Previous Challenge Entry (Level 4 – Masters)
Topic: TRUST (07/21/16)
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TITLE: Rite of Passage | Previous Challenge Entry
By Gary Ritter
07/25/16 -
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It never occurred to me to question the life we lived. Mother stayed at home watching over my brothers and me. I was a middle child, with two older brothers and a younger one, baby Yusef. Mother always did what Father told her to do. There were times I sensed tension between them in some of the things Father required, but Mother inevitably submitted to his will and desires. The earliest such incident I recall was soon after the birth of Yusef. We had just finished eating dinner and Mother was breast-feeding him. Father spoke in a gruffer voice than usual. “Fatima, finish with him. Come to the bedroom.”
Mother threw up one hand and made an unpleasant face. “Am I to come to you in my uncleanness? Even right this minute?”
He rose from the table. “You will if you wish to remain in this house.”
“Agh.”
I was only five, but I felt her disgust. She handed Yusef to me. “Care for your brother. I’m sure I’ll be back within ten minutes.” It was less than that. She took Yusef from me and continued feeding him, never saying another word to Father that night.
As I approached my sixth birthday I noticed an excitement building between my parents. They often went apart from the children and whispered between themselves, and I would be the only one they’d look at. Other women came to visit when Father was away, and they would similarly whisper among themselves, giving me fleeting glances.
Mother had begun teaching me simple skills, spending much time to assure that I understood and could do them correctly. She had introduced me to sewing a couple of months prior and in my childish, clumsy way I had learned a few of the ornate stitches she prided herself on when she sewed clothing. Mother made a puzzling comment once when I’d done one well. “Aisha, you will soon have a stitch like that made on your body.”
“What is that, Mother?”
She shook her head with a frown. “Never you mind. I already said too much.”
I shrugged and went back to my work, not wanting to upset her in any way.
The morning of my birthday I jumped from bed and could barely contain my excitement. Mother and Father had said this was an important day in my life, and I was so proud for it to have finally come. I wanted to shout and wake them up, but I heard the grunting of Father in the bedroom and knew from past experience not to disturb them. Mother came out shortly in a bad mood, and I tried everything I could to cheer her. I finally asked, “What do you have in store for me today?”
She mumbled, “Your future.” She had a sadness about her I couldn’t understand.
Father left the house and soon after that several women gathered. My mother beckoned me to the kitchen. “Come, Aisha, lie down on the table.”
How unusual, but I did as instructed while the women surrounded me. Mother gently held my face and kissed me. “Be brave, child.”
At once, the women seized my hands and feet, quickly binding me so that I couldn’t move. Our imam appeared from behind them holding a knife. He nodded to the women and a moment later I felt my insides on fire. The pain increased and went on and on. I screamed and cried, and passed out.
The great throbbing below my waist was punctuated as I lifted my head and saw Mother with needle and thread sewing something up on my body. I again lost consciousness.
Mother made me stay in bed for several days, and I walked in agony for two weeks. “You are now a woman, Aisha, and will be able to resist men until your wedding night.
I never fully trusted her again.
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