My name is Yagmur (it means "rain"). I was born in
rural Turkey, in a village. Generally Turkish women enjoy many freedoms, which
our Arab sisters can't even think of. Rural Turkey is a different story. Honour
killings take place every day, women don't have much say (if any) in household
matters and female employment is out of question. However, much hard work is
done by women because men don't want to strain themselves; women are like
cattle or slaves. If husband tells you to do something, you have to obey. My mother was a fairly educated woman, she
taught me at home and I even went to school. My hobby was reading books. Through
them I learnt different languages and acquired a lot of knowledge. I was a disciplined and obedient girl, unlike
my sister who was somewhat uppity. When she was 18, she fell in love with a
young man. They both loved each other but he was meant for another girl, thus
his parents had decided. Dating is utterly forbidden in Islam, marriages are
arranged and often young people meet on their wedding day. My sister was rebellious. She
"dated" that young man. Every night she would go to see him. They
even kissed and actually their relationship went too far. She got pregnant. At
first they planned to run away to a big city where they would be safe. They
knew in villages, religion rules and they could be in trouble. Authorities
don't care what's going on in rural Turkey. Sometimes imams, mullahs and elders
who try to practice Sharia and break the secular state law are punished but
usually authorities are more interested in big cities full of tourists and turn
a blind eye to what happens in villages.
I remember their young faces. I didn't understand the whole situation; I
was a little girl. But when I looked at them I could see they were happy. Their
happiness made me happy too and I wanted to smile. Instead of eloping, they decided to speak to
my father. "Pregnancy is a very good reason to get permission for
marriage", or so they thought.
Alas, my sister had miscalculated my father's love for her and his
obsession with his religion. He became furious. Instead of letting the two
young lovers marry and build their nest of love, he took her to the religious
elders and they ruled that she had committed adultery. She was sentenced to
death by stoning. They showed no mercy even for her unborn child. She had
stained the "honour" of the family and the only way to remove that
stain was to nip her life in the bud. Her unborn baby was a stain too and that
little creature had to be destroyed as well, so my family could live
honorably. In the evening before her
execution, she came to my room and told me that she would miss me. She was
crying and hugged me to her bosom. Then she smiled and said that soon she would
see her unborn baby. I was blissfully unaware of her fate, but I felt that
something bad was about to happen. I was so scared! I still remember her black eyes; she stared
at the sky while she was dug into the ground. She was wrapped in white sheets
and her hands were tide to her body. She was buried up to her waist. The rabid
mob circled her with stones in their hands and started throwing them at her
while the roars of Allah-u-Akbar Allah-u-Akbar added to their frenzy. She
twitched with pain as the stones hit her tender body and smashed her head.
Blood gushed out from her face, cheeks, mouth, nose and eyes. All she could do
was to bend to the left and to the right. Gradually the movements slowed down
and finally she stopped moving even though the shower of the stones did not
stop. Her head fell on her chest. Her bloodied face remained serene. All the
pain had gone. The hysteric mob relented and the chant of Allah-u'Akbar
stopped. Someone approached and with a big boulder in his hand smashed the
scull of my sister to finish her off. There was no need for that; she was
already dead. Her bright black eyes that beamed with life were shut. Her jovial
laughter that filled the world around her was silenced. Her heart that beat
with such a heavenly love for only a short time had stopped. Her unborn baby
was not given a chance to breathe one breath of air. He (or she) accompanied
his young mother in her solitary and cold tomb, or who knows, maybe to a better
place where love reigns and pain and ignorance are not known. These two budding
lives had to be nipped so my father could keep his honour. She wanted to marry a man whom she loved. She
dreamt wearing a white wedding dress, that there would be a big ceremony, lots
of people would be invited and they all would congratulate her, chant merry
songs and throw flowers and confetti at her. Yes there was a ceremony, but it
was not her wedding. She was dressed in white but that was not her wedding
gown. Lots of people came to the party but they came to curse her and to throw
stones at her. No music was played and no merry songs were sang; only screams
of Allah-u-Akbar filled the air. The only hug she got was from the cold earth
in which she was half buried. The only kisses that she received were from the
rocks thrown at her that tore her flesh and broke her bones. They were the
kisses of death. She was not united with the man whom she loved but was wed to
death. This was a tragedy for my sister's
young lover. His life lost its meaning. He got lashes but nothing more. He
could well forget about the whole affair and get along with his life, but he
didn't. I recall seeing him standing in front of our house every day, as if
waiting for my sister to come out and meet him. I could see him crying. I can
only imagine that when he was not crying in front of our house he was in the
cemetery, crying over the grave of his love and his baby. One day he could no
more bear his pain and hanged himself.
His death was hushed and no one talked about it. Maybe no one cared. He
was reunited with his love and his baby. No one can hurt them anymore. No one
can separate them from one another again.
It is a sad story. But unlike the story of Romeo and Juliet it is a
story that is never told. No one talks about those young lovers. No one sheds
tears for them. Not only they were buried, their memories were also buried as
if they never existed - their tender love was a shame to others - a shame that
had to be washed with blood. But the
saddest part is that according to Islam my sister deserved that death. The
elders were sure she would be burning in Hell for eternity. No, I can't imagine
that God can send someone to Hell for loving and for being happy. I can't
accept a cruel God.
-------------------XXX-------------------- Now back to my life. When I turned 18, I was
married off to a Turkish businessman from Germany. When I came to Germany I
found out that he had another wife. He
is not a bad man at all. He is very kind, but he is a Muslim. He doesn't
understand why Europeans don't like polygamy, for instance. He doesn't allow us
to leave the home. He protects our honour in this strange way. Then we moved to the UK. Here we are even
more isolated than in Germany because there are fewer Turks. In Germany we at
least could meet our fellow expats. As
for my relationship with my husband's first wife, we are friends. There is some
rivalry between us, that's for sure. But I am alone and can't meet anyone or
leave home. Her life is just as dull and empty as mine. We can't hate each
other; we should be friends to overcome our troubles. My co-wife and I are like
two cellmates. We only have each other. There is not much room for antagonism
or hard feelings. I have 5 children, she
has 4. She occupies a more privileged position within our family because she
has a son. I have given birth only to daughters so far. We are both educated, but she is so obsessed
with kids that she has given herself up. I am still trying to grasp at non-existent
straws; probably one day I will be freed... I read books, keep myself informed
and like to think. She is not remotely interested in reading books or thinking.
I am alone. Sometimes I think of running
away, but I have 5 daughters. I can neither leave them, nor run away with them.
Actually, I am stuck. Even though I left
Islam a long time ago, I cannot stop praying or fasting. My husband keeps a rod
for the disobedient... When I try to
protest, my mouth is shut up with quotes from the Quran. Islam defines our
lives. Isn't it stupid that people live according to a book written a long time
ago? I am not whining about my life but
I do hate Islam. At least I could object to certain traditions but Islam
preserved the worst in our culture, reducing women into slavery and keeping
them ignorant. What can you expect from an uneducated woman? When I look at my daughters, I pray that they
may live in a free world, free from Islam and this slavery. Ali, you promised to defeat Islam very soon,
so please do it. I know sometimes you
must feel like giving up. It seems to me you've devoted yourself fully to the
good cause of yours. You may feel at times that you will never succeed. I just
want to say that you are fighting for women like me. When you despair, think of
me and millions of women with similar tragic experiences. Never give up. You
are my knight in shining armour. I just want you to know that I am your keen
supporter. ______________________
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