The Bride of Amman Read online

  The Bride of Amman

  Fadi Zaghmout

  Translated from the Arabic by Ruth Ahmedzai Kemp

  Praise for The Bride of Amman:

  Think Sex and the Citadel meets Ramadan soap: The Bride of Amman is a dramatic portrait of young men and women looking for love in a time of taboo. An insightful and impassioned account of the high cost of social conformity—in and out of the bedroom.

  – Shereen El Feki, author of Sex and the Citadel: Intimate Life in a Changing Arab World

  Fadi Zaghmout engages the full range of human emotion as he confronts head-on the destructive, corrosive effects of prejudice, tradition, and male privilege on sexuality, sexual expression, and gender identity. Charged, dynamic, and engaging, The Bride of Amman is sure to disturb and please—and to remain with readers long after they’ve finished Zaghmout’s compelling narrative of four lives desperate for liberation.

  – Matthew Weinart, Associate Professor and Director of Graduate Studies, Political Science & International Relations Department, University of Delaware

  In this book, Fadi Zaghmout beautifully criticizes the values of the Arab society, smoothly switches between ridiculing our most sacred traditions and exposing the devastating effects that they can have on our lives. We laugh and we cry, but at the end we can’t but feel comforted that he managed to express what we all think and feel, ourselves.

  – George Azzi, gender and sexual rights activist, co-founder of AFE and Helem

  A powerful narrative, an intricate braid of secrets, exposing Jordanian society’s hypocrisy and obsession with the institution of marriage. Its pioneering feminist vision is a bid for tolerance, equality, and freedom. A compulsive read.

  – Fadia Faqir, author of Willow Trees Don’t Weep

  The Bride of Amman is unputdownable and a rattlingly significant read. Fadi Zaghmout creates a wonderfully distinctive polyphonic narrative of the characters’ selves trying to engage with the world around them to act or to make choices. While the novel voices the marginalization and disempowerment of its characters struggling to fit in a culturally conditioned and constructed subjective identity, it neatly weaves the narrative of its characters negotiating an active role within society’s power dynamics. A must-read novel to understand how subjective identity and culture shape one another.

  – Wafa Alkhadra, Professor at American University of Madaba, Jordan

  In The Bride of Amman, Fadi Zaghmout has written what I consider is one of the first Jordanian novels to challenge the taboos of gender exploration. Incredibly and skilfully, he manages to move us across that invisible line without anger, challenge, attitude, or negativity. He holds our hand and softly encourages us to explore new worlds within our familiar surroundings. A must read!

  – Nermeen Murad, Chief of Party of USAID Takamol Gender Program; writer, columnist, gender-, and human-rights advocate

  It is a brave book that weaves together lives that are in conflict with the diktats of religious, patriarchal, and societal mores—the three hegemonies that submerge and suffocate truthful expressions of gender and sexuality. The personal accounts are chilling, and I find a lot of resonance with similar issues faced by women and gay men in India. The book also offers hope that challenges can be overcome and life can be lived on one’s own terms within the matrix of our societies. The simplicity of the truthful writing, and the complexity of the emotions the characters undergo, takes the reader on a roller-coaster journey that is thought-provoking and invigorating. More power to Fadi and the book, and for empowerment of women and the LGBT community, world-over.

  – Sridhar Rangayan, filmmaker and activist, Mumbai, India

  The Bride of Amman evoked in my heart a longing for freedom. A bold and painful novel, it tells the stories of women I recognise, and I can see myself in them—I could have been one of them.

  – Saba Mubarak, Jordanian actress and producer

  Gender, sex, and sexuality: the unspoken issues in Arab societies are addressed creatively and sensitively in a novel that embraces all walks of life. Every Arab woman should read this book to gain more insight into empowerment of gender, feminism, and sexuality. Every Arab man should read this book to get a glimpse of what Arab women endure under male domination—and how their mothers, sisters, and homosexual brothers have had it tough.

  – Madian Al Jazerah, owner of books@cafe, Amman, Jordan

  It is extremely honest of Fadi Zaghmout to lift the darkest and heaviest curtain on his society. The Bride of Amman tells of a society infested with taboos. In revealing the stories of women and men alike, and by capturing their thoughts and highlighting their tragedies whilst growing into adulthood, we learn to appreciate their sacrifices and share their struggles in an impressive bid for freedom. A very courageous debut.

  – Hanan Al-Shaykh, author of Women of Sand and Myrrh, The Story of Zahra, and One Thousand and One Nights

  The Bride of Amman

  Fadi Zaghmout

  Translated from the Arabic by Ruth Ahmedzai Kemp

  Signal 8 Press

  Hong Kong

  The Bride of Amman

  By Fadi Zaghmout

  Published by Signal 8 Press

  An imprint of Typhoon Media Ltd

  Copyright 2012 Fadi Zaghmout

  English translation copyright 2015 Ruth Ahmedzai Kemp

  ISBN: 978-988-12198-9-3

  eISBN: 978-988-12198-2-4

  Typhoon Media Ltd:

  Signal 8 Press | Distribution | Consultancy

  Hong Kong

  www.typhoon-media.com

  First published in Arabic under the title Aroos Amman in 2012 by Jabal Amman Publishers, (Amman, Jordan).

  Smashwords Edition

  All rights reserved. No part of this book may be reproduced in any form or by any means, except for brief citation or review, without written permission from Typhoon Media Ltd.

  This is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places, and incidents are either products of the author’s imagination or are used fictitiously. Any resemblance to actual events, locales, organizations, or persons, living or dead, is entirely coincidental and beyond the intent of either the author or the publisher.

  Cover image: Madalena Ng (Protein Creative)

  Author photo: Mohammed Al Nabulsi

  Author’s dedication

  To Arab young men and women: those who are struggling to conform, those who are fighting for autonomy over their own bodies, and those advocating for sexual rights

  Translator’s dedication

  For Norm, for all your love and support.

  Contents

  Part One

  Leila

  Salma

  Hayat

  Rana

  Part Two

  Leila

  Ali

  Hayat

  Part Three

  Salma

  Rana

  Ali

  Hayat

  Part Four

  Leila

  Rana

  Salma

  Hayat

  Part Five

  Ali

  Rana

  Hayat

  Part Six

  Salma

  Leila

  Ali

  Part Seven

  Rana

  Leila

  Hayat

  Ali

  Part Eight

  Leila

  Rana

  Ali

  Hayat

  Part One

  Leila

  No bride without a groom

  What a day! I’ve been battered by wave after wave of conflicting emotions: proud, optimistic smiles; tears of frustration and despair. I’m sprawled out on my bed, numb, adrift in the thoughts whirling round m
y head. I try to grasp hold of something, to make sense of where I am.

  Life can be so strange, and tears and smiles are twin sisters who are never far apart. For all their differences, they seem to particularly like showing up at the same party.

  I got up early this morning. Sleep eluded me last night; I barely shut an eyelid. My thoughts were all focused on that piece of paper that represents the keys to my future—or so I thought. A small white sheet of paper listing the results of four years of my life at university and the long nights spent surrounded by equations and numbers, dreams of success and of fulfilling the ambition I’ve had since I was a child.

  I partly have Loai to thank for my success, the know-it-all in my class whose marks I have always kept an eye on, making sure I did better. He’s been a great source of motivation, and his being male made me even more determined to beat him. It was him who made me realise the sheer scale of the sexual discrimination I faced, when he told me his father’s reaction once after I got a higher score than him in class.

  “Shame on you! Being floored by a girl!”

  His father’s sarcastic taunt has rung in my ears ever since, like a blast of dynamite propelling me to beat them all and knock Loai, his dad, and all of their sex to the floor. Yes, I’m a woman and yes, I have passed my degree with a distinction. That’s what I want to be recognised for.

  It was such a proud feeling to see my name atop the list of those awarded a distinction, and my mood couldn’t be tainted even by Lana. I did my best to ignore her patronising look as she waved her hand in my face, trying to make her gesture seem completely normal, while making sure I couldn’t fail to spot the ring on her finger. I could hardly miss it, but I pretended not to notice. She kept on waving it about, congratulating me with a smile through gritted teeth. Yet she was obviously quite confident about the superiority of her success: of course, getting engaged is, in her eyes but also in everyone else’s, a much more significant achievement than getting a degree.

  “Omar and I are getting married,” she said, nauseatingly draping herself over his shoulder.

  She lost patience with my underwhelmed response and thrust the ring at my face. I found myself having to force a smile and recognise, against my will, her ‘graduation’ to this superior level of existence. I extended my arms to give her a hug, aware of how unconvincing my facial expression must be. After much effort, and what seemed like an eternity, I finally managed to force out an ice-cold response.

  “Congratulations.”

  Omar was the first man in my life. I met him in my early days at university. He liked me and chased after me quite persistently for a while. I liked him too, but I turned him down. I didn’t have the self-confidence to know how to behave around men I didn’t know. I’m from a single-sex school and a conservative family that prohibits any kind of romance before marriage. My firm principles didn’t help me control my feelings, though. I still liked him. And I crumbled in the face of his persistence and eventually started meeting up with him under very strict conditions—which I imposed. But these suffocating restrictions left our relationship with no room to breathe: no exchanging gifts, no calling me after college, no seeing each other after college… no, no, no—nothing was allowed!

  Omar left me after three months. Just after I’d really fallen for him. Fallen in love for the first time in my life. He had no time for all the rules I imposed on him. His interest in me fizzled out just when he had captured my heart and soul. I was willing to compromise on some of my principles and perhaps accept a few of his, but he didn’t give me the chance.

  The tears welled up in my eyes when he told me that he had decided to end our relationship. I tried to suppress my emotions, but I failed. My dignity held me back from arguing or asking why.

  “Is this your final decision?” I asked.

  He nodded. I bent my head down and left without saying a word.

  I simply couldn’t give him any more. Lana, on the other hand, is different: she’s from another community, a completely different background. She sees herself as liberal, whereas in our eyes she’s just shameless. She can’t speak without flirting, doing everything she can to flaunt her charms. Men flock around her, while all the girls steer clear of her. Many people would say she’s beautiful, but I can’t see it myself. Perhaps it’s because her unpleasant personality makes her seem ugly to me, or perhaps it’s just jealousy. Either way, it isn’t a fair contest.

  Rana and Hayat agree with me. We call her ‘Barbie’ and the three of us are always trying to outdo each other in our impersonations of her. Today we were all standing there together at the entrance to the Business faculty. As always, I was watching Lana and Omar, while Rana couldn’t keep her eyes off Janty, and Hayat was gazing at all the other men in the faculty. ‘The terrible trio,’ we were brought together by university life and by our common hatred of Lana. Rana is the most outgoing: she’s definitely got the gift of gab. Hayat is quite a private person: she doesn’t give a lot away, but she’s always very sharp and astute. And as for me—I tend to play by the book. I guess you could say I’m the serious one.

  On any other day, Lana acting like that would really irritate me and put me in a foul mood. But today was different. I had just got my degree results—a distinction!—and I couldn’t wait to tell my family and see the proud look in their eyes. Of course, my mother expected nothing less. She also got up really early this morning and had already invited her friends and our neighbors and relatives over to celebrate my results day with us.

  When I walked into the house, I was greeted like a bride, with the shrill sound of the women’s squeals and ululations. I was proud of myself and what I’d achieved, and was overjoyed that so many of our female friends and family had come to celebrate with me. My mother’s trill was especially ear-splitting. She hugged me, squeezing me tight.

  “And may a husband be soon to follow,” she said softly in my ear. My mum moved on, leaving me to my aunt’s embrace.

  “And soon, I hope, we’ll see you in your own home,” whispered my aunt.

  My eyes roamed from one beaming face to another as I heard everyone whisper their wishes to me in turn.

  “Mashallah, you’ll be a bride soon. It’s God’s will.”

  “Inshallah, God willing, we’ll see you married and happy.”

  “God willing, you’ll be as clever when it comes to cooking.”

  I turned to look at my older sister Salma. She was sitting next to my grandmother, silent and distracted, while the other women were chattering away, reeling off their prolific wish lists for my future. My grandmother was also silent for a long time, until a curse spilled from her lips.

  “I should know, for God’s sake. I got married at 14,” she suddenly muttered, shaking her head. “We used to get married young, not like these days… Yallah… God help us, don’t end up like your sister. No one wants to be an unplucked fruit left to rot.”

  Salma turned pale, stunned by this slap in the face. I watched her as she tried to hold back her tears. She couldn’t. She was obviously embarrassed, and dashed off to our room. I tried to catch up with her to console her, but stopped when I heard the girls’ shrieks and ululations start up again.

  “What?” I asked, rushing back to where the noise was coming from. The answer came from my cousin Hiba.

  “I’m pregnant!”

  Most of the women swarmed around her as though she were the one the party was intended for. I was no longer the aroos, the bride, the star of the party: there’s no bride without a groom, after all. This reality struck me that moment like a bolt of lightning. All those years I’d wasted trying to prove myself. I genuinely believed that getting a degree would raise my value in everyone’s eyes and establish my status as a fully independent woman. But at that moment I was stopped in my tracks, thunderstruck, by the realisation that my degree was in fact nothing more than another step on the path towards the ultimate goal: marriage.

  Salma

  Thirty—the dr
eaded expiry date

  My eyes roam across the ceiling of the room which has cradled Leila and me since our earliest childhood. I look across at her and see she’s fast asleep, all signs of distress erased from her tanned face. She had her hair done for the party and now a lock of her chestnut brown hair has unravelled and falls across her rosy cheek.

  I sigh and get up from my bed. I go over to Leila and gently place a kiss on her forehead.

  “I’m sorry,” I whisper.

  The pain chokes me, like I’m being strangled. My grandmother’s words earlier were like a scalpel that sliced through my mask of self-confidence, the defences I’d built around me for the occasion. I’d steeled myself for being put on the spot and for the usual embarrassing questions, and even the odd provocative comment, and yet I crumbled because of one stray bullet that shot out of my grandmother’s mouth.

  I couldn’t hold back the tears and ran away to hide in my room. I was furious with myself and even more so with her. I scolded myself not just for being weak, but also for being selfish. How could I forget that today was Leila’s happy day? How could I wallow in my own misfortune and ruin my sister’s party with my foul mood? What right did I have to dwell on my despair about the future on the very day when she was so excited about hers?

  When I saw the look on her face, I realised that the bullet my grandmother had shot was ringing in her ears, too. Her eyes were suddenly forced open to the scenario I’m stuck in: the fear that starts to spread like an ulcer through the mind of a girl at Leila’s age.

  “An unplucked fruit left to rot.”

  How could my grandmother say such a vile thing? To reduce us both to a piece of fruit that no one wants to taste. Thirty—the dreaded expiry date. I associate it with death: it’s the first time a girl dies in a society that can’t wait to write its daughters off as ‘old maids.’ Ugh, that word makes me shudder!

  The countdown begins as soon as you graduate—sometimes even before. It’s a race against the clock, a marathon of a race, where every woman is scrambling to the front to bag herself a husband. You have to use your female wiles in this survival of the fittest, where survival means being lucky enough to be snapped up. But the door to the other side gradually creaks shut as the clock ticks towards the age of thirty, when you are written off as surplus goods, marked down as a social failure, and condemned to a marginal role on the fringes of society.