ABU DHABI, UNITED ARAB EMIRATES — 'I like your pants."
Distracted and thinking about work, I was in line for coffee at an all-girls college when I heard someone behind me compliment my funky army trousers. Turning to say thanks, I saw my smiling face reflected in a pair of oversized sunglasses whose owner clearly was smirking.
That was my first encounter with Alia. But with her close-cropped hair, masculine shirt, baggy jeans and a massive gold Rolex on her wrist to match the gold-framed Ray-Bans on her nose, she could easily have called herself Ali.
With a look that said, "Don't mess with me," she had only to nod and grunt to have her coffee served the way she likes it - no cream, no sugar.
The Persian Gulf 'tomboys' can be themselves online and behind closed doors. But when in public, they must toe the sexual line or hide their cross-dressing passion behind their national dress — a full-length black gown.
Then she and the rest of her tough-girl troop headed to a table in the corner of the college food court. The six of them weren't interested in socializing; theirs is an exclusive group. Although she looks masculine, Alia insists that "I am not a boy - I am a boyah."
In the Persian Gulf region, boyah is a term traditionally used for a tomboy (boyat for tomboys), but the phenomenon has become increasingly controversial in the past year. The ranks of the boyat have risen notably since the creation of dedicated Facebook groups attracted hundreds of "friends" within weeks.
Now, targeted as socially undesirable and often shunned as "confused lesbians" (a label many of them reject), they have come under fire from a government that's still uncomfortable with sexual norms accepted elsewhere but taboo to Islamic society.
MARGARET ATWOOD'S 'CENSORSHIP FRACAS'
This week, Canadian writer Margaret Atwood cancelled her planned appearance at Dubai's first international literary festival when its organizers rescinded an invitation to British journalist Geraldine Bedell because her new novel was found to contain references to homosexuality.
Ms. Atwood, a vice-president of the writers association International PEN, was to be there in person next Saturday; now, she will appear by video link to take part in a panel discussion about what she calls the "censorship fracas."
Ms. Bedell, a writer for The Observer newspaper, was planning to launch her novel at the festival. Called The Gulf Between Us, it is set in the region and is said to feature, as a minor character, a sheik with a British boyfriend. But the festival's director feared that the gay sheik, along with the book's backdrop - the Iraq war - "could be a minefield for us."
In many ways, Alia and the hundreds of other boyat in the UAE and other Persian Gulf states are already in a minefield. Islamic tradition considers one gender acting like another to be deviant behaviour. According to a recent on-air sermon, "Men likening themselves to women and women to men, whether in clothing or the way they talk, walk or in their demeanour and appearance, is despised by any person whose nature has not been corrupted."
Last year, the UAE mounted a national campaign to discourage cross-dressing in schools, calling on teachers and parents to get more involved. They were never mentioned by name, but the rise of the boyat was known to be at the heart of the campaign. Now, government agencies are trying to launch the flip side: a public-awareness drive to have young women "embrace their femininity."
Experts trace much of the reason for the rising number of boyat to the rapid opening of a once-closed society. To see if that is true, I decided to get to know Alia and her friends better. To do that, I had to go undercover. I had to dress like them, walk like them and pledge allegiance to them, before being trusted enough to hang out with them.
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