I saw the right hook coming at me out of nowhere. I was shocked, I just didn’t expect it. What followed was a series of follow up punches and hits. I’ve forgotten what kind. I guess I just couldn’t believe he felt he had a right to strike me, albeit so violently. When he got tired, due to his age, he picked up a stick, the broomstick that was being used earlier. That stick was swung and struck my body, my arms, my head, my back. It pressed into my flesh, leaving dents but no pain. My body only registered the sting of the first contact. I did not feel pain but a hefty bellowing scream was released. I screamed in agonizing frustration. I screamed because my 21-year-old body was being physically pushed back and down by an assault. I was meant to cower. I was meant to cry, to yield, back down. Instead, I grit my teeth, clenched my jaw and got louder. Staring right at my mother who had called for this. She had made the call for me to get physically disciplined the way daughters are meant to get from their fathers. I looked at my mother who stood a couple of feet away, calling in feeble protest for him to stop, saying I’ve had enough I suppose. She had called him right after I told her that I was going to take a taxi and go to Baghdad. I told her I was going to the Embassy to get a temporary travel document, one that I was assured by consular officials via email that I could get within 48 hours of a meeting. She asked me questions about my intentions if I actually was able to pull that off and get the document, once I returned, would I go to Mexico? Would I still pursue the plan to go on exchange there? What she didn’t do was show any interest in looking into this promised document that would allow us to leave this country without passports. She didn’t say “Okay Huda, wow that’s great that you have that meeting, of course, you can’t go without us so let's go together.” I was planning on insisting against that if it happened but it never came. She had no interest. She had re-tied the knot with this fucking animal. She had recommitted to being his wife again, his responsibility. His property. And for what? Apparently, for our future.
I looked at her and told her that the difference between her and I, was that I would never sell my freedom for money. Of course, someone in that position would never admit to themselves that was the case.
I was outside, standing in the porch walking towards the door in one moment, the next, I was physically holding myself together while I told my mother over an over, “you think you can hit me into submission?” Without knowing it I had been beaten back into the house. I stood in the room feet apart, angered, enraged, and bewildered. I never took my eyes off my mother. She stood there telling me this was all my doing. I did this, I caused this. He stood in the doorway, making a show of being held back by the other men of the house. He yelled, “Go get the gun”, the way you would demand to no one, in particular, to go get the phone so you could call the cops, or go get the lighter so you can burn whoever’s being naughty. He was trying to scare me into submission, the way you would scare a misbehaving child who might be throwing a tantrum. I looked straight at him and yelled: “Get the gun and kill me now!” I stood there looking into his eyes daring him to follow out his threat. He exited.
Thinking about it now, I’m reminded of something a certain someone said long ago. “Give me liberty or give me death”. Which is exactly the way I was feeling? Like I was carrying a pedestal on my back. One that housed my burning need to feel free again. To feel in control and be let go. Cut free from the braided knots that held me firmly against my mothers bosom. Or to die trying to free myself. For the first time since arriving in this country, I realized that I was exactly the kind of girl that would get killed in an honor killing and my mother had officially put herself in the category that might allow such a thing to happen to her daughter. Or at least she wouldn’t realize it until it was too late. I also realized that it was possible that I would never leave this country and sooner rather than later… I might die. It was a strange feeling that launched something into my throat. I briefly wondered what the authorities, both the government and the tribal authorities would do or not do in the case of a girl murdered by her own ‘walid’. ‘Father’. I can’t imagine such a thing is legally overlooked, surely it is against the official law of this land. But with the obvious corruption within the government and the way the tribes clearly outrank police officers on these streets, I could see it. I could see my body being dropped in the river. My life being nothing but a friend who went on vacation and never came back. A niece and granddaughter who went to live abroad and just lost touch. A student who went ‘back home’ and didn’t come back to pay off her student loans. An abandoned facebook account, twitter, briefly started blog. A blog that might never see these pages, might never know my story, may never know the truth. Who I am, what I believe, It’s all I’ve ever had, my values and my way. I was going to carve my life from it, pave my path, do the work that I know needs to be done. Now, I’ve been reduced to a prisoner, with no internet, no phone, just an ability to write what may never be read. Pour myself out onto this white page. Hope that one day people will know of me, my story is read, maybe one day affect change in someone’s life or situation. Teach something, help someone, inspire survival and the never-ending fight for freedom. I’m not trying to sound conceded or self-important… lol. But yeah.
Later I felt what I thought was a grain of sand in my mouth. I spit out the small white object out, not sure what it was. After a while, I began feeling my bottom front teeth tugging at the tip of my tongue the way a small hook would threaten to tear at the skin of a finger. I grabbed my compact mirror and realized what the white stuff was. Somewhere along the way, likely when I got punched in the face, I must have ground my teeth and caused the tip of the bottom front ones to be grated off. I also found white gooey residue on my tinge which I guessed was related to the tooth enamel. The tips were now threatening to pierce me so I grabbed a nail file and tried to file the sharpness away. Unfortunately, nothing was quite doing the trick, maybe I couldn’t get the right angle.
What have I learned from this experience? You may not feel the pain at the moment, but you will find the bruises and feel the soreness and scrapes later. I already have fibromyalgia that keeps my upper back permanently inflamed, now they’re bruised too, increasing the pain and sensitivity. Wonderful. I definitely won’t be laying on my back again any time soon.
Time to recalibrate. I walked straight into the ‘bedroom’, put my bags down and opened them up. I couldn’t risk them making the decision to take my IDs, ticket info, papers, my money, or my remaining electronics. I took out my coin purse with my money, my printed plane ticket info, and my credit cards and IDs and I put them in my pocket. Then I took my laptop and my notebook out of the bags and hid them in the corner behind my carry on. I locked the door and took the time to process my situation. I couldn’t spare any tears for getting beaten, but I did feel the impact of the situation and what it meant for my future, my fate. Attempting to escape had just become 300% more scary and dangerous. It didn’t mean I wasn’t going to do it again, only that I needed more courage than before. And I needed to be smarter. I know now than an honest straightforward walkout is not an option anymore. I also know that they’re going to continue locking all the doors, including the kitchen door that leads to outside so that's not an option anymore. I also know when I walk out that door, they’ll all continue to be watching and spying on me to make sure I don’t try to leave again. All eyes are on me, daytime escape is out of the question. In fact, with this new intense atmosphere, I’m going to need to wait a while for things to calm down and guards to start dropping before I try anything again. At night, the room I have to walk through contains the grandmother and grandfather, but sometimes their sons as well. So 2-4 people who can clearly hear the huge front door being dragged open and closed. I need a better plan than just sneaking out. Luckily, the bathroom is located outside. Ding, ding. I’ll fake a shower. I’ll have to take a long ass middle of the night shower prior to set the standard, a few days before. So they see that it’s not out of the ordinary and don’t suspect anything. Set a precedent. I will walk out in my abaya, a small bag containing only the things I’ve just hidden away, the things I consider absolutely essential. The bag will have to be very discreet and invisible behind the towel and toiletry bag I’ll be holding. I’ll walk into the bathroom and turn on the shower. I’ll wait a few minutes then sneak out to make sure no one walking around or waiting for me right outside. Once I confirm the coast is clear, I will step out, using a coin I will lock the door from the outside. After that, I will briskly collect whatever buckets or pots I see loitering their tiny lawn, stack them, and climb over the wall. I’m confident I can get over using what I see laying around. The problem is what I’ll do after I get over the wall. It will be night time, pitch black. No way I’m going straight for a taxi, even if there are any taxis at that time of night, I wouldn’t trust them. Plus, as soon as they notice I’ve spent too long in the shower and break in to find me gone, they will be out looking for their stray. They will call in favors and spread the word I’m sure. I will need to lay low, basically, hide. I might look for an outhouse to hide out in, but I don’t even know where to find one of those. I just haven’t seen enough of this village to know spots or places to go. In other words, it was another unknown factor. I hate unknown factors and uncertainty. If I manage to find any begging women sleeping on the street or even if I find them during the day, I plan on joining them and thereby hiding in plain sight. Which will also be risky but I’m hoping to cover my face with my scarf will keep me from being identified. I don’t plan on waiting too long, perhaps 15 hours max, before I make my move and try to catch a cab to the city. Whenever it’s busiest I suppose, I’ll just have to cross that bridge when I get to it.
