I was excited to visit Qatar to observe a different way of life, especially since two of my closest friends at Stanford are from Malaysia and Kuwait. I hoped to better understand their backgrounds through the seminar’s cross-cultural exchange with Qatar University students, and also gain a stronger sense of the incredible growth developing in this country. But seeing the distinctive Qatari national dress was the very first confirmation that I had landed in a different place.

Beyond the border of the customs gate at Doha International Airport were Qatari men in white and women in black. Despite the incessant 40°C heat, men wear individually tailored and impeccably ironed ankle-length, long-sleeved crisp white cotton blend thobes with a black intertwined cord and long swinging tassel wrapped around the head over a tight white prayer cap and headdress— accessorized by woven brown sandals, silver cuff links and collar buttons, and fancy watches. Women wear the abayah, a loose black polyester cloak concealing normal clothes and closed-toed shoes underneath— ideally combined with a designer purse and equally fashionable sunglasses. Its triangular sleeves usually boast elaborate but subtle decoration like colored embroidery, beads, or glittering faux gemstones, patterns that also line the edges of the black veil that sometimes covers a woman’s entire face. Their outfits seem to serve one of the most basic divisions of Qatari society— gender.

In just three weeks, I will not be able to fully experience the myriad of social intricacy that influences male-female relations in this country, although my Western femininity does allow me to interact more freely between sexes. One night, eight women from our group attended a dinner party hosted by a female Qatari University student also enrolled in our seminar— an invitation to experience womanly bonding and companionship in the safe, private setting of a gated home. First, we exchanged greetings and delicate conversation while encircled on cushions in the majlis, a lavishly decorated, air-conditioned tent for receiving guests. After a round of fruit drinks, we moved inside to a feast of basmati rice, mini samosas, chicken and fish curries, grape leaves, and many other extravagant dishes laid out on a snow white carpet. But the most special surprise of the evening was that the Qatari women were without their abayahs, comfortable in a solely female community. All of the careful preparation, ceremony, and custom of that night combined to offer a wholesome celebration of womanhood.

The atmosphere in the mazes of the historically preserved Souq Waqif the next evening, however, channeled a strong dose of masculinity as it marked the last Thursday night before Ramadan. Four women from our group accompanied our professors, head TA, and other members of the class to an open piazza, entertainment provided by an Arabic folk music group. As men in white thobes relaxed on their divans, I absorbed the intensity of a very loud and crowded public social gathering with perspiration dripping down my eyes, cheeks, chest, legs, and neck. I thought back to the customs line at the airport, when I first felt my unique position as a female observer in an Arab country. Here I am lucky to cross the boundaries between black and white into a ubiquitous shade of gray while socializing in Qatari society.