Families are split as women’s groups spread in Syria

“Do you know how you will burn in hell? You’ll be roasting like this,” the woman said, rotating her hands like a rotisserie. It was the first day of Ramadan and she was haranguing the barista at Inhouse Coffee in Malki, an affluent neighbourhood in Damascus.

Inhouse Coffee, a chain started by a dynamic young Syrian entrepreneur, was my haven when I lived next door. It was one of the few places with reliable wireless internet access, a rarity in Syria. Every morning I took my laptop and checked my emails there over a cappuccino grande.

I had never before seen the woman or her friend who showed up on that first day of Ramadan. They both looked in their late teens or early twenties, and both wore the hijab. The barista was a young Christian woman from Assaa, the affluent Christian neighbourhood. The reason for the women’s hostility was that Inhouse remained open during the day in Ramadan, which is legal in Syria, where business owners are free to choose their hours during the holy month.

As a Muslim, I was disturbed to see the confrontation, and I got involved explaining to the young women that such hostility was not in the generous spirit of Ramadan. Besides, I pointed out, if they had any issue with food establishments serving during fasting hours, they should take it up with the owner, not an employee.

“The Prophet tells us to order virtue and put an end to sin when we see it,” one of them said, referring to a popular hadith, before asking to which religion I belonged. “You must be of no religion at all then,” she said when I refused to answer.

The scene escalated and eventually the women stormed out, but what I found most disturbing was yet to come. Numerous women from the neighbourhood kept arriving in pairs at Inhouse over the following days, causing a similar scene every time. I also saw them at other coffee shops and restaurants.

“It’s haram to serve food during fasting hours,” said one. “You are going straight to hell,” said another. And, particularly disturbing: “You need to shut down until iftar or I will pray for God to curse your entire family,” shouted a well-heeled, middle-aged woman dressed in a navy coat and scarf.

Rhonda Roumani, a fellow at the Alicia Patterson Foundation now working on a series of articles about youth in the Middle East, revealed in her article in The National (Sept 12) the secretive, intricate and highly organised ways of one of the oldest women’s religious groups in Syria, the Qubeisiat. They wear dark navy coats with a white scarf for beginners, a navy scarf for mid-level followers and a black scarf for a senior teacher.

They have been around for 25 years, but in recent years dozens of other women’s groups have sprouted, mainly behind the closed doors of private homes, where they size up newcomers to sniff out undercover government informants. The government’s response has been to encourage women’s religious lessons to take place in public spaces, such as mosques or schools. But lessons in private homes are thriving, and many young women consider it a privilege to be invited to them.

Groups compete to recruit young women from wealthy and prominent families, a strategy mastered by the Qubeisiat. These groups also serve as havens for poor women, battered women and any woman who finds comfort in the warmth of belonging to a group.

“One woman’s husband took another wife; one is getting divorced; one gets hit by her brother at home. I cannot tell you how many women have found solace in belonging to us,” said my cousin, who regularly attends lessons and wears a navy coat and scarf. She refused to reveal the name of her group or, despite requests, to invite me to a lesson.

The phenomenon has ripped a schism through the normally tolerant communities of Damascus, and my family is not alone in battling rising tensions between the religious and the secular. At my father’s funeral, the same cousin announced that we “should not be crying out loud, for that will summon the devil to the funeral”.

Some of my relatives complain about my cousin’s new-found interest. “She returns home with her head filled with who knows what,” said one aunt, whose daughter has attended lessons for years and is now a teacher. Another aunt told me: “They tell them things like: ‘A woman should not sleep next to a wall, because the wall is masculine’.”

When I recently visited Syria, I felt on more than one occasion an underlying hostility toward me from several female strangers who wear the hijab. I suspected I was the recipient of dirty looks from women convinced only they knew the true meaning of Islam, but I had to verify this.

One day, I saw the shadows of women standing outside our gated building. I did the courteous thing and opened the door for them. Few things are considered as ungracious as not greeting someone who is inside my building. But this did not bother the four women who I let in. The eldest gave me a dirty look and barged in. The younger three followed. None returned my greeting and smile.

Yet when a woman dressed similarly to them stepped out of the elevator, they all greeted her with a warm “salamu aleikum”. All were strangers to my building, visiting a neighbour who had recently started hosting religious lessons.

I asked my mother and other neighbours if they too were feeling a rise in hostility. Many had similar stories to share.

I returned to Inhouse during fasting hours for my usual morning coffee, as I was not fasting that day. The cafe was closed. There was a sign giving the new Ramadan opening hours.