Dreams of Trespass: Tales of a Harem Girlhood
Page 3
All these events puzzled me and I talked about them often with Yasmina, my maternal grandmother, who lived on a beautiful farm with cows and sheep and endless fields of flowers, one hundred kilometers to the west of us, between Fez and the Ocean. We visited her once a year, and I would talk to her about frontiers and fears and differences, and the why of it all. Yasmina knew a lot about fear, all kinds of fears. "I am an expert on fear, Fatima," she would tell me, caressing my forehead as I played with her pearls and pink beads, "And I will tell you things when you are older. I will teach you how to get over fears."
Often, I could not sleep the first few nights on Yasmina's farm - the frontiers were not clear enough. There were no closed gates to be seen anywhere, only wide, flat, open fields where flowers grew and animals wandered peaceably about. But Yasmina explained to me that the farm was part of Allah's original earth, which had no frontiers, just vast, open fields without borders or boundaries, and that I should not he afraid. But how could I walk in an open field without being attacked? I kept asking. And then Yasmina created a game that I loved, to help put me to sleep, called mshia-f-lekhla (the walk in the open fields). She would hold me tight as I lay down, and I would clasp her beads with my two hands, close my eyes, and imagine myself walking through an endless field of flowers. "Step lightly," Yasmina would say, "so you can hear the flowers' song. They are whispering, `salam, salam' (peace, peace)." I would repeat the flowers' refrain as fast as I could, all danger would disappear, and I would fall asleep. "Salam, salam," murmured the flowers, Yasmina, and I. And the next thing I knew, it was morning and I was lying in Yasmina's big brass bed, with my hands full of pearls and pink beads. From outside came the mixed music of breezes touching the leaves and birds talking to one another, and no one was in sight but King Farouk, the peacock, and Thor, the fat white duck.
Actually, Thor was also the name of Yasmina's most hated co-wife, but I could only call the woman Thor when thinking about her silently to myself. When I said her name out loud, I had to call her Lalla Thor. Lalla is our title of respect for all important women, just as Sidi is our title of respect for all important men. As a child, I had to call all important grownups Lalla and Sidi, and kiss their hands at sunset, when the lights were turned on and we said msakum (good evening). Every evening, Samir and I would kiss everyone's hands as quickly as we could so we could return to our games without hearing the nasty remark, "Tradition is being lost." We got so good at it that we managed to rush through the ritual at an incredible speed, but sometimes, we were in such a hurry that we would trip over each other and collapse onto the laps of important people, or even fall down on the carpet. Then everyone would start laughing. Mother would laugh until there were tears in her eyes. "Poor dears," she would say, "they already are tired of kissing hands, and it is only the beginning."
But Lalla Thor on the farm, just like Lalla Mani in Fez, never laughed. She was always very serious, proper, and correct. As the first wife of Grandfather Tazi, she had a very important position in the family. She also had no housekeeping duties, and was very rich, two privileges that Yasmina could not abide. "I could not care how rich this woman is," she would say, "she ought to be working like all the rest of us. Are we Muslims or not? If we are, everyone is equal. Allah said so. His prophet preached the same." Yasmina said that I should never accept inequality, for it was not logical. That was why she named her fat white duck Lalla Thor.
4.
YASMINA'S FIRST CO-WIFE
WHEN LALLA THOR heard that Yasmina had named a duck after her, she was outraged. She summoned Grandfather Tazi to her salon, which was actually a self-contained palace, with an internal garden, a large fountain, and a glorious ten-meter-long wall covered with Venetian glass. Grandfather came in reluctantly, walking with long strides and holding a Koran in his hand, as if to show that he had been interrupted in his reading. He was wearing his usual loose white cotton pants, his white cotton chiffon qamis and farajiya, and his yellow leather slippers.I In the house, he never wore a djellaba, except when hosting visitors.
Physically, Grandfather had the typical look of the Northerners of the Rif region, where his family had originated. He was tall and lanky, with an angular face, fair skin, light and rather small eyes, and a very distant, haughty air. People from the Rif are proud and not very talkative, and Grandfather hated it when his wives argued or provoked conflict of any kind. Once, he stopped speaking to Yasmina for a whole year, leaving the room whenever she entered it, because she had instigated two disputes in a single month. After that, she could not afford to be involved in more than one fight every three years. This time it was the duck, and the whole farm was alerted.
Lalla Thor offered Grandfather tea before attacking the subject. Then she threatened to leave him if the duck's name was not changed at once. It was the eve of a religious festival, and Lalla Thor was dressed to the hilt, wearing her tiara and her legendary caftan, embroidered with genuine pearls and garnets, to remind everyone of her privileged status. But Grandfather was apparently quite amused by the whole affair because he smiled when the subject of the duck came up. He had always found Yasmina to be quite eccentric, and had in fact needed a long time to get used to some of her habits, such as climbing up trees, and hanging up there for hours at a time. Sometimes, she even managed to talk a few co-wives into joining her, and then they would have tea served all around while sitting on the branches. But what always saved Yasmina was the fact that she made Grandfather laugh, and that was a real achievement, for he was a rather moody person. Now, caught in Lalla Thor's luxurious salon, Grandfather slyly suggested that she retaliate by naming her ugly dog Yasmina - "That would force the rebel to rename her duck." But Lalla Thor was in no mood for jokes. "You are completely under Yasmina's spell," she shouted. "If you let her get away with this today, tomorrow she will buy a donkey and name it Sidi Tazi. This woman does not respect hierarchies. She is a troublemaker, like everyone from the Atlas Mountains, and she is bringing chaos to this decent house. Either she gives her duck another name, or I am leaving. I don't understand the influence she has on you. It's not as if she were beautiful - she's so skinny and so tall. Like an ugly giraffe."
It was true that Yasmina did not fit the beauty standards of her day, of which Lalla Thor was a perfect model. Lalla Thor had very white skin, a round face like the full moon, and a lot of flesh all around, especially on her hips and buttocks and bust. Yasmina, on the other hand, had the brown, suntanned skin of mountaineers, a long face with strikingly high cheek bones, and hardly any bust. She stood almost 18o centimeters tall, which was just a little shorter than Grandfather, and had the longest legs you've ever seen, which was why she was so good at climbing trees and performing all kinds of acrobatic stunts. But her legs did look like sticks under her caftan. To camouflage them, she sewed herself an enormous pair of sarwals, or harem pants, with many pleats. She also cut long slits in the sides of her short caftan to give herself some volume. At first, Lalla Thor tried to get everyone to laugh at Yasmina's innovative dress, but very soon all the other cowives were imitating the rebel because the slit, shortened caftans gave them a lot more freedom of movement.
When Grandfather went to Yasmina to complain about the duck, she showed little sympathy. So what if Lalla Thor did leave? she said; he would never feel lonely. "You will still have eight concubines to take care of you!" So Grandfather tried to bribe Yasmina by offering her a heavy silver bracelet from Tiznit, in exchange for which she had to make a couscous with her duck. Yasmina kept the bracelet, and told him that she needed a few days to think things over. Then, the following Friday, she came back with a counterproposal. She could not possibly kill the duck, because its name was Lalla Thor! It would not be a good omen. However, she could promise never to call her duck by its name in public. She would do so only in her mind. From then on, I was instructed to do the same and I worked very hard to keep the duck's name to myself.
Then there was the story of King Farouk, the farm peacock. Who would name a peacock after t
he famous ruler of Egypt? What was the pharaoh doing on the farm? Well you see, Yasmina and her co-wives did not like the Egyptian King, for he kept threatening to repudiate his lovely wife, Princess Farida (whom he did eventually divorce in January 1948). Just what had brought the couple to this impasse? What unforgivable crime had she commited? She had given birth to three daughters, none of whom could accede to the throne.
According to Muslim law, a woman cannot rule a country, although that had happened a few centuries ago, Grandmother said. With the help of the Turkish army, Shajarat al-Durr had acceded to the throne of Egypt after the death of her husband, Sultan al-Salih. She was a concubine, a slave of Turkish origin, and she ruled for four months, governing neither better nor worse than the men who came before and after her.2 But of course, not all Muslim women are as astute or as cruel as Shajarat al-Durr. When Shajarat al-Durr's second husband decided to take a second wife, for example, she waited until he got into the hammam, or bath, to relax, and then "forgot" to open the door. Of course he died from the steam and the heat. But poor Princess Farida was not such a perfect criminal, and she did not know how to maneuver in power circles or defend her rights in the palace. She was of very modest origins, and was somewhat helpless, too, which was why the co-wives on the farm, who had similar backgrounds to hers, loved her and suffered for her humiliations. There is nothing so humiliating for a woman, Yasmina said, as being cast out. "Shlup! Right into the street like a cat. Is that a decent way to treat a woman?"
Besides, Yasmina added, as high and mighty as King Farouk was, he did not know much about how babies were made." If he did," she said, "he would know that his wife was not responsible for not having a boy. You need two to make a baby." And she was right about that, I knew. To make babies, the bride and the groom had to dress up nicely, put flowers in their hair, and lie down together on a very big bed. The next thing you knew, many mornings later, there was a little baby crawling between them.
The farm kept track of King Farouk's conjugal caprices through Radio Cairo, and Yasmina's condemnation of him was swift and decisive. "What kind of good Muslim leader," she said, "dismisses a wife just because she does not produce a son? Allah alone, says the Koran, is responsible for the sex of babies. In a justly run Muslim Cairo, King Farouk would be dismissed from the throne! Poor, lovely Princess Farida! Sacrificed through sheer ignorance and vanity. Egyptians should repudiate their king."
And that is how the farm peacock came to be called King Farouk. But if condemning kings was an easy matter for Yasmina, dealing with a powerful co-wife was another matter altogether, even after already having gotten away with naming a duck after her rival.
Lalla Thor was powerful, and she was the only aristocratic, city-born wife of Grandfather Tazi. Her last name also was Tazi, as she was one of his cousins, and she had brought with her, as a dowry, a tiara of emeralds, sapphires, and gray pearls, which was kept in the big strongbox in the right-hand corner of the men's salon. But Yasmina, who was from a modest rural background like all the other co-wives, was not impressed. "I can't consider someone superior just because she owns a tiara," she said. "Besides, as rich as she is, she is still stuck in a harem, just like me." I asked Yasmina what that meant, to be stuck in a harem, and she gave me several different answers, which of course only confused me.
Sometimes, she said that to be stuck in a harem simply meant that a woman had lost her freedom of movement. Other times, she said that a harem meant misfortune because a woman had to share her husband with many others. Yasmina herself had to share Grandfather with eight co-wives, which meant that she had to sleep alone for eight nights before she could hug and snuggle with him for one. "And hugging and snuggling your husband is wonderful," she said.3 "I am so happy your generation will not have to share husbands anymore."
The nationalists, who were fighting the French, had promised to, create a new Morocco, with equality for all. Every woman was to have the same right to education as a man, as well as the right to enjoy monogamy - a privileged, exclusive relationship with her husband. In fact, many of the nationalist leaders and their followers in Fez already had only one wife, and looked down on those who had many. Father and Uncle, who espoused the nationalist views, each had only one wife.
The nationalists also were against slavery. Slavery had been prevalent in Morocco at the beginning of the century, Yasmina said, even after the French had made it illegal, and many of her co-wives had been bought in slave markets. (Yasmina also said that all human beings were equal, no matter how much money they had, where they came from, what place they held in the hierarchy, or what their religion or language was. If you had two eyes, one nose, two legs, and two hands, then you were equal to everyone else. I reminded her that if we counted a dog's forelegs as hands, he would be our equal too, and she immediately responded with, "But of course he is our equal! Animals are just like us; the only thing they lack is speech.")
Some of Yasmina's co-wives who had been slaves had come from foreign lands like the Sudan, but others had been stolen from their parents right in Morocco, during the chaos that ensued after the arrival of the French in 1912. When the Makhzen, or the State, does not express the will of the people, Yasmina said, women always pay a high price, because insecurity and violence set in. That's exactly what happened then. The Makhzen and its officials, unable to face the French armies, signed the treaty which gave France the right to rule Morocco as a protectorate but the people refused to give up. Resistance sprang up in the mountains and the deserts, and civil war crept in.
"You had heroes," Yasmina said, "but you also had all kinds of armed criminals running around all over. The first were fighting the French, while the second were robbing the people. In the South, at the edge of the Sahara, you had heroes such as Al-Hiba, and later his brother, who resisted until 1934• In my region, the Atlas, the proud Moha on Hamou Zayani kept the French army at bay until 1920. In the North, the prince of the fighters, Abdelkrim, gave the French - and the Spanish - a real beating, until they ganged up on him and defeated him in 1926. But also, during all this turmoil, little girls were being stolen from their poor parents in the mountains and sold in the big cities to rich men. It was standard practice. Your grandfather was a nice man, but he bought slaves. It was the natural thing to do back then. Now he has changed, and like most of the notables in the big cities, he supports the nationalists' ideals, including respect for the individual, monogamy, the abolition of slavery, and so on. Yet strangely enough, we co-wives feel closer to one another than ever, although those who were slaves among us have tried to track down and contact their original families. We feel like sisters; our real family is the one that we have woven around your Grandfather. I could even imagine changing my mind about Lalla Thor, if she ever stopped looking down on all of us because we don't have tiaras."
Naming the duck Lalla Thor was Yasmina's way of participating in the creation of the beautiful, new Morocco, the Mo rocco that I, her little granddaughter, was going to step into. "Morocco has changed quickly, little girl," she often told me, "and it will keep on doing so." That prediction made me feel very happy. I was going to grow up in a wonderful kingdom where women had rights, including the freedom to snuggle up with their own husbands every night. But even though Yasmina lamented having to wait eight nights for her husband, she added that she should not complain too much, because the wives of Harun al-Rashid, the Abbasid Caliph of Baghdad, each had had to wait nine hundred and ninety-nine nights, for he had one thousand jaryas, or slave girls. "To wait eight nights is not like waiting nine hundred and ninety-nine nights," she said. "That is almost three years! So things are getting better. Soon, we will have one man, one wife.4 Let's go feed the birds. We'll have lots of time later to talk more about harems." And then we would rush to her garden to feed the birds.
5.
CHAMA AND THE CALIPH
"WHAT EXACTLY Is a harem?" was not the kind of question grownups volunteered to answer. Yet they were always insisting that we children use precise words. Every
word, they kept saying, has a specific meaning and you ought to use it for that specific one only, and for none other. But, given a choice, I would have used different words for Yasmina's harem and our own, so different were they. Yasmina's harem was an open farm with no visible high walls. Ours in Fez was like a fortress. Yasmina and her co-wives rode horses, swam in the river, caught fish, and cooked it over open fires. Mother could not even step out of the gate without asking multiple permissions, and even then, all she could do was visit the shrine of Moulay Driss (the patron saint of the city) or her brother who happened to live down the street, or attend a religious festival. And poor Mother always had to be accompanied by other women of the household, and by one of my young, male cousins. So it did not make sense to me to use the same word for both Yasmina's and Mother's situations.
But whenever I tried to find out more about the word "harem," bitter arguments ensued. You needed only to pronounce the word, and impolite remarks would start to fly. Samir and I discussed this matter, and concluded that if words in general were dangerous, then "harem" in particular was explosive. Anytime someone wanted to start a war in the courtyard, all she had to do was prepare some tea, invite a few people to sit down, throw out the word "harem," and wait for half an hour or so. Then poised, elegant ladies, dressed in lovely embroidered silk caftans and pearl-studded slippers, suddenly would turn into shrieking furies. Samir and I therefore decided that, as children, it was our duty to protect the adults. We would handle the word "harem" with parsimony, and gather our information through discretion and observation only.