A Father's Betrayal

by Gabriella Gillespie

  She stayed for a while and then left, leaving me with my letter, and once she was gone I went straight to the toilet to read it; it made me smile and cry at the same time. He was upset with me for leaving without seeing him, angry with himself for not being able to help me; he questioned what I would do now, where I would stay in the long term? I smiled when I read how he referred to my children as “our children”. He didn’t ask how “my children” were, but how “our children” were. He begged me to go and see him, telling me he couldn’t live without me.

  I sat on the toilet floor, holding the letter close to my chest for as long as I could before I had to get back up and carry on with my chores, and then I tucked the letter down my top. This wasn’t a letter I could leave around in my box with all my other memories, but it wasn’t a letter I was going to get rid of either!

  I stayed with Dad for about a month before Ziad showed up. I begged Dad not to return me, but Ziad paid him some money, and I was given back to my husband.

  It was then I realised Dad would never offer me any love or support of any kind, ever! Growing up I’d always yearned for his love, hoping that one day he would open his heart, but now I needed to face reality because it was never going to happen. Ziad had actually killed a man with one punch but my father was still willing to give me back to him, even though he knew I was being beaten by him every day. My father didn’t care for me, he most probably never had.

  Ziad became smugger than ever that he could do as he pleased with me because he knew that my father didn’t care, and although I tried my best to stay positive, it was difficult. I think that was the first time I’d actually felt defeated, squashed!

  I felt as if my head was going to explode, so I would lock myself in my room for hours and cry until I couldn’t cry anymore. It took me a while but I managed to pull myself together. I knew I had to be strong for my children and I knew I wasn’t allowed to fall apart, because if I did, who would protect them?

  I didn’t dare question Ziad anymore, but I’d heard that blood money was agreed between Ziad and the dead man’s family. I had no idea how he could afford to pay this because blood money was a huge amount of money, and I knew Ziad didn’t have any.

  I tried my best to stay out of his way; I hated everything about him, his smell, his smug face, his voice! I’d started getting headaches while I was still in Africa from the smell of his aftershave; I could smell him when he came up the stairs and I would start to panic, because once I’d smelt his scent or heard his voice I knew we were in danger.

  My time with Anwar became less and less, he was working in Rada’a at the hospital and Ziad was home a lot, which meant I couldn’t go over to Thahaba’s much, but every moment Anwar and I spent together was cherished. He would become angrier with Ziad every time he saw a bruise on me, which became almost every other day. As soon as one injury healed, I had another. All he wanted to do was protect me, but I’d made him promise he wouldn’t interfere. I knew it would only end in disaster; Anwar had no right to defend me, so if he did it would only bring suspicion upon us.

  When Yas and Abdul came to visit they would become more and more concerned. Yas would hold on to me, hugging and crying when she left, knowing that she was leaving me behind with a monster! Yas hated Ziad with passion for what he was doing to us, and when everyone else would be polite to him, she would refuse to speak or even look at him.

  Abdul also hated him, but he knew that if he got involved he would go up against my family, also the elders of both my village and his own. I wasn’t classed as Abdul’s family, even though he was married to my sister.

  I was stuck, with nowhere to run to, and no one to turn to for help, I couldn’t even protect my own children. I’d never felt so helpless or abandoned in my whole life.

  Tarek was around eight when I heard the rumour; their father was so desperate for money that he was going to sell him to his grandfather, Nasser Ziad, to pay off his debts.

  When I confronted Ziad about this rumour, he didn’t confirm or deny it, he told me the children belonged to him, so he could do as he pleased with them. He laughed while he told me Issy would also bring him a nice sum of money, and then he beat me so badly I could barely walk the next day.

  The next morning he left for Sanaa and I sent Tarek to Rada’a to ask my sister to come for me. She came straight away; she loaded all our belongings into the back of the jeep and drove us away to her house. It was then that Abdul decided that he was going to get involved, he and Yas talked things over and they refused to allow me to return to Ziad.

  A few days later, after Ziad found out what had happened he went to Dad, and Dad turned up at Abdul’s house alone, demanding we go home and furious with Abdul for interfering, but Abdul refused to allow me to go anywhere!

  Abdul had broken all the rules by interfering in another man’s business, but he stood his ground and refused to allow Dad to take me. However, Dad wasn’t happy that Abdul had got involved and returned with the elders of our village. Abdul still refused to allow me back into Dad’s care unless he promised not to return me to Ziad. With all the elders listening to what Ziad had done to me over the years, Dad had no choice but to agree to look after me and my children. I was handed back to my father and taken back to his house.

  Finally I was away from Ziad, but nothing was ever meant to be easy for us, I knew things would never be easy living with Dad; he was just as cruel and unpredictable as Ziad, but in different ways!

  I thought that if I kept my head down and my children away from him then he would leave us alone, but I was wrong. As usual I was the main worker in the house but that never bothered me. Tarek worked hard in the fields, he was such a mature, strong boy for his age and Issy was a mini me, she wanted to do everything with me. Issy would always have one of her siblings attached to her hip in her attempt to play big sister! Dobia and Sadig were good quiet children. Dobia was such a strong healthy child who never moaned or cried even when she really hurt herself. I remember one time she fell head first onto a rock and hit her forehead so badly a piece of the rock broke off and became lodged in her forehead! There was blood everywhere and it took me hours to squeeze and pick the piece of stone out of her head, but she didn’t say a word! Sadig was the quietest of my children; he hardly ever made a sound. He loved drawing and would spend hours outside in the dirt with a twig drawing pictures on the ground. Nasser was a good healthy baby who gave me no trouble and would just feed and sleep.

  My little sister Ismahan latched on to me from the moment I got there; her mother never showed her the slightest bit of affection, all her affection went on Abdulla, and that was only when she could be bothered!

  Viyza was pregnant again by this time with her third child, but she wasn’t at all maternal. She would rather sit on her sewing machine all day and make money than spend time with her children; even when they were ill, she didn’t care. The only time she came out fighting for her children was when Abdulla claimed that one of my children did something wrong, and that was all the time.

  Abdulla was only a few years old but Viyza was already teaching him that violence and cruelty towards females was OK, he was growing up believing that because he was a boy, he could do whatever he wanted.

  Viyza absolutely hated it when I moved back home. Although it was a huge house she felt as though the house had become too crowded for her, and she didn’t hesitate in letting her feelings show this time around. Once she found out that Dad had agreed to look after me and not return me to Ziad, she picked every opportunity to point out to him what a mistake he had made by burdening himself with other people’s children. She didn’t care that I was his daughter and my children were his grandchildren.

  It was awful living with them both. Dad never wanted us there from the beginning, but with his wife giving him more grief over us being there, that just pushed him over the edge, and he took out every bit of his anger and frustration on me! Dad would go to the fields almost every night to guard his ghat, and he would return in the morn
ing to sleep, telling my children and me that if we made any noise that woke him up there would be consequences!

  Tarek would have to go and work in the fields and I would have to tiptoe around the house doing my chores. The children would play outside in the scorching heat in fear that if I allowed them inside Dad would hear their voices and wake up. Viyza would sit in her room and sew; it was strange how her children could run up and down the stairs to her, but Dad would rarely shout out for them to be quiet, however if my children entered the house when he was asleep, he would wake up and go crazy with me and them, lashing out at me to keep them quiet.

  When he woke up, usually early afternoon, he would eat his food and go to the fields once again, but those few hours he spent at home he spent shouting and ordering me around. He would never ask his wife to do anything, it was always me, and he would lash out over the slightest thing, his dinner not being made on time or the dogs not having enough to eat.

  It was also a struggle not being able to allow my children to play freely while my brother was allowed to do whatever he wanted, and it was equally heart-breaking to watch Viyza give Abdulla affection, but when her own daughter cried for her mother, she would get pushed away. Abdulla would smack and hit his sister and never get told off for doing so, but if she cried from being hit by him, she would get shouted at, or even smacked again by her mother for crying!

  I was forever trying to keep my children away from my brother in fear of them fighting, worried of what would happen if one of my children dared to fight back or lay a finger on my brother! If Dad was ever home he would never interact or chat to us when Viyza was around, he acted as though he was scared of what she might say or do.

  At night I would sit quietly with my children and Ismahan would come and sit with us in the corner of the room, and while she and my children would draw or look through my box of endless pieces of scrap paper, I would sneakily read my Bible.

  Months passed and by this time Viyza had given birth to another son called Zain; just like she did with her other children, she paid him little attention. If she wasn’t on her sewing machine she was at her family home; she and I just didn’t get on, she didn’t want me there, and I didn’t want to be there!

  We couldn’t sit down and talk or have a laugh and joke about anything, and this put a huge strain on us as a family. I tried my hardest to stay out of her way and keep the peace but it never seemed to work. I’d become a huge burden on my family, and so had my children.

  I longed to get away and I would dream of being rescued, dream of running away, but one day blended into another and time passed me by.

  Yas visited us a few times and although she had asked Dad to let me go and stay with her, he refused. It wasn’t as though he didn’t want to get rid of us, but he had to hold onto his pride in front of everyone, he had to show that he was taking care of his family.

  Even though he and Abdul had spoken, he was still a little upset with him for interfering in his business. Dad wasn’t one to let go of a grudge easily, and it hadn’t been that long since Abdul had stood up to Dad because of me! Yas could see I was still unhappy and questioned me why, she asked if Dad was still hitting me, but I lied again and told her he wasn’t; I could see how worried she was about me but I could also see that she herself wasn’t well. Her health had declined in recent years and although Abdul had taken her to see many doctors, nobody could tell them what was wrong with her. She had three children by now, Ghania, Amar and she hadn’t long ago had another little boy called Hameed. The children she had were beautiful and healthy, and she was hoping that now Abdul would allow her to take birth control. It was on one of her visits that she saw just how bad Dad’s violence was getting towards me, and how he nearly turned on her!

  Our cousin Farouse had given birth to a son, and had come to the village for her family gathering. Everyone was gathered at Granddad’s house for dinner, including Yas and Nebat, but Dad was asleep at his house. He had been arguing with Granddad over something and refusing to go to dinner, so we were going to put dinner aside for him for when he woke up.

  Dad woke up before dinner and came over to Granddad’s front door and started yelling for me to go home. Although his wife was also at Granddad’s house, it was me he wanted to go and tend to his demands. I went home and he started yelling at me to quickly heat up some water for him to wash, so I went up to the kitchen and tried to start the small gas cooker that they had. While I was struggling with it he came into the kitchen and yelled at me to hurry up, saying he also wanted me to go and get him his dinner from Granddad’s house!

  When I finally got the cooker started I turned to Dad to try and convince him to come and eat dinner with us all over Granddad’s, but he took this as me taking sides with them against him. He started slapping me around the head, over and over again. Whilst I was pleading with him to stop I could hear Yas calling my name from the bottom of the stairs, so I tried to get away from him by running out of the kitchen, but he grabbed me and punched me in the stomach, sending me hurling down the stairs, right to the feet of my sister who had come looking for me. Yas picked me up.

  “What did you do to her?” she screamed at Dad, who was stood at the top of the stairs, but he came storming towards her, his fist clenched as if to punch her.

  “Go on, try it! You’ll see what you get back!” she warned in a tone that made him step back.

  Dad lowered his fist. “You had better get your husband and go home!” he raged at her, but Yas was defiant.

  “I will go home when I’m good and ready! And if you ever lay a finger on my sister again, I won’t be responsible for what I do to you!” she threatened.

  Dad pushed past us both as he stormed down into his room. “You’re both going to end up like your mother!” he shouted, disappearing into his room. As we walked down the stairs hand in hand, Yas asked me why I lied when I told her Dad wasn’t hitting me any more

  “This is my life now, so I just need to get on with it,” I told her, and then I asked her what she thought Dad meant when he said we would end up like Mum?

  “Take no notice of him Moo, you know what he’s like, he’s just talking crazy!” she said, trying to reassure me.

  When we got to Granddad’s house Yas approached Viyza. “If your husband wants dinner, or anything else, then you better get up and go and do it for him, because my sister is not your slave!” she told her before she sat down. Viyza didn’t answer Yas back, she didn’t dare! Yas had a different status than I did with my family, and everyone else. Yas was the wife of a much respected diplomat and she held the same respect from everyone who respected him. I on the other hand was the wife of a disowned man and had no respect from anyone.

  That day after my sister and everyone else went home, I went back to Dad’s house; Dad was at the fields and Viyza ignored me, but that was nothing new from her, we only ever spoke when absolutely necessary.

  That night I couldn’t help but wonder why, over the years, my sister and I had given up fighting for ourselves. We would fight for each other, and we would fight for our children, but we had given up on ourselves. Our dream of ever going back home to England looked like just that, a dream. I’d talked to my children about England so many times, told them that one day I would bring them home with me. It had been almost 14 years, and although this was always a dream of mine, maybe I needed to stop dreaming; but if I did, what else would I have to dream about?

  I was almost happy when my brother injured himself, needing hospital treatment. Dad was busy in the fields and Viyza was busy sewing, so I was chosen to take him to the hospital. I tried not to sound too excited as I put my sharsharf on, while Abdulla screamed his head off because he had fallen on glass, cutting his leg open. It was a bad cut and it obviously needed a few stitches, but I wasn’t concerned with my brother, I was going to see Anwar!

  I didn’t need anyone to look after my own children because they looked after each other; they may have only been children themselves, but they had grown up looking
after one other. Sat in the back of the jeep on the way to the hospital Abdulla sulked on my lap, but all I could think about was Anwar, was he still working there? It had been months and anything could have happened.

  Once we arrived I got to reception and instead of booking Abdulla in I went to look for Anwar’s office. I’d never been to his office before but Anwar had told me precisely where it was! I knocked on the door then waited; my heart skipped a beat when I heard his voice. “Come in!” Only my eyes were visible but he recognised me straight away.

  “Muna!” He couldn’t help but show his excitement as he jumped out of his seat, but I was worried he may say something, so I held Abdulla slightly higher in my arms. “I need a doctor for my brother,” I said straight away.

  Abdulla may have only been a child, but he was not someone we could trust. “Yes of course, you wait here,” Anwar said as he rushed out, squeezing my arm as he went past me.

  Within moments he returned with another man. “This man is going to look after him until I get some details from you, OK?” Anwar was nodding at me to convince me to hand Abdulla over to the other man.

  “Go with the doctor,” I told Abdulla. I knew the man wasn’t a doctor, but I needed to reassure my brother who was still whining.

  Once they left the room Anwar closed the door and grabbed me, squeezing me so tight I could barely breathe. “Hey, hey calm down a bit!” I joked.

  “No I can’t, let me see you,” he said, pushing me back and pulling my face scarf down.

  “I never thought I would see you again, thank you God, thank you!”

  He started kissing my face all over, then hugging me, then kissing me again, until I made him stop.