A friend called, distraught.
“They called a family meeting. They want me to come. They said they love me, they want me back”.
She was thrown out of the family home like garbage for the audacity of wanting a life other than that of serving her brothers. Brothers who took her wages, beat her for withholding anything for herself. Brothers who felt she was their servant, and should be happy to cook for them and clean up after them. They didn’t work, she did.
Finally, she had enough of their beatings. She went to the authorities, they did a good job, and filed charges against the family. She won. She is a good girl. A university graduate. Never been kissed. Never gotten drunk. Devout, she loves God, lives and prays like she does. But she knows He created her for more.
She has lived on her own, scraping out a living. An honorable living. Recently, a relative saw her: “So there you are! Have you so lowered yourself to work in a place like this? How ashamed I am to call you flesh and blood. I will take you home now”. Once again, she fled.
She knows what will happen when he takes her home. She has escaped them twice.
A Jordanian girl, living right here in the heart of Amman. Living under the threat of death for fleeing domestic violence. Violence they perpetrated, but that she will pay the price for. She exposed them. She must die.
She got the call. They always start the conversation with loving words, the words they know she longs for, cries for missing.. A female relative “Dear one, we miss you. Come home. It is Ramadan, it is family time. We should be together for first Iftar. Zoozoo misses you“
Words like honey, sweet, attractive, promising. The name of her precious cousin compresses her heart. They don’t know that she sometimes stands outside his preschool to get a glimpse of his curls and smile again.
“There has been a death in the family. Our uncles now know you are not with us. They shame us for not caring for you. We know how terrible it was for you here we are so sorry. Things have changed”.
“Oh, I’ll be right there, I so long to see you again! I’ve missed you so much, how I want to come home” These words beg to be spoken, banging the doors of her heart, demanding exit.
But she knows. Her mind speaks, overriding her heart: “Habeebti, I love you all so much. Now is not the time to be together. Now is the time for healing, for distance. We will be together some day. I love you, I love you” she murmurs as she closes the phone.
And on the first day of Ramadan, she will wail the words escaping from her heart into her tear-soaked pillow. Alone.
Every evening for the next thirty days, she will break her fast in her quiet apartment. Alone. Longing for what cannot be.
Wondering if it would just be better to enjoy one last evening together, then let them have their way, cleanse their shame and end her life.
This Ramadan, look for girls like her. Invite them in, be their family
This takes my breath away…
wow…how touching – thank you for this reminder
What a shame.
The most free-ing thing you can do in your entire life is to turn your back on the family which holds you down.
Diane, Susanne, Hareega, Marvin, true true true true
Good practical proactive advice.
the jordanian girl should kill her brothers and uncles for revenge….they are evil
Welcome bones! Hhmmm, I think that by lowering herself to their standards her personal dignity would be compromised. She is choosing forgiveness, but not trusting.
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