by CARLY SHEEHAN
Nahed is 30 years old, the same age as me. She’s married with two daughters, whereas I’m single. I go home to my parents’ house on the Gold Coast when I’m not working overseas. She’s also living with her parents again. But that’s only because they fled the civil war in Syria together and came to Lebanon.
I met Nahed in the Lebanese capital, Beirut. She works as a cleaner now, earning just enough to put food on the table for her family. In Syria, she used to be a lifeguard. I was really surprised when I found this out. My first thought was “I wonder what she wore?” Nahed wears really funky colourful head scarves and her jeans are pretty tight, so I knew she wasn’t extremely conservative. But I was still very interested to find out what being a woman and a lifeguard in Syria was like.
I grew up in the water. At our home on the Gold Coast it was usually warm enough to swim in the backyard pool most of the year. But Nahed didn’t learn to swim until she was 22. Her husband encouraged her to go for a job at the biggest swimming complex in Damascus – Syria’s capital city – saying she shouldn’t let a little fact like not knowing how to swim stand in her way. So she learned how to swim, starting in a very shallow pool and moving on to a slightly deeper pool, and ended up being a lifeguard for six years. Nahed says it was a great job: “I loved the friends I made, the patrons were always nice, and the summer atmosphere always put me in a good mood.”
I showed her a picture of an Australian lifesaver wearing a ‘burqini’- the full-length swimsuit designed for Muslim women – and asked whether she’d worn something similar. She actually looked surprised that the burqini covers to the wrist and ankle. She said her swimming costume covered her shoulders and went to the knee, and that she didn’t need to cover her hair at the pool. In Damascus, women were free to wear whatever they liked at the pool, from bikinis to street clothes, nobody minded. Granted, there were different pool areas for men and women.