ON MONDAY, OCTOBER 17, 1994, I woke up as usual around five-thirty A.M. to do my ritual ablution and pray. Afterward, I went back to bed, slept a few hours, got up, got dressed, and left my room. Then I heard my aunt calling me from her bedroom. My mother’s bedroom. My aunt had repainted and redecorated it. It was her room now.
‘Fauziya! Come here!’
I ignored her.
‘Fauziya!’
I knew she’d just keep calling louder and louder until I came, so I went. The door to the bedroom was open. My aunt was up and dressed, standing beside the bed with her hands clasped in front of her and a pleased expression on her face.
‘Look!’ she said, gesturing toward the bed.
Laid out on the bed, all neatly arranged, was a handsome display of women’s clothing and accessories: two elegant dresses made of very fine cloth, one, yellow satin, the other, blue cotton with gold lace; a matching headscarf for each; two handbags and two pairs of shoes; two new sets of undergarments, bra and panties; and a collection of expensive- and delicate-looking gold jewelry, bracelets, necklace, ring, earrings. Everything was exquisite. There was also a candle, a fancy veil, and bathroom slippers.
‘Aren’t they beautiful?’ my aunt said, beaming. ‘And they’re all yours.’
‘What?’
‘It’s all yours! It’s from your husband!’
‘I don’t have a husband!’
‘You will soon, Fauziya. Today’s the day.’
‘What!’
‘You’re getting married today.’
‘But how could I be? It’s Monday!’
Weddings aren’t held on Monday. They start on Thursday or Friday or Saturday or Sunday, but they are not held on Monday!
‘Yes, I know,’ my aunt said cheerfully. ‘But your husband wants the ceremony performed today. So it’s today.’
‘No! No!’ It couldn’t be! She’d given me no sign, no warning. We’d fought again only yesterday.
‘When you get married . . .’ she said, and I exploded. We’d been having these fights every day for months now. But she’d given me no sign that the ‘when’ was to be the next day. She’d tricked me.
I began sobbing hysterically. ‘Please! Don’t do this! Don’t do this to me!’
‘Now, now,’ she said lightly, waving a hand. ‘There’s nothing to get upset about. You’re going to be fine, Fauziya. You’ll see. Don’t worry about the circumcision. We won’t do that today. We’ll wait until Wednesday for that. Today and tomorrow are going to be busy days.’ She clasped her hands to her breast again and gazed down at the bed. ‘Just look at all these beautiful things, Fauziya. You’re going to look so pretty!’
This wasn’t happening. It couldn’t be happening! I ran to my room howling, slammed the door behind me, threw myself on the bed, clutched a pillow to my chest, and curled into a tight little ball.
My aunt rapped on the door. ‘Fauziya.’
‘Go away!’
She opened the door and walked in. ‘Fauziya, someone’s here to see you,’ she said brightly.
The nachane walked in behind her, the same nachane who’d bathed my sisters for their marriages.
‘Where’s my bride? Where’s my bride? Oh, there she is! Isn’t she beautiful!’
I started to whimper. She came to my bedside, smiling and crooning. ‘Oh, my baby. My sweetheart. Don’t cry. You should be happy on your wedding day!’ She went to take my hand. ‘Come on now. You know the ritual.’
I clung to my pillow. ‘No! No!’
‘Fauziya, stop it!’ my aunt said, irritated. ‘She’s just here to bathe you!’
The nachane caught my aunt’s meaning. She clucked at me gently. ‘There, there. Don’t worry. There’s nothing to be afraid of. We’re not going to do that today. Today’s your wedding day! You’ll need time to rest.’ She took my hand again and pulled it gently but firmly. ‘Come on, now. I’m not going to hurt you.’
At that moment I left. No-one knew it. No-one saw it. I was still there, but I wasn’t there anymore. The part of me that couldn’t escape was still there. The part that could, ran away to some other place, and watched unseen, untouched, as the nachane pulled me upright, helped me to my feet, and led me unresisting down the hallway to the food-storage room. Inside, the younger woman who’d done the intricate stenciling on Shawana’s and Asmahu’s hands and feet was already preparing the laylay. When my sisters had gotten married, there’d hardly been space in the room for a chair. To watch I’d had to sit on a bag of rice, surrounded by all the food and supplies we always had in storage. Now, like my mother’s bedroom, this room was completely changed. Where once it had been full to overflowing, it was just a small, barren room with a tiny window, mostly empty shelves, a concrete floor, and some buckets, mops, brooms, and other cleaning supplies in one corner. Empty, empty – everything was empty now.
The nachane chattered and cooed over me as the younger woman worked on my hands and feet. I said nothing. I was a rag doll. I let them do what they wanted.
Afterward, I had to sit and wait for the laylay to dry. The nachane and the laylay artist sat with me for a while, trying to engage me in cheerful wedding-day banter. When I didn’t respond, they fell silent. ‘Maybe you’d like a few minutes alone,’ the younger woman said. Still I didn’t respond. They left the room. I looked at my hands and feet. I was a married woman now. The religious ceremony hadn’t happened yet as far as I knew, but according to tribal custom, I was now somebody’s wife. The laylay designs are like a branding. Once they’re applied, a woman is considered married.
My aunt had won. I let my hands fall limp in my lap, leaned back against the concrete wall, and stared at the ceiling, trying to grasp this reality. I would never go back to school. That part of my life was over, just as my aunt had said. This was my life now. I had to accept it. Lots of girls married men they didn’t love. They managed somehow and I’d have to manage too. No! I couldn’t think like that! I had to fight this! They were going to cut me. It would hurt terribly. Maybe I would even die. My mind raced with thoughts of death. Some moments I feared it, others I longed for it, seeing it as my only escape.
An hour passed that way, two hours, three hours. Or maybe it was only ten minutes. I lost all track. People had begun arriving at the house. Women came back to the storage room to look in on me. My aunt’s friends. I didn’t know them. ‘Oh, there she is! Oh, look at her! Isn’t she beautiful? Oh, and look at her beautiful designs! Oh, I wish they’d been doing these designs when I got married. Aren’t they lovely? Oh, I’m so happy for you!’ I stared at them vacant-eyed. They went away.
The nachane reappeared. ‘OK, my friend,’ she said cheerfully. ‘We have to take a shower now.’ She led me into the family bathroom and closed the door behind us. Buckets, calabash, towel, bathroom slippers, soap, sponge, and all the other traditional accessories for the ritual bathing of the bride were arranged and ready. She’d turned a bucket upside down over the shower drain for me to sit on. She patted it. ‘Here we go, my sweetheart. You sit here. Take off your clothes.’
I shrank back. Take off my clothes? I’d showered naked in front of my friend Lisa at school, but no-one else. The nachane prodded me gently, chattering and reassuring me to ease my discomfort. ‘Oh, my sweetheart. I know, I know. Children are always shy. I was shy, too, on my wedding day. Come on, now. Don’t worry. I’ve been doing this for years. Don’t be shy.’
I took off my clothes, sat down on the bucket, and bent my chest to my knees to cover myself. ‘There, now, you see? That wasn’t so hard, was it? Oh, and look how beautiful you are. Your husband is going to be so happy! Look at my lovely bride.’ She began praising me. ‘Traore. Traore.’ Then she dipped a calabash into the water and began performing the ritual bath, praying and speaking to God as she poured the water, calabash by calabash, over my head, hands, feet, and other body parts. ‘Oh, God, we are cleaning this girl to be a good woman and wife. We’re washing her to be a good mother . . .’ I didn’t hear most of it. My mind kept floating away. When she’d finished washing me she announced: ‘You’re no longer a girl now. You’re somebody’s wife. When you were a girl, you talked and laughed and played with your friends. But you’re a married woman now. You have to respect and obey your husband . . .’ She went on like that for a while. I saw her lips move, but her words kept fading in and out.
She left me there to take a second shower while she went to bring me a change of clothing. When she came back she had a long skirt and long-sleeved blouse she’d taken from my closet, and the long veil I’d seen on my aunt’s bed, and she helped me dress and cover myself with the veil so that no skin was exposed except for my face and hands. I covered myself like that five times a day when I prayed. I’d veiled myself countless times. Why did this feel so different? I lifted my arm, testing the weight of the fabric. It was light, just like the veil I wore while praying, yet it felt like the weight of the world had just been draped over me.
The nachane took my hand and led me out of the bathroom into my aunt’s room, where the laylay woman was waiting. They removed the veil, sat me in a chair, and talked happy bride talk as the younger woman did my hair and makeup and wrapped and pinned my turban. Then the two of them helped me into the beautiful yellow dress. ‘OK, stand up now.’ I stood up. ‘Lift your leg.’ I lifted my leg. ‘Lift your arms.’ I lifted my arms. They were playing dress-up with a doll that responded to commands. ‘Oh, look at her. Oh, isn’t she gorgeous?’ Chattering away, they adorned me with bracelets, necklace, ring, and earrings, and guided my feet into a pair of shoes. ‘Look how well the shoes fit her feet. Oh, this man really knows his bride.’ ‘Look how good she looks in that dress. It’s exactly her color. Oh, her husband really knows her tastes.’ ‘Look at this jewelry. Oh, this man really wants her. My goodness! Look at all these fine things.’
They were fine things, the clothing, the shoes, and the jewelry. Everything was very beautiful and expensive-looking, finer than anything my sisters had received from their husbands. It was very unusual for a man to give his bride anything beyond the ritual bath items, and perhaps a dress or two a month before the wedding.
My aunt came to the bedroom to check on me at some point during this process. ‘How’s everything going in here?’ she called cheerfully from the doorway. I lifted my eyes and looked into hers as she was about to step into the room. She stopped, stepped back. I held her gaze, watched her expression harden, saw fear come into her eyes. That’s right. Look closely. Look well. Behold your brother’s daughter on her wedding day. Feel what I’m feeling right now. Toward my husband. My marriage. You. Do you feel it yet? Yes, you’re beginning to. I can see it in your eyes. Feel it more, my aunt. Feel it the way I feel it, if you can stand it.
She couldn’t. She turned and walked away. The doorway was empty again, and I was empty again. Empty, hollow and numb. The nachane and her assistant took me back to my room, where I would remain for the rest of the day. Snatches of women’s conversation drifted in from the living room as more of my aunt’s friends arrived to congratulate her.
Except for a congratulatory visit by a girl from the neighborhood, whom I barely knew, I continued to sit alone. Because I’d gone to school in Ghana, I had no friends in my own town. Besides, what friend who truly loved me would have wanted to congratulate me on such a terrible day? Had my sisters heard the news, I wondered.
Then, without warning, I had several new visitors: Ibrahim’s three wives trooped into the bedroom. They came in order of seniority, first wife, second wife, third wife. The first and second looked a lot older than me, the third looked closer to my age.
‘Oh, look at my baby,’ the first wife said as they entered. ‘Isn’t she beautiful.’ Strange. She sounded like a mother praising a daughter. But I wasn’t her daughter. I was her husband’s new wife. She came in and sat on the other side of the bed with her back to me, facing the wall. The second wife sat down in front of me on one of the mats my aunt had spread on the floor for visitors. The third sat down on the bed to my right, put her arm around my shoulders, and started talking immediately.
‘Look at us! We’re almost the same age! And we even look alike. Why, we could be sisters! Oh, I’m so glad our husband picked you! This is going to be wonderful. We’re going to be so happy together. You’ll see.’
The second wife sat smiling up at me. ‘Welcome to the family, Fauziya. You’re going to be our new sister. You’re going to love living in our house. Our husband is so wonderful and caring. If you respect him, he will love you.’
‘All you have to do is obey our husband and do what he asks,’ said the third wife, ‘and everything will be fine. And look at you! You’re so beautiful! He’s going to love you so much! Why, I bet he’ll give you anything you ask for.’ She nudged me playfully. ‘And then whenever I want something, I’ll ask you to ask him, and you can get it for me!’ She and the second wife laughed gleefully. They went on like that for a while.
I just stared at them. They sounded so happy, as if they really got along and liked each other. And they seemed so thrilled that their husband had decided to marry me. Were they for real? I was the new wife! Their husband was going to sleep with me. He was going to prefer me for a while at least, because I was the newest and youngest. They knew it, I knew it, and yet they didn’t seem jealous at all. Was such a thing possible? Or was this some kind of act they were putting on for my benefit? The only thing I could figure was that they were happy because they both had someone new to boss around now. As the new wife, I’d have to answer to and do for everybody, my husband and all three senior wives. Maybe that’s why the third wife seemed so particularly happy about having me in the family. Finally she wouldn’t be at the bottom of the hierarchy.
The first wife didn’t join in any of the joking and giggling. She let the other two wives carry on for a while as she sat silent behind me on the bed. When she finally did speak, the other two wives immediately fell silent. There was no doubt about who was queen of this household.
‘Well, Fauziya, I’m not here to joke with you or play with you,’ she said slowly in a low, grave voice, still sitting and facing the wall. ‘I’m happy to welcome you to our household, but you must know your responsibilities. You’re no longer a child. You’re a married woman. You’re starting a new life. The life you lived in your parents’ house is over.’
I felt a stab when she said that. Yes, it was over. It had ended twenty-one months ago almost to the day, the day my father died.
‘From this day on, you must treat your husband with the same respect and obedience you showed your father,’ she said. ‘And you must treat your husband’s other wives with the same respect you showed your mother. You must honor us and obey us as you did her. You must trust me and respect me most of all. If you do that, there’s nothing to be afraid of. You’ll have to work, of course. You’ll cook, clean, go to market, wash dishes. You will have your own room, as we all do, which you’ll be responsible for keeping clean, and you’ll clean your husband’s room, but the work won’t be too hard. You won’t ever have to do more work than you’re able. We’re all going to be living together, and we all need to help each other. If anything is troubling or bothering you, you must come and talk to me. You must never be afraid to come talk to me just because I’m older. If you remember these things, we will all be happy together.’
I didn’t speak a word after this speech. Eventually a few of my aunt’s friends drifted in and chatted with the wives. Women’s talk swirled around me. When someone came in with a camera, the first wife came to sit at the foot of the bed, still facing away from me, for the picture. More time went by. And then, at a signal from her, as quickly as the three had come, they were gone.
An hour passed, two hours. More. Less. I had no idea how long it was between their departure and the arrival of three more women, this time women I desperately wanted to see: my sisters Narhila, Shawana, and Asmahu. As soon as I saw them in the doorway I started to cry. They surrounded me, held me, cried with me. How had they heard? The question washed into my mind and then out again, carried away in a flood of grief.
‘Oh Fauziya, we’re so sorry,’ Shawana said, crying and holding me. ‘I wish we could help you! But there’s nothing we can do!’
I knew that, but it was such a comfort to have them near me that I could only thank Allah for this kindness. They would have to leave me before day was done. But they were here now. That was all I would think about.
We sat and talked. We even laughed a little. My sisters couldn’t help commenting on the clothes and jewelry I was wearing. As a child I always tried to make them jealous. Now I really did have better things. Their wedding clothes hadn’t been nearly as fine. But my sisters had all been so happy on their wedding days. They would have been happy wearing rags. I was dressed like a princess and all I wanted to do was die. The life I’d wanted for myself was over. I wasn’t dressed for a wedding. I was dressed for a funeral. My own.
As my sisters kept apologizing over and over for not being able to help me, I couldn’t help thinking how strange it was that, in a family as large as ours, there had only been one person out of nine who had any power. And now that that one person was dead, all of the rest of us combined counted as nothing in the face of the person to whom that power had passed when he died – my uncle. That was how things worked in our culture. My father had questioned and rejected a number of tribal customs and traditions, but he’d never questioned or rejected that one – the power of the patriarchy. Nor had I, until now. Maybe he would have, eventually, if he’d lived longer. He’d never stopped reevaluating his own beliefs about good and bad, wrong and right. But he was dead now. And I was living with the consequences.
My sisters stayed as long as they could. But they had to go home, finally, to cook dinner for their husbands.
‘Oh, Fauziya, be strong,’ Asmahu said, hugging me and crying. ‘You’ve always been a fighter. Don’t quit on us now.’
‘I’ll be praying for you,’ Shawana said, her eyes glistening with tears.
‘We’ll all pray for you,’ Narhila said. ‘You’ll come through this, and we’ll stick by you through everything. We’ll always have each other.’
As we all hugged one last time, none of us could stop crying. And then they were gone, and I was alone, and the numbness settled in again, and I felt nothing.
I sat for a long time watching the dusk fall. As my aunt’s friends also began leaving, the voices from the living room faded out, until the whole house grew quiet. The silence was broken when my aunt strode briskly into the bedroom, holding a piece of paper in her hand. She’d armored herself this time. I saw it in her eyes. They were steel. She came and stood over me where I was sitting on the bed and thrust the paper at me.
‘Write your name here,’ she said. ‘It’s your marriage paper.’
‘My what!’
‘Your marriage paper. Your husband has written his name. The imam has written his name. Everyone has written their names. Here’s where you write yours.’ She thrust it at me again. ‘Do it.’
I jerked back away from it. I didn’t speak. I didn’t move.
She threw the paper at me. It arced in the air and drifted to the floor. ‘Put your name on that paper, Fauziya! When I come back, I want it done.’
With that she turned and walked out of the room. As soon as she was gone, I broke down in tears. They’d done the ceremony at the mosque! I wasn’t just married according to tribal tradition now. I was married according to religious law. I could be delivered to my husband that very night if he desired it. I wouldn’t be because I hadn’t been cut yet. That was the only thing left.
I did not love my husband. I did not want to be his wife. I would never sign that certificate. Never. That was one thing they couldn’t make me do. I wouldn’t even touch it. I left it on the floor where my aunt had thrown it.
A minute or an eternity had passed, I didn’t know, when I heard a knock on the door. A soft knock, not my aunt’s. Whose?
‘Fauziya? Are you awake?’
Ayisha! I was in her arms before she was fully inside the room. I collapsed into her embrace, buried my face against her neck, and cried and cried and cried. She held me and stroked me and rocked me.
‘Oh, Fauziya, I’m sorry, sweetheart. I’m sorry I’m so late. I came as soon as I heard.’
‘Who told you?’
She’d heard the news through the Tchamba grapevine just that day. The Tchamba tribe is small. Everybody knows everybody and most everything about everybody. Someone had come up to her in Lomé earlier that day.
‘Ayisha! What are you doing here? Why aren’t you in Kpalimé?’
‘Why should I be in Kpalimé?’
‘Aren’t you going to the wedding?’
‘What wedding? Fauziya’s wedding!’
Ayisha was taken totally by surprise. Nobody had told her. Nobody in the family had told my other sisters either, apparently. They’d all just ‘heard.’ My aunt had kept her plans very quiet.
‘Stop crying now and tell me what happened today,’ Ayisha said. ‘Come on. Stop crying. That’s not going to help. Tell me everything that happened.’
She looked very serious as she said these words, so I forced myself to do as she said. ‘I woke up and Awaye showed me the clothes on the bed.’
‘And then?’
‘And then the nachane came and bathed me. She said she wasn’t going to cut me until Wednesday.’
‘Day after tomorrow. That’s what she said?’
‘Yes. That’s what Awaye said too.’
‘OK. Go on.’
I ran through the rest of the day, up to the moment when my aunt came in with the marriage certificate and demanded I sign it.
‘Did you?’
‘No.’
Ayisha went to pick it up from the floor, where it was still lying. She looked it over. ‘No, you didn’t. Good. That’s good, Fauziya.’ She folded it up and put it in her purse.
‘Oh, Ayisha. What am I going to do?’
She came and sat down next to me and took my hands in hers. ‘Stop crying, Fauziya, and listen to me. Do you hear me?’
I looked up at her, and saw strength. I grew calm.
‘That’s better. Now tell me again. Awaye said the circumcision wouldn’t be until Wednesday?’
I nodded.
‘OK. Don’t worry. Nobody’s going to cut you. I’m going to get you out of here before then.’
I laughed bitterly. ‘And where are you going to take me? To your house? Ayisha, I’m married now! It’s too late! You can’t hide me anywhere. They’ll just come and find me. You know that.’
‘Fauziya, trust me. You’re just going to have to trust me. I promise you. Nobody’s going to hurt you. We’re not going to let them.’
‘Who’s we?’
‘Amariya and me.’
‘Amariya! Is she here?’
‘No, Fauzy, she’s not. But we’ve been in touch. She’s OK. She’s fine. Now listen to me.’
I’d started crying again when she mentioned Amariya. I wanted my mother so much.
‘Fauziya, stop it. Stop it. Listen to me now. Amariya can’t come to you, you know that. But she’s not going to let them do this to you. We’re not going to let them hurt you. Do you understand?’
I nodded. I didn’t understand anything. But I did know that Ayisha wouldn’t lie to me. She’d never lied to me, and she’d always taken care of me. If she said she was going to help me, she would.
‘OK, now listen carefully,’ she said. ‘Are you listening?’
‘Yes.’
‘OK. I’m not going back to Lomé tonight. I’m staying in Kpalimé. I’ll come back tomorrow. I want you to stay calm and strong for me, OK?’
‘OK.’
‘Don’t say anything. Don’t do anything. When I leave, you just go to sleep. When you get up tomorrow, do whatever Awaye says. Can you do that for me?’
‘Good. Now, when I come back, you’re going to have to help me. I’m going to need you to be strong and do just what I say, no questions and no arguments. Do you understand?’
‘Yes.’
‘All right. I’m going to go say goodbye to Awaye now. I’m going to ask her to let you walk me out to the gate. I want you to walk me to the gate and then come back and say good night to her and go to sleep. OK?’
‘OK.’
Ayisha came back for me a few minutes later. I walked her outside to the gate of our compound. I wasn’t allowed to go beyond it now. I wasn’t to be seen in public until after I’d been delivered to my husband and started my new life as his wife. When we got to the gate, Ayisha hugged me.
‘I’ll be back tomorrow,’ she said. ‘Be ready. Stay strong.’
With that she left, and I turned and walked back into the house. Nothing about my situation had really changed. But now, I had hope.