Aiza

When she hit her head, things went dark. Always she woke with a headache. Weakness forced her to crawl, and standing hurt. It felt like every fiber of her being wanted to yield to gravity. But the children must be cared for. Again she would try. Again, she would faint.

The women in her husband’s family rolled their eyes. Her mother-in-law beat her and called her lazy. She was a good for nothing. The dowry money had been wasted. They told him to get rid of her and her useless brats. Then the Incident happened. When he was out kismet would have it that he was too close when a landmine went off. He was rushed to hospital along with many others. The household was thrown into a confusion of sobbing and tearing of clothing. He was dying! He was cursed! Someone had done this to their family! Who would cover them if his mantle was removed in death!

Aiza found that the women grew silent when she came in the room. At first she didn’t understand. Then she read their eyes. Soon their words and beatings followed. “You thought you could put a curse on him, you witch!” “Look at the thankless one, always causing trouble! See, now he lays dying and if only he had gotten rid of her beforehand we would be free!” “We must end this evil, it can not stay under this roof or our husband will die! Then what will become of us!” Aiza found the broom, the fire shovel and the rolling pin were all being employed to beat her. She was the youngest of four wives. Together with her mother-in-law this meant four able bodied women were beating her. Stumbling she ran to pick up her baby, and her toddler, and fled out the door.

“Good riddance!” the oldest wife screamed after her, spitting.

Neighbors had gathered to watch. If an oldest wife decreed it, it must be. This young woman must have done some terrible evil. They shook their heads and clicked their tongues.

“Don’t ever come back, if you know what’s good for you!” the rant went on. “If you do, you will meet death, as our poor husband is likely doing this very moment!”

Aiza didn’t know which way to turn or where to go. She finally collapsed with thirst, her two children crying from their fear and jostling. At least she was beyond town, and could perhaps rest in the shade. But where to? She knew as well as anyone that a woman outside of the covering of her home should be condemned to a public beating for appearing without her male guardianship or in the group led by her mother-in-law. What would her word be up against the tribe who had just expelled her? And what had she done? She couldn’t quite comprehend it. It was her fault, somehow, that their husband was dying? She shook her head. She couldn’t faint, her children might die. She couldn’t run, there was no place to go. She couldn’t go into public to ask for water or food, or she would be beaten.

Then she heard a voice behind her. Turning, startled, she found the woman to be kind, and suprisingly, alone. “Come, child,” she said, “you look tired and thirsty, turn into our home, here for a rest.” Aiza was wary and shocked, but the kindness encouraged her to get to her feet and gather the children. Dust had caked in the groves tears had carved on their small, thin cheeks. Her heart hurt to look at them. She looked sideways at the Kind One. She was a woman only a little older than herself, dressed in the same village clothing and scarf. All that was unique was her warm smile and kind voice. Together they went through the flap into the home.

“I’m Bushra,” the lady said, reaching for the baby, “here, let me help you. Sit down here.”

A simple couch on the floor, near a window welcomed them in. Sunlight streamed through the green of a rose bush growing outside. A small kettle hummed on the fire. Bushra offered Aiza tea, and gave the children goat milk. Their eyes grew big to have something so cool and delicious to drink.

“Why are you helping me?” Aiza asked, conscious of the implications this could have on anyone in the community.

“I was you once,” Bushra said simply, “I heard the commotion, I saw your family drive you out. I heard them blame you for Uncle Babur’s death.” She offered Aiza sugar for her tea.

“But how can you be me?” Aiza asked, confused.

Bushra laughed, “I was a young wife once. I was driven off, like you, for mistakes I didn’t make. I was blamed because of an accident that happened to my husband. It’s an easy thing, think. If they can find someone to blame, then they can rest that bad won’t happen again. But I’m not so sure that works.”

Aiza thought a moment. Slowly it made sense to her. But she felt another wave of dizziness. She fought it off, apologizing. “I think that it’s my problem with being weak and dizzy that makes them blame me. I can not seem to be able to overcome this. There must be some reason Allah is punishing me…”

Bushra was on her knees next to Aiza in a moment, “Hush child. You are not to blame for this. Lay down. I’ll explain why you are dizzy.”

Aiza was only to glad to lay down. Her baby nestled next to her, content. Little Farid snuggled against her knees, licking out the cup that had held the goat milk. “How can I not be to blame, Bushra?”

Bushra sat down across from them and began sorting beans. Aiza wondered that she was such a confident woman. She even sat taller than any other woman she had ever met.

“You are dizzy because you are a woman, Aiza,” Bushra began, “and no, don’t question me yet, hear me out,” she raised her hand when she saw the question coming. “Every month you have a cycle, and if you don’t have a cycle, you have a pregnancy, right?”

Aiza thought a moment, and then nodded. It was true. She had a cycle ever since she was of the age to marry, like the Prophet Muhammed’s favorite wife Aisha, who married when she was six. She remembered her mother telling her with pride that she was now a woman and her father would find her a husband. With her marriage they could pay off some debt and she should be proud that she could honor her father in this way. “Girls aren’t worth much, and we don’t get naturally to paradise, like men do,” her mother had sighed, “but if you are good wife, and bear him sons, and he is pleased with you, maybe Allah will be favorable to you.” But now she was cast out, so…

“Don’t get distracted with your thought, Aiza,” Bushra said, noticing that she hadn’t been listening, “did you hear what I said about spinach?”

“Spinach?!” Aiza said, “No…”

“I thought you didn’t,” Bushra laughed, “I said that women need to eat spinach, because our bodies need more iron than men do, because we use more blood than they do.”

She tipped the beans into boiling water on the fire, “So have you been eating spinach regularly?”

Aiza shook her head, “I … I don’t know what spinach is.”

“I wondered,” Bushra said. She got up and walked through the narrow room to a back door and pushed it open. Outside a few chickens scattered as she stepped through the court yard out into her garden. Aiza watched from the couch. Bushra bent down, plucked a few leaves, and came back inside.

“Here,” she handed Aiza the bundle, “nibble these slowly. It will taste sharp and soft at the same time.”

And it did. Aiza liked the taste, It reminded her of the rocket which grew near her childhood home. Spinach was somehow softer, though. Before she knew it, she had eaten it all. Bushra smiled.

“Eat that much every day, three times a day, and you won’t be dizzy any more. Test me on this and see for yourself.”

Aiza was stunned. It was that easy? She could be free from the spinning head? She could take care of her children? She could walk and work … and think … and maybe be a good wife? But then again, she realized that she had been cast out. She closed her eyes and a tear crept down her cheek.

Bushra sat down again, this time with knitting in hand. The beans began to bubble. “When I was like you, I had a longer journey than you did, Aiza,” she said softly, somehow sensing what was going on behind the tears. “I was cast out in the big city. In those places life is not kind to a woman. Once you are on the sidewalk, the police beat you. You are immediately a bad woman. I did not know that. I didn't know the underworld of the city. When I was being beaten a man was watching. He came up to me after and said that if I came with him her would protect me from the streets. I didn’t know what else to do. He was not a good man. He put me in a room and sold me to other men. Because my husband had thrown me out, I was considered free to all. He kept me off the streets alright, and got money from the men who came and abused me.”

Aiza sat up, aghast, “But… but … how could they! How could he! That is terrible!”

“Yes, it was,” Bushra looked up sharp, with deep pain in her eyes. But then she smiled, “They key is that it was. It is past. It is over. A woman next door heard my weeping. One day when that man was out, she came and whispered at my door. She came several times, and we worked out a plan that I would tap on the wall three times when he was gone, and if it was a time when she could let me out, she would. I needed to be ready, but I didn’t know when she would be able. It was a big risk to herself to help me. But she did it. Once I was free, she hid me for a month in her house. She helped me care for myself, but even more importantly, she helped me find a way to forgive this man and myself, and the husband who had put me out. It was an emotional journey, but I needed that before I could leave and become the strong person I am now.”

Aiza nodded. She could see that it was true. Bushra was a strong woman, and she was at Peace.

“It was that woman, next door, who had the courage to help me. If she hadn’t, I would be dead now.”

“And you wouldn’t have been here to help me.”

“Or grow spinach,” Bushra laughed, “But it’s not just the spinach, or the knowing that we should help each other. It’s also about this kismet thing. I was told by that man who kept me in the room and sold me that it was just my kismet. I had done something evil, and this was what Allah had written on my forehead. When I stayed with the woman who rescued me, I learned that the real Allah is not like that at all.

“And today I have taken you in. I am so glad to be able to help a young woman like you before the evil men find her. But you need to know that they will be angry that they were not able to get to you before I did. They will come looking for you, and if they find you here, it could be bad for both of us, and your children.”

“This is a big risk to you, Bushra,” Aiza whispered, “thank you. I had no idea…”

“Neither did I, “Bushra nodded, “none of us do. It’s a secret hid from the women of our nation. But now you do know, and you will help others too one day. That should encourage you. But for now, we have to come up with a plan. What I have found works best is to dress differently. She stood up and pulled the curtain closed, glancing around outside first. She went to a cupboard and got out a wig. Putting it and a pair of glasses on she turned around. Aiza was shocked at the transformation. Bushra laughed.

“You see? We will change you, and together you and I will go to another city, to friends I trust. Once you are there, you can live in hiding for a time, and then they will help you choose a new future.”

“Bushra!” Aiza said, breathlessly, “I can’t hardly take this all in! This morning I was sweeping my husband’s hearth, today I am becoming someone I don’t know….”

Bushra came over and gave her a hug, “I’m sorry my sister, but…”

Aiza sat up straight, “You are right, Bushra, this needs to stop. I am very young, and I know nothing, but I see that what was meant to be bad kismet has somehow been changed, but only because you were brave enough to help me. I need you to tell me more about this Real Allah you mentioned. Perhaps I have been following the wrong one.”