A lifelong struggle

A story from my childhood

I was born into a small family that lives in a small village. Our village was hidden away in between two large mountains and fields. Nothing was to be seen. On the horizon, there was nothing but fields and mountains.

Don't get the wrong impression when I say mountains and fields. Do not imagine mountains covered with a green apron that people love to tread. You have to imagine a dusty, sharp surface full of prickles, dried grass, and a lot of small stones, which love to tear holes in the otherwise tough skin, which we had gradually created by walking in what we at the time called shoes. Today we won't even call them stockings. If the stones didn't make you bleed something else would, like the snakes in hiding or the black scorpions.

I can't remember coming home without a scratch on my leg, but how I miss those scratches. Oh how, I miss the dusty smell, the small crumbling stones under my feet, the sound of the many insects, and most importantly the rustle of the wind in my hair. However, it was not very often that I was allowed to feel the wind in my hair, as I was the daughter of "Haci". That's what we called my father. That's what everyone called my father. It was a title that he had earned, as he was a man who possessed a lot of knowledge. The other people in the village would often consult with my father, but not the women. It was only the men. The women had other things to do.

I have 3 sisters and a younger brother. However, my sisters were married off at such an "early" age that I hardly remember that we ever shared the same roof over our heads. At that time that was normal. Girls were married of at a young age, and so was I. At such a young age that today we would call them "childbrides", but that was then...

However, I can remember this one episode clearly, and it is probably because which what was supposed to be so far away came so close namely death.

My mother had left me at home with my sister. Mother was going to the neighbor's house to bake bread. The women in the village used to do that, where they would meet at one's house, and from that they would bake several kilos of bread, which would last several months. They did this almost every day- they took turns on which house to bake bread for.

But I had been left at home with my sister. I clearly remember her asking me if she should sing a song and at the same time we would clean the front garden. We divided the area in front of our little humble home. I started on one side and she started on the other side at the same time as she sang. She sang such a melancholic song that I started to cry. One of the neighbors shouted over the fence and asked why I was crying, and she answered so firmly "She asked me to sing and now she's crying". He asked her to stop singing and as she stopped singing the crying stopped too. She asked me to finish sweeping the garden, or the area in front of the house, where a lot of junk, dust, and other debris had accumulated.

I asked her where she was going and she replied "I'm telling you, you MUST clean it up. I'm tired". We had otherwise agreed that we should do it together, so I refused! I sat down and threw the broom away! When I say "the broom", it is not an ordinary broom as you know it. It was a bundle of old hay that had been allowed to dry in the sun and then tied together with an old red thread. Before the broom could hit the hard surface and before I could turn my head in her direction I could hear her dry hard feet saying "slam slam slam" against the hard ground. I turned my head and could see she had set off at a gallop. It was like watching a wolf run towards a little poor lamb that had strayed a little from its mother. Like the wolf bites the little lamb, she grabbed my ponytail. She gripped so hard, that I felt like every hair was being ripped out. I felt the heated surface against my bare legs. The heated surface was so hot that I felt like my legs had been set on fire. I could almost smell my skin burning.

I was so focused on the warmth of my legs that I hadn't noticed that she had let go of my hair. I looked up as tears fell on my warm skin. Before I could register anything the grip was back. The claws were again inserted into the lamb and my mouth was forced open by her dirty hands. The tears began to roll faster. I wanted to shout, but I couldn't... I couldn't scream because she had such a tight grip on my mouth that I couldn't make a scream. I couldn't create a scream when I needed it most. A lamb can allow itself to scream and cry, but I could not. After all, I wasn't allowed to scream so loud because I was a girl, and no one was allowed to know what I was going through at home. I was, after all, a girl. Who would want a loud girl? I swallowed my scream and she squeezed the broom into my mouth. She pushed it down so far that I couldn't get breath, not a single drop of air was allowed into my lungs.

I started gasping for air. I was really just trying to get a little bit of air into my lungs. I thought to myself "My life cannot end in the hands of my sister. It can't be my sister who ends up taking my life. I can't accept that".

I tried to look her in the eyes, but the sun was so blinding that I could not see eyes or a face. I looked straight at the burning sun and before I knew it everything went black...

I don't remember what happened after that. However, I remember that when I got up Haci was sitting next to my mattress on the floor. I can remember the feeling of his five fingers against my cheek at the same time as the words " YOU ARE A GIRL. WHY ARE YOU SLEEPING OUTSIDE". Before I even started feeling the pulsation of the marks of the five fingers, and before I could move my mouth and utter words the door had been slammed shut and I was lying there on the floor alone again....