Slap her, she's Gulfie!
While mutual antagonism between people from the Gulf region and Egyptians goes back decades ago, one side thinks money is not everything, other side thinks, they are only wanted for their money.
I had my own share of prejudice against Gulfies myself. The excess, the unfathomable traditions, the insatiable consumerist streak.
But then the few times, that I actually had the opportunity to come face to face with individuals from this of this part of the Middle East I realized how sweet, generous and unassuming they are.
However, true to my people, I held on to my grudge and refused to compromise.
Weeks of silent mourning, and unmitigated melancholy done it for me and I decided it was time for a little distraction. So when Kiki Jr. mentioned she was going to one of her close Gulfie friend's birthday party I thought maybe I should impose myself and tag along.
I have never been that close with any sisters from that area (the Gulf that is), and I thought a change of scenery would do me immensely good.
So before I knew it Kiki Sr. had arranged for everything and we were there before I really registered what exactly was going on.
Our host came from the lands at the fringes of the Gulf, and chose his residence in a remade apartment. As the custom follows, there was no "harsh light", as gay people are known to be extremely photosensitive. Yet despite the perceivable obscurity, I couldn't help but notice how every chandelier in the house was decorated with real life flowers! It was the first time I see flowers hung from the ceiling instead of being placed in vases on tables.
Our host was a Leo, quite the charmer, and despite the fact that the Gulf dialect is phonetically a disaster, he managed to use all the expressions that would take out the harshness of the sound. He was gallant, generous and kind. I couldn't have asked more from a host to a complete stranger, more of a party crasher.
The most interesting bit about the birthday party is the demographics, since our host was a Gulfie there was a host of other Gulfies as well. And to see them interact amongst each other, and with us was something I found vastly interesting.
As a matter of fact as I entered the party, they were all busy "blow drying" each others hair! I mulled over the thought, thats an interesting way to bond with your girlfriends!
Like I always say the so-called "gay community" in Cairo, is a virtual community. Its make-believe, its imaginary and at many times fictitious. So as I sat between the two Kikis who seem to bond over the fact that they know everyone in the room or shagged everyone in the room, they gave me a roll-call of who is who, where are they from, and what's their profile, the size of their penis and in many incidences their favorite sexual position.
Such information might seem a little irrelevant, but I thought it was fascinating to see those profiles, the people behind those profiles materialize in some way.
As usual there were very little real men, in the party, perhaps two, the rest were desperate queens, myself included. It was yet another "fish convention".
I even bumped into ghosts from the past, one-time dates that ended very well, then the guy mysteriously disappeared, and I was quite surprised to see him at the party. You see my dear reader, our date was quite strange, we went on a date in Ramadan two years ago, and it was just before he was about to go on a minor pilgrimage the very next day. I never heard from him ever since only to discover from the two Kikis that this particular gentleman is not really a gentleman. He is a sad, size queen, who likes it rough and raunchy. Too much for a "religious ending".
After a while, the dust settles, the tide receded and isolated islands of vicious queens started to appear. The party was one big archipelago of vicious queens. The Archipelago of Viciousness.
Each island sneered and snickered at the other, and not before long all kinds of malicious gossip and rumors were circulated back and forth. With the understatement being "you're a fake, gold digger, who would raise her legs to the highest bidder!"
At some point I myself agreed. I would raise my legs to the highest bidder, provided he is a hunky bear 40 years old or above.
One would not think of a gay party without a designated DJ. And the DJ was another vicious, desperate queen whose erratic choice of music ruined the mood several times. However, for me the most interesting part of the evening is when they started playing Gulf music.
The moment the music started the Gulfies started moving. And the moment they started moving they transformed. A whole new layer of their bodies and energy field was revealed. The way they engaged with the space and responded to the rhythm and melody was something I had not witnessed before. Somehow, this engagement made them more intelligible, more present, more live. They suddenly made sense as people. Some how the distance and the insufferable dialect were no longer a barrier in appreciating how they, as individuals, as they were responding and enjoying the music.
I liked it!
There was one Lebanese queen, who was overdoing it as usual, and "sucking up" so hard as Kiki Jr. was telling me. I found it distasteful.
All through the night each Kiki went on and on about who she shagged, who she would like to shag and who shagged who, and who was better than who.
For the first 30 mins this was entertaining.
Then it got so annoying I thought of leaving.
But then I still felt I want to stay on and watch the dynamics of interaction between "us" and "them" and "them" and "them".
Kiki Jr. had to go at some point, as she had a curfew (its hard to imagine that she does, but in fact she does have a curfew), and Kiki Sr. found it hopeless that she rekindles the passions of some prior seedy affair with a low-class hottie, so she also decided to leave.
Our delightful, charming host, insisted that we first eat our dinner then he can send us on our way.
Which I found very endearing and sweet.
As I stood by the dinning table, I wondered who of the people I would actually shag, there was only one particular gentleman I fancied, who was more of the gentry than of the nobility. Now I am a horribly classist queen, I am all for experimentation, but I was not sure that he fancied me back. The thing is I learned the hard way that very few people appreciate the subtle. To be seen you have to be like one of the two Kikis or one of the Gulfies.
And like most Egyptians who would openly say, "Slap her, she's Gulfie", secretly they want to be the very same bitch they want to slap!
I had my own share of prejudice against Gulfies myself. The excess, the unfathomable traditions, the insatiable consumerist streak.
But then the few times, that I actually had the opportunity to come face to face with individuals from this of this part of the Middle East I realized how sweet, generous and unassuming they are.
However, true to my people, I held on to my grudge and refused to compromise.
Weeks of silent mourning, and unmitigated melancholy done it for me and I decided it was time for a little distraction. So when Kiki Jr. mentioned she was going to one of her close Gulfie friend's birthday party I thought maybe I should impose myself and tag along.
I have never been that close with any sisters from that area (the Gulf that is), and I thought a change of scenery would do me immensely good.
So before I knew it Kiki Sr. had arranged for everything and we were there before I really registered what exactly was going on.
Our host came from the lands at the fringes of the Gulf, and chose his residence in a remade apartment. As the custom follows, there was no "harsh light", as gay people are known to be extremely photosensitive. Yet despite the perceivable obscurity, I couldn't help but notice how every chandelier in the house was decorated with real life flowers! It was the first time I see flowers hung from the ceiling instead of being placed in vases on tables.
Our host was a Leo, quite the charmer, and despite the fact that the Gulf dialect is phonetically a disaster, he managed to use all the expressions that would take out the harshness of the sound. He was gallant, generous and kind. I couldn't have asked more from a host to a complete stranger, more of a party crasher.
The most interesting bit about the birthday party is the demographics, since our host was a Gulfie there was a host of other Gulfies as well. And to see them interact amongst each other, and with us was something I found vastly interesting.
As a matter of fact as I entered the party, they were all busy "blow drying" each others hair! I mulled over the thought, thats an interesting way to bond with your girlfriends!
Like I always say the so-called "gay community" in Cairo, is a virtual community. Its make-believe, its imaginary and at many times fictitious. So as I sat between the two Kikis who seem to bond over the fact that they know everyone in the room or shagged everyone in the room, they gave me a roll-call of who is who, where are they from, and what's their profile, the size of their penis and in many incidences their favorite sexual position.
Such information might seem a little irrelevant, but I thought it was fascinating to see those profiles, the people behind those profiles materialize in some way.
As usual there were very little real men, in the party, perhaps two, the rest were desperate queens, myself included. It was yet another "fish convention".
I even bumped into ghosts from the past, one-time dates that ended very well, then the guy mysteriously disappeared, and I was quite surprised to see him at the party. You see my dear reader, our date was quite strange, we went on a date in Ramadan two years ago, and it was just before he was about to go on a minor pilgrimage the very next day. I never heard from him ever since only to discover from the two Kikis that this particular gentleman is not really a gentleman. He is a sad, size queen, who likes it rough and raunchy. Too much for a "religious ending".
After a while, the dust settles, the tide receded and isolated islands of vicious queens started to appear. The party was one big archipelago of vicious queens. The Archipelago of Viciousness.
Each island sneered and snickered at the other, and not before long all kinds of malicious gossip and rumors were circulated back and forth. With the understatement being "you're a fake, gold digger, who would raise her legs to the highest bidder!"
At some point I myself agreed. I would raise my legs to the highest bidder, provided he is a hunky bear 40 years old or above.
One would not think of a gay party without a designated DJ. And the DJ was another vicious, desperate queen whose erratic choice of music ruined the mood several times. However, for me the most interesting part of the evening is when they started playing Gulf music.
The moment the music started the Gulfies started moving. And the moment they started moving they transformed. A whole new layer of their bodies and energy field was revealed. The way they engaged with the space and responded to the rhythm and melody was something I had not witnessed before. Somehow, this engagement made them more intelligible, more present, more live. They suddenly made sense as people. Some how the distance and the insufferable dialect were no longer a barrier in appreciating how they, as individuals, as they were responding and enjoying the music.
I liked it!
There was one Lebanese queen, who was overdoing it as usual, and "sucking up" so hard as Kiki Jr. was telling me. I found it distasteful.
All through the night each Kiki went on and on about who she shagged, who she would like to shag and who shagged who, and who was better than who.
For the first 30 mins this was entertaining.
Then it got so annoying I thought of leaving.
But then I still felt I want to stay on and watch the dynamics of interaction between "us" and "them" and "them" and "them".
Kiki Jr. had to go at some point, as she had a curfew (its hard to imagine that she does, but in fact she does have a curfew), and Kiki Sr. found it hopeless that she rekindles the passions of some prior seedy affair with a low-class hottie, so she also decided to leave.
Our delightful, charming host, insisted that we first eat our dinner then he can send us on our way.
Which I found very endearing and sweet.
As I stood by the dinning table, I wondered who of the people I would actually shag, there was only one particular gentleman I fancied, who was more of the gentry than of the nobility. Now I am a horribly classist queen, I am all for experimentation, but I was not sure that he fancied me back. The thing is I learned the hard way that very few people appreciate the subtle. To be seen you have to be like one of the two Kikis or one of the Gulfies.
And like most Egyptians who would openly say, "Slap her, she's Gulfie", secretly they want to be the very same bitch they want to slap!
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