My mother started buying me things for my dowry when I was in middle school.
She got so many towels, sheets, underwear, blankets,
Pots and cups.
She’ll welcome you with a wide smile: “Hair or beard?”
Then she will burst out laughing: “We’re barbers too, but female barbers!”.
Most probably this is how you’ll get to know Hayam, through her “hair or beard” question.
She won’t care if this is your first time or your hundredth.
I married him twenty years ago.
Not a single year passed by without beatings, humiliation, scandals, and divorce.
He’s stingy and horrible.
He humiliates me in front of everyone.
He’s sick.
He has a terrible personality,
And he’s weak.
He doesn’t even perform his marital obligations—
He can’t do it.
He always finds something to hold over my head.
I’m fed up with him.
The beating and grounding started in childhood by my father,
Over the silliest things
Like suspecting I’m in a relationship.
My brother also beat me,
Since he was considered a father figure.
It ended with being beaten by my husband.
I was released by the 4th night.
I went home, carrying the clothes and stuff I had with me in jail.
I knocked on my family’s door.
I needed to go to the bathroom. I wanted to shower and all that.
prison, social stigma, marriage
I learned one day that my neighbor whom I used to play with was getting married.
She was almost 16 years old.
“I’ve got something that my husband will take from me and throw away tomorrow morning,” she said.