Her Story - Observatory - News

Her Story Dreams Waiting To Be Realized By: Obada Takla Translator: Namir Shabibi After 15 years I will get that divorce! When my daughter is 17 years old, this foetus inside me will finally become an adolescent, I will never hesitate to tell her the full details of my story. I will begin with those years in which I was still a teenager, 13 years old in fact, and the oldest girl in a liberal family which didn’t shackle its children with a list of ‘don’ts’. Rather, this family was satisfied to make passing warnings, leaving its children with the space to gain experience, make mistakes and gather common sense. This liberal father and child-like mother saw in their daughter a troublesome child who really wished for an opportunity to step-up into adulthood. In rhythm with adolescence and its particular desires, and the enjoyment and pleasure of discovery of its moments, I was given free reign to try, err and challenge. This was the case until I began my next experience at university. I met him for the first time at one of my lectures and without delay I decided that I wanted to snare him. He was a handsome, affluent, eloquent and smart and he surpassed me in all ways except in his lack of experience. I had my way. We ended up spending many hours together in his house, which we excused with a customary marriage. This made me feel like I was launching into the most beautiful adventure of my life. As each day passed, I became more distant from my family. This serenity was not disturbed until my brother’s had begun to continually intervene. He had come of age and began to act as man of the house in the repeated absence of my father for work reasons. With my mother’s support, an eye was kept on me and I was held to account. I was even hit on a number of occasions. Continuity in my amorous relationship became difficult, accompanied by a number of problems between us. This lead the adventure in a new direction, to an experience called marriage. Here, I mean proper (legal) marriage, which many people had encouraged me to do in order to finish with familial pressure and build my own special world, which I would bring children to. He saved for a house, as would any ordinary fiancé. He presented the following papers proving that he hadn’t married previously, was a college graduate, owned an electronic tools store and a small house. The stipulated that I was to wear a hijab. I didn’t make a big issue out of this but I knew that this would be one of several changes to convince myself that I had moved on from my old life. I got married. After only a month I was surprised by her call. She spoke in a well-versed way which only women of a particular sort spoke. With a shrill laugh, she explained that my joy wouldn’t last. After time, I learnt that she was his previous wife and his cousin which continues to control him. I made my anger be known and he didn’t deny the claim. In fact, he started disclosing other once-hidden truths, the substance of which was that he was schooled in nothing other than elementary education. As for his most important certificate, it was laden with customary marriages. He appeared unconcerned by my response. That day I was pregnant with my daughter. He knew that a return to my family’s house would destroy me completely. He smiled and said: “Her family returned her to my protection twice during our marriage.” Amid this mess, I was unable to take care of anything other than my studies and my determination to complete it, despite continued attempts to ridicule my pursuit and make me feel like there’s no hope for me even if I had a degree in Law one day. Today I’m at the footsteps of graduation. I will work as a lawyer or an in my other field: It doesn’t matter to me. The most important thing is that I don’t stop. At times, I cover my eyes and dream about returning, if only for a day, to those teenage years, particularly my thirteenth year, hoping to be able to change the course of my life. Yet, I have to remind myself that what happened happened. The most important thing is for me to rescue what remains.

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