, at home, some of our compatriots still live that distant fairytale love and my Muslim man. To which they sometimes wander for years, whole year they collect for the trip, carry all sorts of “perezents”.

Arabs like to joke that one tourist leaves, and 10 arrive. And so the whole season.

Marriage.

They rarely manage to marry a Slavic girl. Basically, they have fun with them and splash out their restless sexual energy, and then marry “theirs”, who, due to traditions (which they have there) enormous power!) cannot sleep with their husband before marriage.

I wonder if love has a nationality? Arabs love blonde hair and white skin. If you married a European, then consider that you pulled out a lucky ticket, although this happens quite rarely, it still happens. For them, we are as exotic as they are for us.

But what awaits the girl who agreed to connect her life with a Muslim? Will strong resort oriental love be able to survive in a foreign country, where traditions are too strong and influence is great? public opinion? It is very difficult to decide to accept faith, to submit to all these traditions, prayers (and during Lent, prayers in the mosque occur 5 times a day), the willingness to wear a hijab (and no deep necklines, short shorts and dresses!), and to stay at home.

In Egypt, men love submissive wives, and you should be prepared for the fact that your place will be in the kitchen. Not everyone can sit at home, give birth to children, cook Arabic dishes, and obey not only her husband, who lives according to the law of Shiriah, but also his mother. An Arab's wife has no right to ask her husband where and with whom he was, why he was late, she has no rights at all. She silently waits for her husband for dinner while he smokes hashish with other men. Arab wives wear hijab all the time.

Everything that seemed exotic and fabulous after marriage causes wild irritation and disgust. Yes, love can push us to do the most incredible things, but is this love worth our freedom?

Interesting fact. In Georgia, quite often they toast to a woman who has never been to Turkey. What is it: Georgian troubles, healthy cynicism, or fear that Eastern men awaken in women the desire to be WOMEN?

Probably every second girl who has visited hot countries once had an affair with an Arab.
Whether this is good or bad, I don’t presume to judge, but those who swam will understand me.
Some girls from this voyage returned with broken hearted, others caught their firebird, adapted to a foreign culture, found compromises and began to live with their beloved in the thirtieth Arab kingdom.
I apologize in advance for my sometimes unnormative and somewhat rude approach to this subject. I would divide all Arabs into two categories.
Firstly, for the category of cheap resort limiters from Sharmalsheikhs, Hurghada and Kemer (sorry, the Turks were also targeted): animators, restaurateurs, hoteliers, sellers of smelly Arab perfumes. Let's not ignore the Liban women from Beirut and surrounding zhnubs (villages), blue-eyed Syrians, poor Jordanians and Palestinians with travel permits instead of passports, and, of course, Egyptians - kulu tamaam!
After studying at local colleges, they left their Cairos and Tripolis to conquer more developed Arab countries, where they successfully found work as salespeople in shopping centers, or middle managers in Arab companies. They have made numerous friends, exclusively from their own countries, and regularly go on safari with a large Egyptian shob, taking with them a hookah and pickled kafta.
Libanashki, who represent high fashion, have settled down in a similar way. , as salespeople from Zara and department seniors at Massimo Duti. These people regularly go into debt, buying cars and fashionable clothes, because for a Lebanese there is nothing more important than a well-gelled hairstyle and the awareness of one’s own coolness. They know how to present themselves with precision geometric progression raises their rating in the eyes of blond foreigners. After acquiring all of the above, there is no more money left for living, so they basically rent an apartment by sharing money with their neighbors. They rarely go to the mosque and mostly hang out in fashionable clubs, like Cavalli, all night with one drink in their hands (they get drunk before going out, mixing vodka with red bull in their apartment), then, heavily scented with cologne, and having rolled up the sleeves on their shirt to the three-quarter level, they go out into the world in twos or the whole noisy company.
All of them: Egyptians, Lebanese, Syrians, etc. of the first category are united by the lack of money, the desire to have a nice rest and a violent sexual temperament.
They earn little, but spend a lot, mostly on themselves , money is often short, so they do not hesitate to borrow from their faithful friends, and often forget to repay debts. In spite of everything, they manage to keep warm-hearted girls near them for a long time, and the whole secret is that they perfectly know how to hang noodles, look after them beautifully, shower them with compliments, and last but not least, oh how fucking good they are in bed. They are not at all disfigured by intellect, because most of them, except for paragraphs of the Koran and the Ahlan magazine, have never read anything.
They will spend another year sailing abroad and one day my mother will call from Syria with the words: “Hamudi, ya amar, habibi” and say that it’s time to get married. And he will rush off to Damascus for the first date with the bride, after which there will be matchmaking and a magnificent Arab wedding.
He will return all in tears, hug Natasha, repent of what he has done, saying he is not guilty - the will of the mother. Meanwhile, the little wife is not bad-looking, prepares excellent mlukhiya and will be able to raise future offspring according to the laws of Islam.

And we will return to the second category of arabesques , to those from wealthy families. As a rule, they graduated from prestigious universities, most even in America and Canada, and sometimes received new citizenship. They occupy good positions in big foreign companies, they are fun and have something to talk about. Arabs from different countries are rarely friends with each other and replenish their circle at the expense of university friends or distant relatives. They, Egyptians, Lebanese, Syrians, Emiratis... openly dislike each other and rarely become friends. They have money, so they are more often in society and they are more picky than the first category. Just so you know, these also mostly marry their own people, but exceptions are more common here, since their families are usually more open and more often approve of their children’s choice to connect their lives with a foreigner.
Being with an Arab is not easy and you must always take into account existing differences cultures, especially if you come across a Muslim arabesque.
Important points - attachment to his mother, his mother will always be the first woman in his life, the unequal position of men and women, what is allowed to a man, a woman can only dream of. Personally, I am touched by the fact that even their own women (the same arabesques) are often unable to cope with Arabian horses, and they continue to hang around in the flesh until old age sets in or the Hajj occurs (preferably in old age), otherwise and he won't change anything.
I had lunch yesterday with a client of mine who has turned into a good friend. I remember when he returned from Mecca last year, he swore that everything had changed and he was neither to his wife’s left, but his period of asceticism did not last long. Yesterday he again started talking about his past and present loves. I couldn’t stand it and asked him, they say, why are you Doctor Ayash, Arabs, wandering around like that and your marriages are somehow inferior. His point of view was that they marry mostly without falling in love and without having time to get to know their soulmate well. Women, in turn, before marriage do everything to please a man, but after marriage they lose interest in their husband and perceive him solely as a source of security and well-being, but the broad Arab soul wants love.
But another incident prompted me to write this post. An example of the promiscuity and lustfulness of Arabs of the first category, when they do not care who to look after , and they bombard you with messages and harassment not because of special sympathy, but rather because your number was saved in their notebook.
So on Saturday a similar specimen became attached to me and pulled me out of the ground, as they say. Met at work more than a year ago, met twice business matters, he kept holding out his sweaty palms for a handshake, as I remember from wedding ring on the ring finger. And then, as they say, not even two years have passed, he began to joke to me: how long have you been working as a business, a bunch of other things, and in the end - let's meet - let's get to know each other better, I want us to become friends. Well, don't fuck your mother, what a meeting! At first, I explained to him civilly, as best I could, that I was not interested in his friendship, and that all my evenings were busy, if there was something to do with work, come, dear, to the office. If I wasn’t a client, I would have sent it a long time ago. He still didn’t recognize my signals, he thought that I was breaking down, and the next day let’s do it again. At this point, of course, I got really angry and I expressed my opinion. Got rid of it.
This is the most shining example a cheap Arab who doesn’t care who gets bullied, while not interested in whether I’m free or whether I need it at all! At the same time, he is so stupid that he does not doubt for a minute the attractiveness of his proposal.
Regarding the Arabs of the second category, I also have something to say. I had three in total; the first romance, as expected, happened at a resort in the well-known Sharm El-Sheikh. That means I met an Egyptian, although he was not an animator, but the owner of 5 local hotels. Oh, girls, how he drove me crazy, of all the Arabs, only the Egyptians are capable of this, he said that he was divorced (resort Egypt is generally a valley of free men, no matter where you rush, everyone is not married). As a result, I conquered it, and monthly flights to Sharm el-Sheikh and back began, I took my girlfriends with me to make it more fun. How we hung out there (naturally, it was all inclusive on his part), then he met new love and the monthly holiday on the Red Sea ceased.
The second was a local, from the Emirates, the affair lasted almost a week, and it happened purely out of nothing to do. Everything stopped the moment I saw him in a kandura (white dress), before that he only showed up on dates in European clothes. I felt completely uneasy about “what will people say”, and in general how is it between me and HE? The question always came down to the kondura, I remembered this white robe, and my hands gave up and I no longer wanted anything. I still don’t understand what caused such an unhealthy subconscious reaction. I left him, and he probably still has the same opinion about me as I do about the Arabs)).
And finally, the third final episode, the Canadian Canadian. He won me over because he never lied, couldn’t flirt at all, didn’t use hair gel and wore Converse sneakers. Oh, I forgot, after a week of dating, he brought me to meet my mother, which shocked both of us, since it was a complete surprise for us.
This concludes my treatise. I hasten to note that all of the above is mine Subjective opinion, and may not coincide with the opinions of others, and please do not forget about happy exceptions (I’m an optimist).

"Generators unusual ideas", "owners family nest" and "desperate friends" - it's all about them, the Arabs. They are also spoiled, boastful and unpredictable. Personal experience girls, but not wives.

Oksana L. has been dating a resident of Jordan for four years, who came to Kyiv to study and earn money, and tells how she and her friend manage to combine such different views of the East and West.

About friendship and personal boundaries

We always have guests at our house. At any moment, a friend or just an acquaintance can call and come to our home in the middle of the night.

Naturally, as a woman, I need to set the table and make sure everyone is full and happy. Sometimes the house resembles some kind of Arab camp, and not a family nest.

If a friend needs help, they are ready to rush to him in the middle of the night.

They are always ready to help out a friend, come where they need to, pick them up, lend money.

They are not jealous of friends. My friend is very jealous, but this only applies to our Slavic guys and men, although I don’t give a reason. He trusts his own people. In any case, his friends, understanding who we are to each other, never allowed themselves even harmless flirting.

About work

They prefer conversations to business - long conversations over hookahs. These are real philosophers who are ready to reason and plan for hours. Although this time could be spent on constructive action rather than chatter, most of from which it will be forgotten the very next day. Eastern men have this problem: their conversations often diverge from their actions. They promise a lot, and they themselves sincerely believe in what they say. Plans can change dramatically, or mood, or something else, and promises will remain just words.

Arab men need to be encouraged - this is how they become inspired and are ready to move mountains for the sake of their family. This applies in particular to work. It is important for them to feel that a woman believes in their strengths and capabilities.

Generators of unusual ideas. In the four years I've known my man, he's started all sorts of businesses. Cafe, transportation of dogs and birds from Ukraine, which are in demand in his homeland in Jordan, processing of semi-precious stones, etc. But he didn’t bring any ideas to completion. I didn’t initially calculate the risks, I acted based on momentary desires, passion and emotions.

Many people do not value their parents' money. Young people live and have fun at the expense of their parents, and do not know the value of money earned not by their own labor.

Attitude towards women

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Most Arabs are spoiled by their mother's attention, love care and are often selfish. They like to surround themselves with everything beautiful and are avid fashionistas. They love to dress up: stylish clothes, shoes, lots of rings and bracelets. Favorite clients of barbershops: stylish beard, gelled hair, expensive perfumes.

They love to educate, and if they fail, they can use force. They put pressure on me morally. Very hot-tempered. Any little thing can piss them off. At the same time, their woman should admire them.

They love to brag about their woman to their friends - they tell them what a housewife she is, caring and a jack of all trades. It is important for them that others admire their woman, and therefore automatically admire them.

It is difficult to offer our men to live together - they are afraid for their freedom. Arab men, on the contrary, want the girl they like to be constantly in their sight. At home, nearby, close by. They are ready to protect and care for her, although they demand a lot in return.

Very generous. If possible, they give gifts to a woman, they love broad gestures, and are absolutely not stingy.

They value independence in our women, the fact that a woman can take care of herself, earn money and does not depend on a man as much as possible. In his homeland, women mostly stay at home and do housework.

There is a minus. Monogamy is not for Eastern men. How many times have I seen how families arab men They're after our girls. When my wife calls, they hang up or don’t pick up. And when they call back, they sing like a nightingale, as they love, and lie exquisitely about why they couldn’t answer. Treason is not considered as such for them. This is the norm in the life of an Eastern man.

About everyday life

My friend definitely won’t eat borscht for three days in a row, although he really loves my borscht. Arab men are very demanding and capricious in everyday life, like children and often dependent. If we talk about my man, he can clean and cook even better than me. But it is important for him to see that they care about him and do something for him.

I’m used to Russian cuisine, but my love for hummus and flatbreads remains unchanged.

Loves cleanliness, but not to the point of fanaticism. She understands that we both work a lot and come home very late, so we don’t always have the physical strength to clean and cook at night.

About children and family

My man is ready to coddle with every child, but I’m not sure he’ll get up in the middle of the night for his own. This is the wife's responsibility. And the man pampers his child and pays attention to him during short games. All other delights of education fall on the shoulders of the woman.

When married to a Christian, there is no choice in what religion they choose. joint child- he is a priori born a Muslim. Especially if we're talking about about the boy.

My man’s parents are wealthy and ready to support him, but he, having matured, when the youthful frenzy had passed and partying with friends was no longer a priority, wanted to prove to his family that he could get on his own feet.

A negative attitude towards alcohol remains - despite the love for discos (already in the past) and hookah smoking (this is part of traditions). He doesn't respect it when a woman drinks, even in company.

About future

After living with an Arab man, it’s strange to see how our women treat their Russian husbands. It’s crazy to see the disrespectful attitude and desire to be in charge at times. My views on what a woman should be like in a relationship with any man have changed.

I don’t know where this relationship will lead - Russian girls are more freedom-loving, ambitious and active. I wouldn’t want to be completely dependent on my husband...

But Arab men are like sweet nectar. You can’t get drunk, but even when you drink it becomes too cloying that you want plain water. But after nectar it seems tasteless. I’m like a tightrope walker halfway: I can’t go back, but the unknown lies ahead...

- Ahmed, Ahmed, save me! – I scream, scared and angry in earnest. - Damn it, let them leave me alone! – I’m already screaming at the top of my lungs.

“Calm down, they’ve never seen such a luxurious blond head of hair in their lives,” he laughs cheerfully. - They're just jealous of you.

“You know I don’t like being touched!” I hate it! – I hiss like a snake.

“Well, you’ll have to tame your character a little,” he says coldly. - Let them adore you. Be friendly with them and don’t make any complaints.

- But…

– Try to accept customs that are unusual for you and find positive aspects in them. Otherwise we will all go crazy! - he reprimands me, like a child. – Or do you want to offend them? Right away, from the very beginning? – Ahmed asks, looking firmly into my eyes.

Of course I don't want to. But he, too, must understand that I feel out of place, finding myself in a crowd of strangers who are looking at me as if they want to devour me! And everyone’s eyes are black, sparkling, like some kind of zombies... I lower my head. My soul is heavy, I feel bad and scared, and tears come to my eyes.

– Yalla, yalla!- some brunette unfamiliar to me shouts, scattering the women, who run away screaming and laughing.

He noticed my fear, but my beloved husband doesn’t care! Ahmed completely disappeared from my field of vision; his cheerful voice can be heard from the house itself. The stranger gently pushes me towards the doors. I don’t know what this room is called; must be the living room. It is larger in size than our entire Polish apartment - maybe eighty square meters, and maybe more. Thick wool carpets cover the entire floor. Heavy, fabric-upholstered furniture occupies the central part of the room; but tables are placed throughout the room - everyone, even the smallest one, has their own table for sitting. On one side, separated from the rest of the room by a marble partition with a counter, is the dining room. The table, about three meters long, is covered with a superb lace tablecloth, artistically draped in the middle; lacquered decorations attract the eye.

I stand in the middle of the room like a child in an amusement park, turning in all directions, peering at every detail. What huge windows they have here! More than three meters high, curtained with thick curtains - like in the palaces of old Polish aristocrats, which are depicted in photographs of the last century. And those embroidered curtains that fall to the floor? How I want to touch them!

There are no paintings on the walls, instead there are plaques framed in rich frames, mostly black, with golden inscriptions in the amazing local language. In addition, the walls are decorated with luxurious tapestries. Sideboards made of massive solid wood are placed along the walls, and in the sideboards there is an innumerable variety of trinkets: vases, coffee cups, decanters, jugs, sugar bowls - all made of porcelain or silver. There are other nifty little touches too; a lot of crystal - and I thought it was a Polish tradition... Products made of colored glass fascinate with their extravaganza of colors and variety of shapes. How I like these tiny purple dogs, blue monkeys, and most of all, the bench, just like a park one, under a glass tree with amber leaves... I wonder who makes such filigree masterpieces?

– Where can I buy this? – without thinking, I blurt out. Without addressing anyone in particular, I point my finger at the trinkets I like.

The next minute I’m on wobbly legs, drenched in cold sweat, standing in front of a suddenly silent society. What an idiot I am! At this moment, an elegant woman coming down the stairs says something and smiles wryly, looking at me with an appraising glance.

“Mom guessed what you were asking,” Ahmed explains to me. – You don’t need to buy anything. They are yours.

“But I didn’t mean it... That’s not what I meant... I... I can’t...” I babble, feeling my face turn red.

“You’d better thank me.” You know this, right?! - Ahmed says, gritting his teeth in anger.

– Shukran Jazilyan. “Thank you very much,” I mutter, looking back towards the woman, but she is no longer paying the slightest attention to me.

I was never introduced to anyone, no one shook my hand or gave me a symbolic kiss on the cheek. Well, yes, they know who I am, and apparently I don’t need to know who they are.

Before going to bed, Ahmed and I - for the first time in a very long time - do not even wish each other Good night. We are lying on a huge royal bed at a distance of two meters from each other - I am on one edge, he is on the other. I'm not sleeping and I know he's not sleeping either. The silence rings in my ears. I don’t know what Ahmed is thinking about, but the darkest scenarios appear in my head and the worst episodes from our married life emerge. Will this all happen again?.. In the end, already hearing the bird whistle outside the window and the singing of the muezzin, convening the faithful to morning prayer, I fall asleep all in tears.

Among Arab housewives

I don’t want to wake up, let this dream last forever; but what is this divine aroma? Coffee, chocolate, burnt sugar, seasonings, and most of all, baked goods... Like my mom's homemade baked goods! I hear the curtains part and feel the sun's rays on my face.

- Come on, open your beautiful eyes. – Ahmed kisses me tenderly on the lips. “It’s time for sleeping beauty to wake up,” he laughs.

“I don’t want to,” I whisper lazily, stretching like a cat.

“A new day promises new joys,” he says, as if nothing happened yesterday.

“Well, you know...” I break off the sentence.

I, of course, wanted to ask what joy was given to me yesterday, but I stopped in time. I already realized that I shouldn’t play with fire and that in my current situation I need to keep my mouth shut. I'm at a disadvantage, there's no doubt about it. And yet the sun outside the window and the aromatic coffee in the cup give me optimism. Everything will be fine, it can’t be otherwise! In the end, we came here for a short time, only for the duration of the vacation, and time flies quickly.

- Maybe today you will introduce me to at least someone? – I ask, sitting up in bed. – Or, more precisely, will you introduce at least someone to me? After all, they all already know who I am,” I clarify the question, remembering my nightly thoughts.

- First, have breakfast, and then wash younger sister will take care of everything. – Last words Ahmed says with a sigh of relief. - I'm going to the city. I’ll visit the old places, see what has changed here during my absence,” my husband shares his plans with me. – Samira will come for you in about fifteen minutes, so fisa, fisa“,” he says, already heading towards the doors.

- I'm sorry, what? - I do not understand.

- See you in the evening, kitty! - he shouts from behind the doors. - Have a good time!

I didn’t even have time to tell him that I came here with him, which means that it is he, my husband, who should pay attention to me. This must be what he wanted - to take advantage of my confusion and get away with me!

I sit on my bed and sip coffee mixed with salty tears. Suddenly I hear children laughing in the yard. This is Marysya! And I didn’t even hear her get up... Lord, what kind of mother am I! It’s good that my daughter feels at home everywhere.

There's a knock on the door.

- Who's there? – I ask in a quiet, slightly trembling voice.

Instead of answering, a beautiful young girl with a shock of curly black hair above her forehead enters the room.

– Ahlyan, ana Samira. My name is Samira“, she says with a pleasant, sincere smile. Thank God she knows English!

I bow my head, wanting to stealthily wipe away my tears.

- Hey, Blondie, what happened? – she asks, sitting down on the edge of the bed. – You can’t cry on your first day in a new place. It brings bad luck. “Looking at me with concern, she carefully takes my hand in hers.

In her eyes I see sparkles of joy and a mischievous sparkle. This immediately lifts my mood and I feel ready to fall in love with this girl.

- Everything is fine. I just have a headache,” I lie, as if on cue, and she understands perfectly well that this is a lie.

– Do you know what helps best with sadness? – she asks and smiles again radiantly. - Especially women...

- So what? – I sigh and cast a playful glance at her. - Good sex?

As if scalded, Samira lets go of my hand and jumps up from her seat.

- Hush hush!!! - she shouts. “I’m not married, I can’t talk about such things.”

- So how is it? – I’m surprised at her reaction. “After all, it’s the unmarried people who are talking about this, who else!” Husbands talk among themselves about children, about paying bills, painting ceilings and buying new furniture. And they completely forget about pleasant things.

“Well, I’ll tell you that our women, in order not to be sad, eat cakes and chocolates,” Samira says, having calmed down a little and again sits down on the very edge of the bed.

- Ah, so that’s why almost all of them are so fat! – I innocently state obvious fact.

- Blondie... what is “good sex”? – Samira suddenly whispers, leaning towards me with a mischievous smile on her lips.

– First of all, what kind of Blondie is this? “My name is Dorota, Dot for short,” I avoid answering, fearing further problems.

I reach for a chocolate-filled bagel, drizzled with icing and sprinkled with coconut and pieces of candied fruit.

“Mmmm...” I moan with pleasure, “now I understand!” “I’ve never eaten anything tastier in my life,” I mutter with my mouth full.

I close my eyes and enjoy the divine taste of chocolate on my palate. Yes, it really can lift your spirits! I reach for the next cake and sink my teeth into it with abandon. This time - honey with nuts... By God, this is more beautiful than angelic chants!

“You’ll see, before you know it, you’ll become as fat as our women,” Samira laughs and also joins the feast. – Still, what does “good sex” mean? she insists, looking me straight in the eyes.

– Hey you! You said that this topic is taboo for you! - I burst into laughter. “You can’t, no, no,” I tease her, expressively wagging my finger.

- Okay, but later. Now show me the house and introduce me to at least someone, I ask you,” I say and jump off the bed. “Otherwise I feel like I’m on the moon.”

Or maybe I got it wrong English words? Well, it happens. The main thing now is to at least somehow understand each other.

“All of us have been in the kitchen since morning,” she says cheerfully. - We are preparing a festive dinner. You get to know the person behind the cooking best, don't you?

Celebratory lunch on the occasion of our arrival! This cheered me up somewhat. “Perhaps it’s not so bad,” I thought, running down the stairs and trying to keep up with Ahmed’s thin sister.

The kitchen is spacious, about twenty square meters. My favorite thing is the access to the small back porch where you can sit, drink coffee or tea and even have a light snack. The furniture in the kitchen is also not bad - I saw something similar in a catalog of Italian furniture: beautiful ebony with a chrome finish. And how many kitchen appliances! Of course, I couldn't even include half of it. “Wow, an Arab tent in the desert!” – I chuckle mentally.

- Oh, are you up already? – Ahmed’s mother says sarcastically. “Everything is clear with you, sleeping beauty,” she declares, mixing Arabic words with English.

“I...” I’m trying to justify myself, although I don’t want to justify myself at all.

“We’ve all already met Blondie,” Samira interrupts me, “and now she should find out who we are.”

Phew, finally!

– This is Malika, our eldest sister. She only drops by from time to time - she has a serious position in the ministry and own business. Private clinic. “I shake the strong hand of the darkest and most elegant woman in the kitchen.” Indeed, judging by her appearance, she doesn't belong here.

– Hi“Don’t let these women get the better of you,” she says hoarsely. “I will sometimes take you away from here so that you don’t become completely stupid and wild,” she continues in a mentoring tone, shaking her expression expressively. index finger smeared in tomato puree. – Don’t let yourself be turned into an Arab household witch. – Lowering her voice, Malika winks at me conspiratorially. – Arabic wife“,” she snorts mockingly under her breath.

There is not a single playful note in her tone, she seems to be completely serious, and I have no idea what this young woman means. Is there anything wrong with being Arab wife? Or am I missing something?!

– Malika, don’t scare the girl! – someone’s warm voice is heard. – I am Miriam, the middle sister. – A slightly overweight woman enters the kitchen from the porch. She kisses my cheek and I smell cigarettes. Now it becomes clear to me which of the sisters Ahmed loves the most and in whose honor he gave our daughter the name Marysya - Miriam in Arabic.

“I’m not afraid of anything,” I reassure her. “I’m just a little confused and out of my element.”

“I am Khadija,” someone muttered from behind the mother. - Also average.

Ahmed told me that one of his sisters was not lucky in life; this must be her. The dried-up big thing looks at me like a wolf and doesn’t even want to shake my hand, let alone kiss me.

“Now let’s get to work, girls,” mother intervenes, breaking the unpleasant silence, and immediately turns her back to me.

Only now do I notice packages, cardboard boxes and bags of groceries scattered all over the floor. A huge watermelon weighing more than ten kilograms (who picked it up?) lies in the corner among melons, peaches, plums and apples. Who will eat all this?! Perhaps this would be enough for a small village wedding!

Under the table, wrapped in gray paper and newspaper, lies the dead body of some animal.

- What is this? - I ask in surprise and fear, grabbing the carcass by the leg and trying to lift it to put it on the largest table in the middle of the kitchen.

- What do you think? A grown-up lamb,” Miriam replies, laughing. - Just not quite alive. Morta.

- And who will eat all this? – I whisper, leaning towards her ear.

“You’ll see,” she says mysteriously. “Our people have a good appetite, and usually about twenty people sit at the table, no less.”

Well, if so... You'll have to roll up your sleeves, say goodbye to long, well-groomed nails and get to work quickly.

“But if all this has to be ready by lunchtime, then how can we make it by three or four o’clock in the afternoon?” – I ask, already a little panicking.

“Kitty, we have dinner late in the evening or even at night,” the women reassure me. – We have enough time. Our men spend the whole day outside the house and only relax with their family in the evening.

Not bad! This means that men, after working a little, wander around the city, sit their pants in restaurants and cafes, and women hang out in the kitchens all day long so that husbands and fathers can fill their bellies and relax closer to night... Ha ha! Although, actually, I'm not laughing. Little by little I am beginning to understand what Malika meant when she spoke about the Arab wife. Oh no, my day today will be the exception, the exception that proves the rule! I don’t serve anyone and I don’t intend to serve anyone. And if tomorrow Akhmed again disappears with his friends for the whole day, then I will take Marysya and also go for a walk around the city. There should be buses or, at worst, taxis here! In short, we'll figure it out. It’s good that I agreed to come here only for the duration of my vacation. Wow vacation!

– Do you have rubber gloves for work? - I ask in broken English, helping myself with gestures, but I don’t get an answer. Instead, there are only surprised looks filled with disapproval: they say, how stupid you are!

Silently, gritting my teeth, I peel vegetables, remove fat from meat, prepare marinade under the supervision of my mother, help make dumplings, roll rolls and knead dough for cakes. Perhaps some people like these activities, but not me. I was sweating, my legs were sore from standing for so long, and my hands were on fire from peeling and chopping chili peppers. By God, I already want today to end as soon as possible.

Out of the corner of my eye, I notice Miriam coming out onto the porch, and I stealthily follow her. Hiding around the corner, she lights a cigarette.

- Will you treat me? - I ask.

– Of course, but remember: you can’t admit that you smoke. And you definitely can’t smoke in front of men,” she says in a whisper.

- And why is that? – I’m surprised. – I smoked more than once in Ahmed’s presence.

I take a puff of smoke. It seems that a cigarette has never brought me such pleasure. It's a chance to relax for a minute - and at the same time it's a sign of my independence.

- Do you live with your parents? – I ask after being silent for a minute.

- What are you talking about! – she laughs. - I would go crazy. My house is on the other side of the street. Sometimes - maybe too often - I take the kids and come here. It's always more fun together than when you're alone.

-Are you divorced? Don't you have a husband?

“Yes, and a good one,” she says and nods, as if wanting to convince herself of the veracity of her words. - But he has a job, responsibilities... and all that. Even when he is in town, he is away from home almost all day. But mostly he is out there in the desert, in the oil fields. He works for an oil company, makes very good money, but... - She sighs. – You know, something has to be sacrificed. “Her face expresses nothing, only her eyebrows rise upward. “Such is life,” Miriam sums up dispassionately, spreading her hands.

- Well, what kind of life is this?! – I almost scream. - It’s impossible!

“Quiet, don’t yell,” she hisses angrily. “I have a family, an excellent husband, and money in general is excellent. I'm not complaining. I was already very lucky: I chose my husband myself and I had the opportunity to get to know him well while we were studying at the university. Besides, he is not some old man, but quite Attractive man same age as me.

- So you went to university? - I am amazed, casting another glance at Miriam: in a colorful housecoat and a funny tied scarf, she looks like a maid of the pre-war years.

“How sweet you are,” she states ironically. - Well, I'm not surprised. I don't look like a high-class woman. Not like Malika... - She sighs sadly. “But Malika was never afraid to resist. Well, now that she has already achieved a position in society and has begun to earn good money, no one can dictate terms to her at all. And I have always been obedient, too obedient. So I came to what I was supposed to come to. – Miriam energetically points a finger at her ample breasts.

I feel sorry for her. She sits with her eyes down sadly, and the secretly smoked cigarette is the only manifestation of her independence, her willfulness, her rebellion.

- Why did you say that you were lucky - you chose your husband yourself? – I’m interested. - I don't understand…

-Have you not read anything at all about Arab culture, history, customs, traditions?! – she asks with reproach in her voice and looks at me in bewilderment. – You learned a few words in Arabic and you think that this is enough to marry an Arab? Salam alaikum, shukran jazilyan And ahlyan ua sahlyan: Hello, thank you very much, all the best to you. “Now she’s really angry.” – Three words – and you and your Arab husband will live happily ever after... Ha! – With an offended snort, Miriam turns away to go back to the kitchen.

- Why are you so angry? - I'm trying to defuse the situation. – People meet, fall in love and want to be together. So it seems to me. And I don’t need any manuals or historical works for this,” I express my point of view, although in Lately it doesn't seem so compelling to me.

“And you think that’s enough?” – Miriam squats down next to me again. – What about relatives, customs, religion? Just take the way we celebrate holidays! No, little Blondie, love isn't everything.

“I’ve already experienced something the hard way,” I reluctantly admit, recalling our quarrels with Akhmed and misunderstandings on many significant issues. – I read a little about Arab traditions, but it seemed to me that all this was already history, all this was in the distant past; It's the end of the twentieth century, isn't it? And Ahmed himself considers himself more of a person of modern views...

“He said that in Poland, my dear!” Poland is a completely different matter. And here we are ruled by tradition, old good tradition. “She looks at me carefully, and in her gaze I read concern. - Let’s quickly go to the kitchen, otherwise there will be a scandal. Now everyone will begin to be indignant that we are idle.

We run back, but it seems that none of the women noticed our absence. The lamb is baking, the salads are ready (each in a huge bowl the size of a foot wash basin!), the soup is bubbling in the cauldron, and the cakes are hidden in the pantry so that the kids won't get to them. All that remains is to prepare the sauces, and then you can say that a modest family dinner is ready.

It's already getting dark outside. Marysia plays with the children in the courtyard; She feels good here - she’s not afraid of anything, she laughs and is mischievous, just like at home. It’s still good that Ahmed spoke to her in Arabic: now she doesn’t feel the language barrier. All the words and expressions she had ever heard came to life in her memory, and her daughter amusingly communicates in an amazing guttural dialect with the surrounding children, as if she was born here.

My strength is leaving me: a long day spent in the kitchen is taking its toll. Moreover, this unbearable heat... Hair sticks to sweaty cheeks, reddened from hot pepper my hands look terrible, it’s better not to think about my nails at all, and my legs are so swollen that I can’t see my ankles. I'm not used to working so much, especially in such heat.

– Where did Samira go? “I notice her absence, even though my eyes are watering.

- Lucky girl! She has classes at the university, so she always takes time off from work,” Miriam answers calmly.

- But it’s okay, it won’t be for long, not for long! – Khadija almost screams, and I can hear the gloating in her voice.

- Why? Is she already graduating from university? – I inquire innocently.

“Her freedom is ending,” this skinny woman hisses. - And soon the roasted rooster will peck at her. Enough of these parties with girlfriends, this fashionable clothes and complete freedom. Ha!

“Calm down, Khadija,” Malika says calmly but firmly. – Nothing has been decided yet. The girl is trying so hard to avoid her disgusting fate that maybe she will succeed. In any case, I wish this for her with all my heart. I feel very sorry for her, it’s a pity to give her to such an old man.

I don’t understand the essence of this conversation, because, of course, no one initiates me into anything, and besides, the women, out of excitement, forget to switch to English and shout at each other in Arabic. Thank God, they gesture all the time, and this helps me catch the meaning of their statements and understand at least a little what they are talking about.

The explosion at the Berlin discotheque La Belle occurred on Saturday April 5, 1986. The explosion killed three people and injured about 300. The United States of America accused the Libyan government of organizing the terrorist attack.

Wife, wife! Very beautiful ( Arabic).

Welcome home ( English).

My name is Samira ( English).

“Generators of unusual ideas”, “masters of the family nest” and “desperate friends” - this is all about them, the Arabs. They are also spoiled, boastful and unpredictable. Personal experience of a girl, but not a wife.

Oksana L. has been dating a resident of Jordan for four years, who came to Kyiv to study and earn money, and tells how she and her friend manage to combine such different views of the East and West.

About friendship and personal boundaries
We always have guests at our house. At any moment, a friend or just an acquaintance can call and come to our home in the middle of the night. Naturally, as a woman, I need to set the table and make sure everyone is fed and happy. Sometimes the house resembles some kind of Arab camp, and not a family nest.

If a friend needs help, you need to rush to him in the middle of the night. Arabs are always ready to help out a friend, come where they need to, pick them up, lend money.

They are not jealous of friends. My friend is very jealous, but this only applies to our Slavic guys and men, although I don’t give a reason. He trusts his own people. In any case, his friends, understanding who we are to each other, never allowed themselves even harmless flirting.

About work
They prefer conversations to business - long conversations over hookahs. These are real philosophers who are ready to reason and plan for hours. Although this time could be spent on constructive actions rather than chatter, most of which will be forgotten the next day. Eastern men have this problem: their conversations often diverge from their actions. They promise a lot, and they themselves sincerely believe in what they say. Plans can change dramatically, or mood, or something else, and promises will remain just words.

Arab men need to be encouraged - this is how they become inspired and are ready to move mountains for the sake of their family. This applies, in particular, to work. It is important for them to feel that a woman believes in their strengths and capabilities.

Generators of unusual ideas. In the four years since I’ve known my man, he’s started all sorts of businesses. Cafe, transportation of dogs and birds from Ukraine, which are in demand in his homeland in Jordan, processing of semi-precious stones, etc. But he did not bring any ideas to completion. I didn’t initially calculate the risks, I acted based on momentary desires, passion and emotions.

Many people do not value their parents' money. Young people live and have fun at the expense of their parents and do not know the value of money earned not by their own labor.

Attitude towards women
Most Arabs are spoiled by their mother's attention, love care and are often selfish. They like to surround themselves with everything beautiful and are avid fashionistas. They love to dress up: beautiful clothes, shoes, an abundance of rings and bracelets. Favorite clients of barbershops: stylish beard, gelled hair, expensive perfumes.

They love to educate, and if they fail, they can use force. They put pressure on me morally. Very hot-tempered. Any little thing can piss them off. At the same time, their woman should admire them.

They love to brag about their woman to their friends - they tell them what a housewife she is, caring and a jack of all trades. It is important for them that others admire their woman, and therefore automatically admire them.

It is difficult to offer our men to live together - they are afraid for their freedom. Arab men, on the contrary, want the girl they like to be constantly in their sight. At home, nearby, close by. They are ready to protect and care for her, although they demand a lot in return.

Very generous. If possible, they give the woman gifts, they like broad gestures, and are not at all stingy.

They value independence in our women, the fact that a woman can take care of herself, earn money and not depend on a man as much as possible. In his homeland, women mostly stay at home and do housework.

There is a minus. Monogamy is not for Eastern men. How many times have we had to watch family Arab men woo our girls? When my wife calls, they hang up or don’t pick up. And when they call back, they sing like a nightingale, as they love, and exquisitely lie about why they couldn’t answer. Treason is not considered as such for them. This is the norm in the life of an Eastern man.

About everyday life
My friend definitely won’t eat borscht for three days in a row, although he really loves my borscht. Arab men are very demanding and capricious in everyday life, like children, and are often dependent. If we talk about my man, he can clean and cook even better than me. But it is important for him to see that they care about him and do something for him.

I’m used to Russian cuisine, but my love for hummus and flatbreads remains unchanged.

Loves cleanliness, but not to the point of fanaticism. She understands that we both work a lot and come home very late, so we don’t always have the physical strength to clean and cook at night.

About children and family
My man is ready to coddle with every child, but I’m not sure that he will get up in the middle of the night for his own. This is the wife's responsibility. And the man pampers his child and pays attention to him during short games. All other delights of education fall on the shoulders of the woman.

In a marriage with a Christian, there is no choice what religion their joint child will choose - he is a priori born a Muslim. Especially if we are talking about a boy.

My man’s parents are wealthy and ready to support him, but he, having matured, when the youthful frenzy had passed and partying with friends was no longer a priority, wanted to prove to his family that he could get on his own feet.

About religion
I refused to convert to Islam, realizing that I would not be able to wear closed clothes, honor Muslim traditions and be in a “golden cage” at home. He didn’t swear, he accepted my choice. But it is very important for him that his woman shares her religion with him and his legal wife, in any case, must convert to Islam or be a Muslim initially.

Arabs know the Koran from an early age. They read it like mantras. But my man openly admits that, living among Russians and Ukrainians, he leads an anti-Muslim lifestyle.

His mother, when she came to visit us, brought a hijab as a gift with the hint that I should accept their religion since I live with her son.

A negative attitude towards alcohol remains, despite the love for discos (already in the past) and hookah smoking (this is part of traditions). He doesn't respect it when a woman drinks, even in company.

About future
After living with an Arab man, it’s strange to see how our women treat their Russian husbands. It’s crazy to see the disrespectful attitude and desire to be in charge at times. My views on what a woman should be like in a relationship with any man have changed.

I don’t know where this relationship will lead - Russian girls are more freedom-loving, ambitious and active. I wouldn’t like to be completely dependent on my husband.

But Arab men are like sweet nectar. You can’t get drunk, but even when you drink, it becomes too cloying that you want plain water. But after nectar it seems tasteless. I’m like a tightrope walker halfway: I can’t go back, but the unknown lies ahead...