The Window

by Nina Laughlin (United States of America)

I didn't expect to find Malaysia

Squinting through the verdant grime buildup on the slit-like ferry windows, I took one last look at the longtail boat-littered shores of Koh Lipe, Thailand’s southernmost island and the first stop on my first trip to Asia. “Germany!” Startled by the break in the silence, several heads turn in unison as the gruff deckhand marches into the passenger cabin holding a basket of passports. Eight people raise their hands, and the deckhand distributes the passports among them. “Australia!” Six people raise their hands. “Ireland!” Three hands raise. “United States!” My husband Reid and I raise our hands, the lone Americans on a ferry bound for Langkawi, Malaysia. In all of my travels prior to this, Americans have been everywhere. I’d heard their voices on the cliff-sheltered beaches of Positano, Italy. I’d shared a laugh with them while digging in the fertile soil of a tiny permaculture farm in Mastatal, Costa Rica. I’d raced my bicycle against them on the undulating, vineyard-lined roads of Adelaide, Australia. It felt strange that he and I were the only people from our country on this ferry boat holding 200+ passengers, but oddly freeing at the same time. The lapping waves and dull thrum of the engine inspire silence for the rest of the ferry ride, and Reid rests his head on my shoulder as the gentle sway of the boat lulls him to sleep. I turn my attention back to the odd slit windows, wondering why they didn’t make them bigger. I had to crane my neck to see out of them clearly. A sharp, sawtoothed landmass of tangled jungle slowly slides into view as we near the port, obscured by the mildew on these damn windows. The passengers disembark in a chaotic blob, and after we clear customs, Reid and I fumble through finding a taxi to the airport. While waiting in line at the AirAsia ticket counter, I started feeling sick. I had gotten stitches in my knee two days before (that’s a story for another day), and the antibiotic I was given was not agreeing with me. Sweat beading on my brow, I trotted over to the bathroom, feeling glad that I decided to wear shorts and a lightweight t-shirt to the airport instead of my usual every-article-of-clothing-in-the-suitcase look. When I finally emerged from the stall and looked up at the mirror, I froze. A woman was peering back at me through the reflection in the mirror. Cloaked in all black, all I could see were her piercing brown eyes through the window of her niqab. Taken aback, I averted my eyes and quickly washed my hands. As I walked back to the ticket counter, I saw women in black everywhere, only their eyes visible to the outside world. Looking around, I noticed that I was the only female in sight that was wearing shorts. I was so used to seeing people parading around in scanty beachwear on Koh Lipe that observing this stark contrast in culture on two islands separated by only 42 kilometers of sea was shocking. The only Americans on the ferry. The only woman in the airport with bare legs. If traveling to new places was comfortable, I wouldn’t be interested in it. Inspired to learn about niqabi women, I did some reading while we were waiting for the plane to board. I wasn’t too surprised to find that there is a lot of controversy that surrounds niqabi dress, and I found it hard to imagine how difficult traveling to certain countries must be for Muslim women who choose to wear a niqab. As exposed as I felt in the Langkawi airport, I couldn’t fathom the sheer hate and misunderstanding they would face in my home country and many others. “AirAsia flight 347 to Kuala Lumpur is now boarding group two!” The blare of the intercom broke my contemplation, and Reid and I gathered our bags. While lining up to board, a niqabi woman in front of me dropped her passport. As I picked it up and handed it to her, I saw the corners of her eyes crinkle. I knew she was smiling at me through her window to the world, and I felt less alone.