Global Issues: Rings – Part 2 (Gold)
Author: Sailea Nerid
(Read Rings - Part 1 here.)
Two weeks later I was sitting with a bunch of women, trying to learn how to weave a carpet and ignoring the merry chatter around me. I was hardly paying attention and of course ended up stabbing my finger with the long needle I used to help decorate the already woven carpets. I realized I had spent several minutes staring at the blood that was now all over my hands, covering the heavy gold ring that I was wearing on the same finger as the silver one. My soul felt numb. All of a sudden, I had the overwhelming desire to use the big scissors and cut off my finger together with the rings. ‘Keep hold of yourself, you are a married woman now, you need to learn how to overcome the obstacles God put in your way’, I heard my mother whispering, trying not to attract too much attention. I stood up and left the room full of women who were considered part of my family now. I cleaned my hands and walked to the quiet garden, peacefully resting under the hot summer sun. I have never tried alcohol but I suppose my state of mind was very close to being drunk. Tomorrow we were leaving for London, together with my husband. I never considered myself a hot tempered person, I knew how to control myself and I avoided becoming a slave of my emotions. I didn’t like feeling as a captive, even to my own feelings. That part of me died when I met Karim, when he made me his wife without my consent, when he hurt me in order to prevent me from screaming. I hated him. I hated the way he looked at me, the way he talked to me, the way he treated me like an object trying to justify his vicious personality with rights that the Noble Qur'an supposedly gave him. His whole existence was an offence to me as a person and to my faith that he was trying to corrupt. Our marriage was loveless but that was not the worst part, he lacked any kind of respect for me and I was his property rather than friend and a partner in the eyes of God. I never before thought of myself as a rich person but once I was robbed of my innocence, my family and basically my freedom, I became conscious of the fact I had so much to lose. I tried to complain and sought help from my relatives but I was plainly told I was on the mercy of my husband now and they had not right or duty to interfere in our so called family. I was looking into my future and it was covered by darkness, my only hope was to find a way to escape this death-trap which meant putting aside my whole life and be on my own since my family would have never forgiven such a dishonest (in their eyes) action. This was a very complicated matter because I didn’t have any money or place to go and I was very afraid of Karim whom I knew was not the one to spare the belt or his fists when he was dealing with ’disobedient and loudmouthed women’. I was trying to find a solution and I just hoped I would be able to do it before it was too late and before he managed to break my spirit.
The next day we returned to London. It felt so strange to be back to my home and back to where I used to live with so many hopes and dreams just several weeks ago. I had secretly hoped I would feel a little better once I was back to my house and started preparing to go to school. Unfortunately, that was not the case. The rings on my finger were like chains to me. I was instructed by my parents to keep my marriage a secret because they knew they could have problems with the authorities and they wanted to avoid too much attention. I was told to go straight home from school and to show the dignity and the behaviour expected by a married woman. It was easy to say but I didn’t feel I had a lot of dignity left. If anything I felt ashamed and dirty and I wasn’t really eager to share it with anyone. Going back to school allowed me to be out of the house and not close to my husband for a while which was certainly a relief but I realized I became antisocial. Deep inside I was dying to tell everybody what happened to me and beg for help but it was a shameful thing to do and I didn’t really think anyone could make things better. I was sinking into my swamp of misery and I barely paid attention to Heather who came to greet me and invite me to tea after school. Yes, I knew I was rude and unfriendly but my mind was elsewhere. She didn’t return to me and I just accepted it. I didn’t want her pity. I still believed God would give me strength and courage to save myself.
Days passed by and my life wasn’t getting any better. Karim seemed to adapt just fine to his new life in London. Apparently he had found some friends in the city and he was out till late at night. The problem was that he always returned. I think he was drinking because he was more aggressive and abusive towards me than usual claiming I was a bad wife not showing him proper respect. I didn’t think that was true because I wasn’t showing anything. I didn’t talk to him and avoided eye contact. Basically I did my best to pretend I was not in the same room as him. It seemed to me like a little victory over him. The bad side was that my whole existence was an endless pain although he was very careful not to leave bruises where they could be seen. Maybe I could have gone to my parents and show them but the whole ordeal made me feel betrayed by them and I didn’t feel like sharing my troubles with those who forced me into that situation on the first place. I knew they meant good and they had acted the way they had thought was right and to my best interest. I couldn’t stop loving my father but I couldn’t make myself to forgive him either. Apparently he didn’t have trust into me and my abilities to live a good life and that’s why he found someone who he thought would make sure I did. It was a poor choice but I understood his intentions. Unfortunately, this thought didn’t quite help me with coping with the domestic violence I was facing on daily basis. My performance in class was very poor because I just couldn’t concentrate.
One day, two months after the beginning of the school year, I was staying after the classes in order to finish a report I needed to submit. I went to the teachers’ lounge and through the cracked door I heard Heather’s voice. ‘I am telling you, Ms. Davis, there’s something wrong with Cantara. I know her, she is not herself since she returned from her trip to Jordan this summer. Maybe something happened, maybe she has troubles at home. I think you should check’. ‘It’s very thoughtful of you to be concerned with Centara’s well-being, dear’, Ms. Davis responded, ‘but you will certainly agree the school does not have the resources to investigate the causes for every student’s bad grades’. ‘But what if something is wrong, what if…’, ‘Plus’, Ms. Davis interrupted Heather, ‘you know the situation with Centara is very sensitive’. ‘What do you mean?’, Heather asked. ‘Well, she is a Muslim and the last thing the school wants is to be involved in a scandal and accused of not respecting her religious views. We can’t afford this…’ I put the report back in my backpack and walked away not willing to hear the rest of the conversation. I couldn’t believe someone would use my religion as an excuse to hide the fact they didn’t care about me. For a brief moment I had thought that maybe Ms. Davis would help me, that maybe everything would be alright. I was angry. For the first time since my troubles began I felt burning rage. It was not directed towards Ms. Davis but towards the whole world that just stood there, coldly watching me struggle and trying to get free from the cage I was locked into. ‘Centara’ I heard Heather saying my name. I looked at her face and my tears just started falling. Half an hour later she was still holding me after I told her my whole story, sobbing uncontrollably. ‘You can’t return there’, she said. ‘But where would I go’, I said, ‘I have no money and no other relative who would be willing to take me.’ Heather thought for a second and said, ‘You will come home and stay with us for a while. We will see after, maybe we can find some kind of organization that could help you.’ I felt overwhelmed, I needed time to think about all this but then I realized there was no time, my life wouldn’t get any better and God finally sent me help so I wasn’t about to blow up that chance.
Heather’s family was incredibly supportive. I told her mother what happened to me and she told me I can stay as long as necessary. That same night Karim and my father came to Heather’s house and insisted I return home with them. There was a huge scandal that ended up with the police arriving. I didn’t see them, snuggled under the blanked in Heather’s room. It was like I was trying to protect myself with this simple childish gesture. I heard Karim shouting that this was not over while the police escorted them out of the house. I couldn’t sleep that night. I didn’t go to school next day. Heather’s mother told me a social worker would visit us and that things would get better. I just nodded, not daring to set my hopes too high.
Three months later I am staying in a protected house with other women who experienced domestic violence and who needed a place to stay and feel safe. I changed schools and I haven’t seen my parents since I left home. The social workers I talked with assured me that I won’t be bothered anymore and that my marriage has no legal value since I was underage, and I was basically forced to do it. Last thing I heard about Karim was that he was forced to leave the country since he had no right to stay. I miss my family but I know I am not ready to meet them again, not yet. For now, I am trying to overcome the physical and mental abuse I was a victim of. I meet with Heather regularly. We often study together and talk about the future. Today we are sitting on the shore of a small pond that’s located in a park not far from the protected house. ‘I am really into becoming a teacher myself’, Heather says, ‘I do think I can make a difference and I have so many ideas to improve the education system. What about you?’ ‘I don’t know’, I slowly reply looking at my hands, ‘I want to work somewhere I can help women who went through something similar to me, to help them cope with it and know they are not alone.’ Heather looks at me, takes my hand and removes the silver ring that I still wear. ‘In order to help the others you need to recover first and be free yourself’ she says smiling and tosses the ring into the pond. I remove the golden ring and do the same. Watching the little jewelry fly I take a deep breath ready to start my life again.
A forced marriage occurs when an individual is forced, coerced, threatened, or tricked to marry without their informed consent. Women are most often victims of forced marriage but it happens to men as well. Subjects of forced marriages very often are minors and they also become victims of domestic and honour violence. It’s very important to differentiate between forced marriage and arranged marriage. The latter exists in many cultures and it’s basically arranged meetings between two young people in the hopes of fostering a voluntary relationship that will lead to a marriage. In such situations, the ultimate decision regarding whether to marry remains with the couple. It may be different than what we are used to but it’s just a cultural difference whereas forced marriage is violence and a crime. Forced marriages do not exist only in some countries far away from us. According to a survey conducted by the Tahirih Justice Center, approximately 3,000 known or suspected forced marriages occurred in the US over a two-year period. Last year in the UK, 1,267 people were assisted by the government’s Forced Marriage Unit. Add to this the number of people supported by specialist independent charities, as well as local police forces up and down the country, and you have a figure running well into the thousands.
You can help by simply being aware. Don’t pass people who seem troubled just because it’s their own business. Sometimes a person just can’t find the strength to ask for help. Forced marriages are not a private issue but a global problem that should be addressed loud and clear. There are a number of non-governmental organizations that you can support which help victims of forced marriages as well as victims of domestic violence. They need volunteers and funds and it’s best of you look for such in the area you live. Being with a partner who loves and respects you should be a right not a privilege, yet a lot of people are not so lucky. Think about them and be aware of the world around you!
