PIPE HER ABOARD
A determined and ambitious woman in Jordan is defying stereotypes by setting up in business as a licensed plumber
Licensed plumber Maryam Mutlaq taps into a male territory in Jordan,
ZARQA, JORDAN // It is graduation day, and Maryam Mutlaq is celebrating her transformation from housewife to licensed plumber.
Ms Mutlaq, 41, describes her business plan in a clear, strong voice to the other graduates, all veiled women.
She plans to open a plumbing shop and sell pipes and spare parts. She has even picked out a name, Challenge, and a location in a gentrified neighbourhood.
It has been a challenge to come this far in an ultra-conservative community where many women do not work outside the home. The coming months will determine if, against the odds, Ms Mutlaq can turn her bold dream into a real-life business. For now, she is brimming with optimism.
“We will break down the barriers that have been put up, that say we aren’t capable of doing things as women,” she says.
Ms Mutlaq’s choice is rare for the Arab world, where traditional gender roles make men the main breadwinners and confine many women to jobs such as teaching and nursing.
Only about a quarter of women in the Arab world work outside the home, the lowest percentage in the world.
Jordan scores far below the regional average of female workforce participation, with slightly more than 14 per cent. Unemployment is a separate measure, with higher rates for women than men in most of the region.
But Zarqa, an industrial city with a high jobless rate, is one of the toughest places in Jordan for women trying to tear down social barriers.
“Society is very conservative and is getting more and more conservative,” says Emad Momani, the mayor of Zarqa. “We are far from seeing women in non-traditional jobs like plumbers or truck drivers.”
Ms Mutlaq became involved in the plumbers’ project to save wa- ter by preventing leaks in 2014. Under strict rules of gender separation, it is easier for female plumbers to conduct home visits because male plumbers cannot enter homes where housewives are alone.
She was initially sceptical, but her husband Samir thought it was worth a try. The family could also use a second income.
Initially, their four children fiercely opposed the idea. The youngest, Lara, 12, was so embarrassed that she begged her mother to take off her green plumber’s work jacket during a parent-teacher meeting. But Ms Mutlaq kept it on to show her daughter that she is proud of herself.
By graduation day in March, Ms Mutlaq’s children have come around. Sami, 19, is glad that his mother can contribute to the family’s income. Fatmeh, 22, even joined the community outreach programme for a few months. And Lara excitedly unpacks her mother’s graduation prize – a 40-piece professional plumbers’ tool kit – in the family living room.
Two weeks later, Ms Mutlaq is getting ready for work. The first stop is Lara’s school, where she begins to remove an old tap in the girls’ toilets.
Her fellow plumber, Ibrahim Asmar, says she does well on everything that does not require heavy lifting. She can do 70 per cent of the tasks expected of a plumber, he says.
But Ms Mutlaq still faces plenty of criticism. Her eldest brother tells her that women have no business being plumbers. At the mosque down the street from Ms Mutlaq’s house, preacher Akram Al Boureini says gender roles are clear in Islam: men provide for the family and women raise children at home. Plumbing is “suitable only for men, not for women”, he says. By the end of March, Ms Mutlaq is starting to worry. She has pinned all her hopes on getting a grant.
“I’m scared that I will end up sitting at home,” she says. In late May, she is anxious. At a meeting hosted by an international aid group, 12 women are given cheques of 300 dinars (Dh1,550) each but Ms Mutlaq gets nothing. She is angry and dejected, and even thinks of selling her tool kit.
“It was a big dream but it’s been destroyed,” she says.
But by early July, she has bounced back. She applies for a grant from USAID, a US government agency, and expects to hear by autumn. She still wants to open a business one day, but says the journey has already been worthwhile.
“This was the chance of a lifetime,” Ms Mutlaq says. “The way I look at life has changed. The way I look at myself has changed, too.”