I Don’t Believe in God!

(As narrated by a child)

Written by: Jewaira It was night and it was in our car. And the worst part happened in front of our house.

Mama and Baba were fighting again while we came home from Auntie Muna’s house. I don’t know when it started because Auntie Muna’s house is in Grain and a long way from our house. When we are in the car for a long time, I like to imagine stories. But when I saw Mama’s eyes full of tears in the mirror, I came back to my place in the car, sitting next to my brothers Mohammed and Nasser in the back seat.

Mama was silent but Baba kept on shouting and saying that she was not a good mother, she was a bad wife. He said she didn’t do anything for him. He said she was arrogant (metkabbrah); he kept repeating do you think you are better than me because your father has money? He said bad words to her but I can’t remember what.

But I could feel Mama was very unhappy. He said he would marry another woman and show her. And I know Mama was quiet because of us in the back. Also, because Baba told her to shut up every time she tried to say something.

I couldn’t return to my stories because I felt so sad for Mama. I felt Baba was being awful and I hated him. I can’t explain why.

Then, when we were almost home, Mohammed started to shout. He shouted at Baba for saying bad things to our mother. He said that Baba was a hypocrite; being good in front of people but always treating Mama badly. He said to Baba you pray but your actions are not good; you always put people down and then show off about yourself and what you have done. Everybody is a failure, Mohammed said to him, and you are the only one who is successful. And look at Nasser? Don’t you see the way Nasser has turned out, always shouting, always fighting, and doesn’t respect our mother? It is because of you, the way you treat her!

Nasser was silent in the back seat and I think he was pretending not to hear.

At first Baba kept quiet. Then he turned to Mama and said: See! This is what you have taught your children? To disrespect me? To talk back?

But Mohammed did not stop talking. And I wish he had. He started talking about religion in school, and said he did not believe in what they were teaching him in school about Islam. He talked a lot about the Friday prayers and how he hated to go because the Imam just shouted and was full of hatred for others. He shouted at Baba why do you force me to go? I don’t believe in God! I don’t believe in God!

And then Mohammed started to cry. I was ashamed that my big brother, who was 14, was crying in front of everyone and in the car. But he couldn’t stop talking and crying at the same time. It was very sad.

When he said he didn’t believe in God, I felt Mama freeze. I felt Mama’s fear. And Baba turned very quiet and turned around to beat Mohammed and began to shout again saying: So? Now that you are in this American school you think you have new ideas? You think it is cool to leave your religion and start saying you don’t believe in God? Is that what they are teaching you? And then he started to shout at Mama and said it was her fault because she had put him in the American school and he knew that his kids would be under bad influences there.

Baba was like a volcano. Inside the house he went to Mohammed’s room and grabbed his expensive guitars and started to throw them. Mama was trying to calm him down; she was trying to hold him and say nice things to him but Baba had lost control and his whole body was shaking. Mama became very strong suddenly and tried to hold Baba back. She went in their bedroom with him and locked the door. Mohammed locked himself in the bathroom because he did not want Baba to beat him. I listened to Baba shouting, telling Mama to give him the key, that he was going to show him. Baba put many curses on Mohammed that night and Mama cried saying how can you say such things, he is our son. But Baba said that he would accept many things but not Mohammed saying he did not believe in Allah; that means he is a kaffir! I am responsible to raise this child as a Muslim! And now he comes with new ideas and on top of it all is disrespectful to me? He dares to talk back. This is your fault! This is the influence of your family!

I heard Mama say that Mohammed was a teenager and it was a difficult time. She said that Mohammed was a good boy and all of her children were good and deserved that Baba be proud of them. She said that it was a mistake for Baba to always say good things about other children like our cousins and bad things about us. Mama said: Don’t you remember how Mohammed would beg to go to the mosque with you when he was younger? Don’t you remember how he fasted from a very young age and refused to break his fast even when we tried to trick him? Mohammed is good, said Mama, but he is going through changes now. We have to stand by him and help him.

After a while Baba was quiet and Mama opened the bedroom door. But he was still angry and went out to Diwaniyah. And I heard Mama go to Mohammed and she stayed a long time with him, telling him that he had to apologize to his father and all I remember Mohammed saying: My father is a hypocrite. See the way he treats you. See how he shouts at you all the time; he just prays in front of people; it is just actions. But in his heart he is not perfect. You are not happy, Mama, admit it, Mohammed said to her.

Mama held Mohammed but he pushed her away and said now he wanted to be alone. But Mama stayed and talked a long time and when she came out of his room, I saw she was crying again. I sat next to her in the sala and hugged her for a long time and kissed her head and eyes many times, telling her that it was OK.

© COPYRIGHT JEWAIRA 2005

Airport Vignette

Written by: Jewaira

Maryam was waiting at the airport in Rome for her connecting flight back home. A dark haired young man approached her and asked her whether she would look after his briefcase while he went to the toilet. Reluctantly, she agreed. She tried to concentrate on her book but she was worried by the briefcase. She knew she shouldn’t have said OK. It was the worst thing to do especially in an airport nowadays. She was relieved when he finally came back and took back his briefcase. He sat next to Maryam in the lounge and smiled at her widely, thanking her profusely in his Italian way. She was a bit embarrassed of appearing too friendly with him, especially since she was newly married and didn’t want anyone to think she was being chatted up.

But the Italian was persistent. “You have beautiful eyes,” he began. She blushed and looked away. He kept on flattering her but she tuned out. She informed him that she was married, in an effort to dissuade him, adding: “And I love my husband very much”.

Shortly, they were on the plane. To her surprise, he took the seat next to hers. She looked around lest anyone was there that she knew. The Italian chatted throughout the flight and he seemed quite well-meaning. She closed her eyes and slept for as long as she could. When she awoke they were almost there. He produced a card with his name and number and asked her to contact him.

“But I told you, I am married.”

“So? I don’t care. Take my card.”

Out of politeness, Maryam put it in her bag.

When she got to the airport in Kuwait, she took out the Italian man’s card and crushed it in her palm. She threw it in the bin on the way to the customs area. No need, she thought, to create any problems at home.

© COPYRIGHT JEWAIRA 2005

Desire

Written by: Jewaira

In the total darkness, her body is formless. It is just her easy breathing and the feel of the freshly laundered sheets against her skin. Under the thin cloth of the white linen nightdress, her nipples, the colour of pale raspberries brush against the bed sheets and she kicks them off. It is close tonight and the ceiling fan whirs above her.

She needs him but it is Her turn tonight, the other wife.

She tears off the linen gown and lays naked, rolling her sinuous body around the large bed. Momentarily, in the darkness, she feels exposed.

She remembers Amal. Why do some inane stories always stick in your head? Once Amal said that as she lay uncovered next to her sleeping husband, she thought she saw a man (jinn) stand by her bedside and order her to cover her naked thighs. She told the ladies at the gathering about it the next day, swearing she would always wear underwear when she went to bed.

And her mind skipped to her friend Nadia. When they were just hitting puberty, Nadia’s mother had warned her about the awful results of fondling her small nubile breasts. If you rub your breasts or touch them, they will become large and ugly. For pubescent Nadia, being burdened with those budding appendages was enough. She didn’t want them any larger.

But she knew why Nadia’s mother had said that. She had already discovered the delights of her own body and quite by accident really. She didn’t understand what it was but she felt an inexplicable sense of pleasure as she placed her large white teddy bear between her thighs one night. Yes, it was unintentional but it was that night, on her single bed in the room she shared with her sister that marked the beginning of her sensuality.

She needed him by her now, to satisfy her. Maybe she was just jealous of Her? She consciously pushes away the thought.

Her thoughts drift off remembering Salma who told them matter-of-factly that she slept only in her panties and even walked around the second floor of their home half-naked. At fourteen mind you. Salma was completely uninhibited, until her brother saw her, thus. He was furious.

And perhaps threatened by her sexuality, she mused to herself.

Outside, the cats yowled. It smelled like mating season again, as the male cat scent floated in through her open bedroom window. Damned cats had even sprayed the entrance to her front door.

She would SMS him; tell him how she was feeling now. She made up erotic messages in her mind, mentally composing and editing the words.

What could she say and not sound jealous? Petty?

Absolute torment. Unfulfilled desires.

And soon, with her face buried into the pillow, and her right arm outstretched holding the mobile phone, she drifted off to sleep, her unsatiated body embraced by the bed.

© COPYRIGHT JEWAIRA 2005