“Khob Khun Ka, Rapunzel, kha!” she said to my favourite girl while running her fingers through her brown curls.
Vivian, a spa therapist in Phuket, was friendly, but not in the typical Thai polite way.
It felt more personal, more tailored, reminding me of some of my colleagues in Muscat who like to jokingly say things like “habibti Arusa” (sweet bride) when I wear something colourful and shiny to the office.
For a moment, I even imagined that “kha” meant “sister” or “sweetheart” in Thai. But I learned that it is more like a polite particle used to soften the end of a sentence.
I appreciate this kind of warm communication between women, wherever they are from, lifting each other up with compliments accompanied by a brief touch of the hand, a smile, a blown kiss, or an endearing nickname.
At my office, if you have children, you become known as the mother of your firstborn rather than by the name you were given at birth. Colleagues also leave flowers on each other’s desks to welcome someone back from their Haj journey or celebrate a promotion.
Perhaps that is why the small gifts from Mecca that my colleague, who happens to share a name with David Bowie’s wife, recently left on my desk after returning from Haj felt like more than just souvenirs.
You tell an Omani, “Your dress is so beautiful” and they reply, “It is your eyes that are beautiful”. It is a way of saying that the beauty you see around you comes from your own perspective and heart. I love that.
Not all women have good and pure intentions, though. A sister of mine in the Netherlands responds to compliments by wishing people the same and even more, just in case they do not truly mean them.
“I love your new car and your son is so cute”, someone recently told her. “Thank you. InshaAllah, you will buy an even nicer car and may your children always treat you as well, or even better”.
One of my in-laws once showed me a photograph of herself as an infant, wearing a black bracelet her grandmother had given her as protection against the gaze of others, the eyes.
After all, these looks can carry intentional or unintentional envy; they may even come from those who genuinely wish happiness for you, but who also long for what you have when what they see touches deeper feelings of incompleteness, dissatisfaction, or even unworthiness.
Back to Vivian in Phuket, as, after Rapunzel, it was now my turn to receive a compliment.
“Your skin does not feel rough, like an elephant or most people with Caucasian skin. It feels soft and silky, like us Asians”. “Caucasian” was her choice of word, not mine. I would probably have said fair, or occasionally pinkish because of the sun.
Ironically, we had just visited a freedom reserve in Phuket where rescued elephants are protected after being removed from riding, wood-pulling and circus performances, all practices harmful to their bodies and usually involving abuse. There, I had touched elephant skin for the first time and I found myself unintentionally envying these majestic creatures, three females.
An elephant’s cracked and wrinkled skin is purposefully designed, obviously not by a human hand, to protect it from sun rays and changes in body temperature.
Just like human skin colours, it is a biological adaptation shaped by the need for protection from the sun.
Elephant skin also serves as a barrier against pests and parasites. No wonder that having “elephant skin” means possessing emotional resilience and not allowing negativity to easily hurt you.
When we first arrived at our hotel in Phuket, I realised that some Thai women must have elephant skin, soft as silk or not.
Two patient receptionists were taking the heat from a woman tourist shouting at them about the quality of the service in an attempt to get a discount, even citing international laws.
I immediately recognised the thick accent of English spoken by someone who came from a place she was likely to believe was “a land for a people without a land”.
Staying so calm and collected in the face of insults, perhaps these polite receptionists believed in ‘Kreng Jai’. Apparently this is a Thai concept of respect, preserving face, avoiding conflict and being deeply aware of how one’s actions affect others.
Ironically, in Dutch, “kreng” means nasty woman.
I am not sure if there is a name for this, but I have seen Omani women practice something similar to Kreng Jai by walking away and offering silent treatment after receiving deep insults from other women rather than responding with the same force.
They too have an elephant’s skin, albeit a soft one.
Oman Observer is now on the WhatsApp channel. Click here
