Global Issues: Rings – Part 1 (Silver)
Author: Sailea Nerid
I don’t remember much of Jordan. We left when I was 6 years old. My brother was just a toddler back then. Sometimes I still dream about the hot sun and the scent of the desert. When the wind is strong enough one can feel the salt coming from the Dead Sea. It’s so different compared to the grey sky of London. Well, it’s true that we have a very nice house now, with air-conditioning and beautiful French windows. I realize dad has put a lot of efforts to ensure our current living standard. He is an architect, and a very good one. I am grateful, but I wish he spent more time at home. Sometimes I feel we don’t know each other at all. Our conversations are strictly limited to discussing texts from the Noble Qur'an. I am a Muslim and proud of it. I love that my religion allows me to have a close personal relation with our Creator and that it teaches us that each person is accountable, as they have freedom of choice and intelligence to discern between right and wrong. Wearing my hijab is part of who I am and my cultural heritage. I remember vividly the day my mom gifted me my first bright blue hijab. She said, ‘Cantara, this veil symbolizes you are now old enough to protect your family honour and as a young woman it will help you to be judged for your worth, not for your appearance.’
I have always liked the deep traditions Islam represents and when I have some free time from studying, I like reading religious and philosophical books. I try to keep the knowledge to myself, though. I feel that father doesn’t approve the way I think and the way I interpret some of the concepts we discuss. Once, I really pissed him off during a dinner with some of his friends who also came from Jordan. They were discussing some verses by the Prophet and I spoke up disagreeing with my father and giving some evidence from a book I was reading at that time. He didn’t talk to me for weeks and he took my book. It was hard for me, especially because I don’t have many friends. My mother has always encouraged me to seek friends among other modest Muslim girls but there are not a lot of them in my school and I don’t really mind being a friend with some of the girls I study with. I know we are different but we still have a lot in common. Unfortunately, they don’t talk to me unless it’s absolutely necessary. Still, I like going to school and learning new things. I hope once I graduate I will be admitted to a prestigious university, so I can study literature.
I celebrated my sixteenth birthday with my family. I have always loved the fact my birthday is in April when everything’s blooming and the spring is the queen of our world. My parents told me that as a present we will visit Jordan in the summer. I felt strangely excited, going back to where I was born, after so many years away from home. That spring I had another reason to be happy. I found a friend, one of my classmates named Heather. We had to do a science project together so we spent many hours in the library. Eventually, we became friends. I even went to Heather’s house and her mother treated us tea and sandwiches. My life has never been happier. I was sad during the last school day because I knew I wouldn’t see Heather until next school year with my trip to Jordan. At the same time, I was so anxious to see again the places I vaguely remembered. It was an adventure and I was ready to enjoy it. Heather walked me home and before leaving she gave me a bead bracelet she had made herself. I was very touched and promised her a gift from my trip to the Middle East.
Next two weeks passed quickly in preparations for the trip. I noticed my mother was especially grim and quiet but I thought she was just stressed because of the errands she needed to run before our trip and all the packing.
Finally, the day came and my whole family took the plane to Amman, the capital of Jordan. A friend of my father was waiting for us and gave my family a ride to Karak. I spent the time looking through the window and devoured the beauty of the nature, the heat, and the clear azure skies. We stayed in our old house that was cleaned and ready for use when we arrived. Some of dad’s cousins had even prepared a dinner. The traditional Fasoulya Beyda, white beans cooked in tomato sauce and served with rice, was the best I had ever tried. I went to bed in my old bedroom and thanked the Creator for all the beauty in the world and my luck to be alive.
I had a quick breakfast in the morning and I was about to go out and enjoy the morning in our backyard when dad called me from the living room where he was having tea with mom. There was a small box on the table. ‘Cantara,’ he said, ‘your mother and I decided you are already an adult and wise enough to start a family of your own. My close friend Abdul’s son, Karim, really likes you and he will gladly come with us back to London, so you could finish your education as long as you are modest and pious.’
I don’t remember how long I stayed in the middle of the room staring at my father. Mom was looking away from me. I briefly thought of all this being a joke, but my father would never joke about such a serious matter. ‘But I don’t know this man’, I heard myself saying, although it didn’t sound like me, ‘how could he like me when we have never met and I am only 16, it’s too early for me to get married.’ My dad frowned, ‘It’s up to me as your father and guardian in this world to decide if you are ready or not. We chose Karim because he is a fine man, coming from a good family that respects our traditions. I am afraid you have been influenced by the immoral and godless way of life in the West. You should trust my judgement and God will reward you with a lot of happiness and prosperity.’ He pushed the box towards me. I took it with my hands shaking uncontrollably. Inside there was a fine silver ring, my engagement present.
I spent the next few days in my room refusing to eat. I felt trapped and betrayed. There was nobody who could help me in this country where I knew nobody. My dad seemed adamant and informed me we would have dinner with Karim’s family soon. I tried to talk to mom and persuade her somehow it was a clear madness, but she just repeated my dad’s words and told me I should not bring shame to the family and be a good woman like God intended me to be. I couldn’t accept any of this. Every time I looked at the silver ring that was still in its box, I felt sick. Then I started to feel afraid. I knew that the laws in Jordan were strict and that daughters had to obey their fathers. I knew that if I was considered a rebel, I could have ended up being abandoned by my family and thrown away from the society without any hope of going back to my old life in London.
The dinner with Karim and his parents was a nightmare. He was 26 and I definitely hated the way he looked at me. I felt he lacked the respect he should have showed me according to the Qur'an. I tried my best to avoid eye contact and stayed quiet during the whole evening. I felt deeply offended that my father chose such a person for me. It hurt me that he was trying to get rid of me regardless of the reasons he was trying to believe in. I didn’t have access to the Internet or a phone and all my efforts to speak with dad again were fruitless. He just told me everything was already prepared and he would rather have no daughter than bear the shame of not keeping his word and people thinking I was disgraced and dissolute. ‘I believe I’ve raised you better’ he said, leaving me in tears.
And here I am now, dressed in fine silk and feeling like a lamb about to be sacrificed to some unknown deity. My ears are ringing and I can hear every beat of my heart. The silver ring is heavy on my finger while I’m waiting for my sentence to become final in the eyes of God. Pray for me because I don’t know how I will escape my fate in this forced marriage I despise.
The story of Cantara will continue in our next edition. You can wear the signature below in support of our heroine and all the women around the world who share the same fate.
