This was published 13 years ago
Blonde meets sharia law: when the tourist becomes the attraction
The writer loosely dressed according to shariah law in front of Baturrachman Mosque, Banda Aceh's main mosque, on Prophet Muhammad's birthday.
Despite covering up, Courtney Trenwith finds herself the centre of attention in Indonesia's only province that applies sharia law.
An hour after arriving in the capital of Indonesia's only non-secular province, I stepped out of a black SUV-style taxi at the mouth of a sleepy little market. I was wearing a long grey dress and cardigan, with a white pashmina draped over my head, across my shoulders and neatly tucked under my chin. I felt confident, impenetrable and, ironically, elegant.
“Psst, lady, lady,” Achenese men called from the back of tooting motorcycles.
Were Muslim men seeking my attention?
I ignored the jeers and entered the market with my five Australian female friends, who were similarly covered up. Men and women came rushing from the rear of their stalls and emerged from side streets. Many, mostly men, enthusiastically - desperately - beckoned us into their tiny shops.
“Pretty. Beautiful,” they said.
The surprising sense of confidence I had felt since changing into this unfamiliar attire during a stop-over at Kuala Lumpur airport, quickly diminished.
It seemed my pale hands and face – the only bare parts of my body - had revealed my true origins – a place somewhere far from the inherently Muslim community of Banda Aceh, Indonesia.
Throughout Asia I have become accustomed to my light skin and blonde hair causing much fuss among the locals. I've often transformed from the tourist to the attraction, as men, women and children whip out their mobile phones to snap the strange white girl.
But I had expected to be shielded from gawkers while observing the strict sharia law dress code, including a jilbab (the Indonesian term used for a head scarf).
Furthermore, I thought being in a strict Islamic region where it is even prohibited for single, unrelated men and women to stand close together in public, would have ruled out verbal male attention.
The unexpected reaction confused and frustrated me. I had been apprehensive about wearing a jilbab. Not because I felt it was my right to decide (if given the choice I would not wear it) but because I believed it was a religious garment that signified a Muslim woman. As a non-Muslim wearing the head scarf, I felt like a fake. However I had been warned it was risky not to follow suit.
Based on the Quran and Islamic customs, sharia law penetrates beyond the standard legal areas and into personal lives, dictating rules in areas such as prayer, dress, hygiene and proximity to the opposite sex. It is considered by Muslims to be the sacred law of Islam.
Sharia law was introduced to Aceh in 2006 as part of negotiations between the Central Government and the Free Aceh Movement to provide special autonomy to the province. It was a deliberate tactic by the Central Government to win over separatists and end almost four decades of violent conflict.
Since a Memorandum of Understanding was signed, conflict has simmered (although there remains a handful of hardliners who still want to separate) and the leading provincial party, Partia Aceh, insists it intends to strictly adhere to the MOU.
The catastrophic aftermath of the 2004 tsunami, which washed away much of Banda Aceh and killed an estimated 60,000 people, also was a significant factor in Achenese people accepting special autonomy.
Aceh quickly introduced sharia law to cover gambling, drinking alcohol and the law of close proximity, which prohibits people of the opposite sex from being seen in public together.
However, it is yet to be fully implemented and there remains controversy over the contentious punishment regime that could see public whippings and stoning for “crimes” such as adultery. It is a far cry from the strict sharia law that applies under other Muslim regimes in the Middle East.
Despite Aceh's rebellious reputation and violent history, it is not a place Westerners need to fear.
The terrifying sharia law punishment regime does not automatically apply to non-Muslims. They can choose to be dealt with under the national legal system.
I was also grateful to learn that I would not be publically whipped if my head scarf happened to slip off. In fact, during three days in Banda Aceh (I was prohibited by the government from leaving the capital city), I was assured by several well-placed people in various political parties and organisations that I would not be punished for not wearing a head scarf.
However, I received mixed responses when I asked whether I should bother wearing it at all. Some asked me why, as a non-Muslim, I was wearing a jilbab – my exact argument before I landed there. Others thanked me for showing respect by covering my hair; although they would not call the police if I was bare-headed, they certainly appreciated the gesture.
In the end, I decided it was better to be safe than sorry and to wear the jilbab. While I'm sure I would be saved from any brutal punishment if I revealed my hair, the respectful offering of wearing a jilbab went a long way.
And for a blonde Aussie I certainly felt less inconspicuous with a head scarf, although by the time I left Band Aceh it had become less of a tightly wrapped jilbab and more of a loose head covering that could have passed as an accessory to shield my pale Western skin from the scorching Indonesian sun.
Courtney Trenwith travelled as a fellow in the Asia Pacific Journalism Centre's Understanding Near Neighbours tour.
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