Heikmet

“Having these four girls, you know, it is a problem as a refugee,” Heikmet complained as we turned the shirts right side out. She waved with her hands. I knew her girls. Amna, Tamra, Zeynib, and Abeer as beautiful young ladies, but in their culture, a daughter is viewed as a burden. And Heikmet is a widow. Her husband and son were killed in the war. Tradition dictated that she marry her husband’s brother, even though he was much younger than her. This was meant to technically protect the daughters, but, because of the war, they came across the border, and landed in a refugee camp.

“In the camp I was appalled,” she raised her eyebrows, “there is no hygiene and throwing many people together in a small space, children are put at risk of many things. Imagine trying to keep your girls in one small tent. It was impossible, and they were exposed to many evil things that would never have been part of their lives if we were still at home.” She sighed. The shirts were folded now, in a neat pile, ready to be placed in bags, labeled and sold.

“So we left that camp and came to the city. We thought to ourselves that we should seek a livelihood and try to form a normal life to the best that we can, but this led to my husband leaving. He was ten years younger, and fancied a younger wife. So I became fully responsible for four young women, all of them of marriageable age, with no father to give a dowry.” She looked at me to make sure I understood.

I understood. This means that every week, sometimes every day, someone will approach Heikmet and offer her a bride price for a daughter. Because there are many refugee women and girls, the price is very low. The men are old and often from foreign countries. They want to buy these girls to join their harem. They have an unspoken competition to see who can have the most girls for their playthings. Because these men are rich, and are from a culture where polygamy is encouraged, this behavior is acceptable. And even for the humblest among them, having four wives is encouraged. It is understood that a cheap refugee wife will be a fourth wife, and mostly just there to be a servant to the older women. But that is her kismet, after all, not much can be done about it. Allah has willed it and written it on her forehead.

“I sometimes think that there is a plan,” Heikmet went on, “a plan for war, so that those who capture and win can kill all the men and boys and take the women and girls as slaves. Everything seems to work out that way, at least.” I nodded and glanced over at her. Apparently she didn’t know that the teachers of the local religion encouraged this very thing. I decided to leave it unsaid. She had enough problems already.

She slipped the last shirt in a bag, sealed it, and I stuck the label on. “Well, that’s a job well done,” I smiled, hoping to encourage her about one thing, at least.

She leaned back and looked at the pile. Yes, this was work. She was being paid a good salary, in a woman’s co-op, to create items that had a market. And across the room three of her four girls were also working. For the first time in four years they now had a home where they could pay the rent, and funds for groceries and medical expenses. “Yes, my dear,” she said, patting my arm, “it is easy to forget to be thankful. I’m sorry. This work is truly a gift from God. It’s so interesting how He opened the door to give me this opportunity once I truly sought. I love that verse from the Bible, “‘Seek and ye shall find.’ I didn’t know that God was real. I had only ever heard of Allah. He was distant and judgmental and said that women were destined for hell.”

She turned to watch her girls chatting with friends and working, “Yes, God is good. Although it’s been rough, and I still get bogged down in my reality, He has been faithful. Look at them! They are happy! And God has empowered me to not bow to any pressures from any man to buy any one of them!”

“And I will keep praying for you, Heikmet,” I said sincerely, “and we are here, night and day. Each of your treasured daughters is doing well in their studies, and working hard. They have the potential of a strong and hope filled future. Not easy, but solid. Not without struggles and the need to turn to God, but with great Hope, because He is Good and He loves us each well.”

Leaning over she gave me a hug, “You are right, my friend." Lifting her hands to heaven she added, “Thank you God, thank you so much!”