auto-exotica

AUTO-EXOTICA

Pilot Episode

That August morning on the North coast, apart from the few silhouettes in the distance that I was hurrying to reach, the beach was deserted and the sun was already burning. It was my second day here, and I had decided to sign up for the compound's yoga class. Maybe I could make some friends there? For once, I wasn't just passing through Egypt. I, who every year dreaded the boredom of a too-long-a stay, had decided to settle down for a few months in this country which... actually was also mine. It was in Switzerland that I grew up. In Egypt, I had no friends, only family, all my family.

I sit down discreetly. The class has already started. Cross-legged, I stare at the sea. The Mediterranean sparkles, its water is translucent. There are only four of us for this yoga session. To my left, wearing an extra large t-shirt, I think I recognize the young woman whose beauty had already transcended me last year. Her posture is steady, her face fine, her figure slender and her smile radiant. A Solange Knowles with Mediterranean features. Beside her, a little girl with bronze curls and gold highlights – her little girl – imitates her movements. I gaze at this magnificent picture and am absorbed by the beauty that some Egyptians can hold.

As the days pass, I find myself longing to talk to her. At the beach, she always settles in the same place with her family. One afternoon, as I walk along the water, I see her detached from the group and decide to put an end to my shyness. I dive in and declare my attraction to her energy. She is receptive, warm, friendly. Her name is Mariam. She is also an architect.

One thing leading to another, I discover that my mother had already approached her a year ago to tell her how much she reminded her of her daughter. Her daughter... so me? Sure, we both have curly brown hair, matte complexions and thin faces. But me comparable to such a beauty? Let's not exaggerate. Except that my mother was not the only one to make this remark. Some people confused us and the yoga teacher even thought we were sisters. So in a way, something made sense.

I was fascinated by what Mariam represented – the beauty to which I had long denied myself access. Egyptians – as if I wasn't one – I had often, unconsciously, denigrated them. As a child, I had wanted to hide my curls. I wished for my hair to be straight, like the others. The others to whom I didn't belong either, but with whom I had learned about at school, that Egypt was a third-world country. A country of misery, with a solar past. As for the Egyptians in Geneva, I hardly knew any of them, and due to the invasive or judgemental attitude of some members of the diaspora – once my parents had separated –, my mother and I had detached ourselves from the community. French is my mother tongue, but my mother's language is Arabic. I have always been torn between two cultures; the one I grew up in – Swiss – and the one that runs in my blood, but that I have ever only managed to grasp with my fingertips – Egyptian. That's why, once I had finished my studies, I decided to settle there for half a year. A return to my roots – which I felt I needed, to deal with the complexity of this fragmented identity.

I was fascinated by what Mariam represented – this fascination, which followed me throughout my stay, I called it auto-exoticism: a look from the outside yet emerging from the inside. A form of assimilated Orientalism, as Said would say. A gaze that I was about to explore, understand and who knows... maybe even deconstruct. This is the beginning of an internal journey – between Switzerland and Egypt – with the Mediterranean as its central point.