The evil eye symbol, as amulet, witness and memento 🧿
We can each hold the power of an evil eye talisman by protecting the envied, attesting to their suffering and recounting their stories with love
My appreciation for the evil eye symbol and love for the colour turquoise are rooted in the jewellery shops of Syria, where year after year, I would begin my summers with a long walk around the streets and souqs of the capital. Years after I denied myself the pleasure of these Damascus walks, promising never to return until the people’s demand for dignity was granted, I met with an admirable group of Syrian women in the diaspora. I was tasked with training them in communication and negotiation skills. To promote empathy and encourage the women to see each other beyond their politics, clothes and profession, I asked them to converse in pairs about seemingly trivial matters. They were one short of a dozen, so I sat with one of the women and we asked each other the questions I had suggested. Within minutes I was crying. It was most unexpected.
What are your favourite colours? Turquoise and fuchsia, I answered with ease. Though I still can’t write either correctly without a spellchecker, I have long identified these glorious hues as my favourite colours, even toying with the idea of naming the magazine I published twenty ago after one or the other. Having invited the women to converse, one- or two- word answers were discouraged, and storytelling encouraged. Why did I love these colours? I hadn’t thought about it before. As I vividly recounted the cobbled streets and blue gemstones of Souq Al-Hamidiyeh, and the bushes of fuchsia bougainvillea that hung above and over many a garden wall throughout the city of Damascus, tears wet my cheeks and a warm connection was forged with the woman who had kindly held space for me.
🧿
Four concentric circles of white, blues and black form the evil eye symbol, which adorns many an amulet worn by spiritual (and fashionable) people the world over. I have often worn a necklace or bracelet embellished with the symbol, and would pin an evil eye charm to my baby’s bib to protect her against those unable to control their covetousness before it ferments into envy.
Whether or not you believe in its power to protect, the evil eye remains symbolic of the battle between jealousy and generosity. In addition to its promise to ward off envy, the symbol draws me in with its captivatingly large pupil that can see all, and its serene turquoise iris that can heal all. As such, the evil eye symbol embodies the intentions of the millions worldwide – sitting in campuses and marching down streets - calling for justice for Palestine: to work in service of the protection of the envied, to bear witness to their subjugation and resistance, and to recount their courage and stories with love.
🧿
I broke my promise and returned to Damascus last summer after a 12-year absence. Once again, I went on a long walk, treading the same streets, turning the same corners, and visiting the same shops, releasing my pheromones with every step to announce to my beloved city that I had returned.
My pilgrimage took in the silversmiths of Shaalan selling their modern designs and the historical alleyways of Damascus’ old city, where rows upon rows of antique bracelets, charms, and amulets are presented in bright and busy window displays dominated by turquoise. Paintings hung on stone walls outside souvenir shops memorialise scenes of bright blue doors in the shade of large fuchsia bushes of bougainvillea. The common name for the plant in Arabic is majnoune, which literally means crazy or wild, as are her rambling vines and vibrant petals.
When my darling daughter was three years old, during one of our frequent dancing frenzies, an unkind person looked at us with disdain and called us crazy. Maya looked at me with sad searching eyes. I told her yes, we are crazy, what a wonderful place for us to be. She smiled, continued dancing, and forever more embraced her wild energy. Together, Maya and I have grown as intertwined vines of the craziest most jubilant bougainvillea, growing together and supporting each other, and it’s always a delight to see so many blossoming reflections of our colourful joy during the spring season. Long may we bloom, protected against the evil eyes of those who choose to envy instead of embrace us.
🧿
Thank you for reading this essay, published in Tales from a Rebellious Region. To read more about the motivation behind and my intentions for this publication, read earlier posts here.
If you’re interested in reading more of the essays I have yet to write, please subscribe and hold me accountable for writing and sharing every week.
That's a long time, thank your wise words...