Days before.

 

 

Inaya.

 

 

I always thought I was born at the wrong place, time, family and, especially, country. I didn’t deserve to be the middle daughter of a Moroccan baker, who, although poor, had two wives and four daughters to look after, in a family that believed a woman should get married as soon as she became an adult. My two older sisters had already taken that path. I knew I was the next and my fear grew each day.

I didn’t want a life I was destined to live even before I was born. I wanted to go to college, have a job and to choose my own husband. However, when I told that to my parents when I was fifteen, my mother almost had a heart attack and my father nearly spanked me to death. I could finish high school, but I could never start college because it was reserved for men, not young women.

The only one who helped me after that was my uncle, Jamal, my father’s brother. Although he was a homosexual, he had married a woman, so he wouldn’t suffer social criticism or break our customs. Jamal was the associate director of a Public University located in the center of Casablanca near our house. When I turned sixteen, he convinced my father to let me work with him as his administrative assistant. Maybe he saw I was silently screaming for help, just as he had when he was my age, though no one listened.

My wish for a different life only grew after I started to work and had access to the internet. It was then I started to observe and appreciate American and European customs through movies, documentaries and other sites. I wanted to be one of those women, free to pick a career, to live by themselves in a tall building in a big metropolis, to go out and drink with their friends on weekends, to play snooker, to have casual sex sometimes. Those were normal things in their culture, but impossible in mine, and it was all I wanted.

To live the dream of being free one day, although I didn’t have any idea of how, I used the internet at the university to learn English. It was the easier and most spoken language in the world. Maybe one day I would have the opportunity to use it and fulfill my craving for a different life.

The climate was hotter than usual that evening in Casablanca when I left the head office to have lunch and say my prayers. I had one hour and a half to do that and as I lived some blocks away, I needed to hustle under the scalding sun while wearing all those clothes and smothering veils. Meanwhile, the women in the world to which wanted to belong wore skinny jeans, pretty blouses and went home by car.

It was unfair that I couldn’t choose the life I wanted to live.

I was surprised to see two luxurious vehicles parked in front of my humble house, both surrounded by bodyguards, but I was so hot I paid it little mind. I entered my house in agony, yearning for a glass of water and taking off my hijab to freshen up.

I was petrified when I entered the living room and saw that horrible man. He was big-bellied, had a big beard and was about fifty years old. He was sitting in one of the armchairs beside my father and mother, both of whom were wearing party clothes. I immediately recognized him. He was one of the King’s ministers, brother of the Prime Minister of Morocco. I saw him at University, lecturing about our culture. From the way he looked at me, it wasn’t difficult to deduce why he was in my house. I didn’t need to think hard to understand that they were trying to sell me to that ridiculous man, to become his wife since I had just turned nineteen, the appropriate age for marriage according to my family.

I stood there and felt my blood freezing in my veins. I felt a tingling going up my legs, and my heart failing. I thought hard about running away and disappearing to another country, but how, if I couldn’t even get out of the neighborhood?

“Inaya! We were waiting for you,” my father happily said, standing up to pull me from the door to the center of the room. “This is Fahrad bin Abdul, one of the King’s ministers.” He exalted his position as if it defined him as a potentate entirely worthy of our devotion. “He wants to marry you. Isn’t that wonderful?”

I looked that horrible man in the face. He was undressing me with his eyes head to feet, as he appeared to evaluate the body of his new acquisition, and it made me sick.

I wasn’t interested in marrying that pig or any other man. For Allah’s sake! I wasn’t interested at all. That man was ridiculous and my father’s age, but I couldn’t say that. He was rich, a man of authority, and that was enough for my family to consider him good marriage material. If I opposed it, it would be worse. I would marry with my back aching from the lashing.

I tried to say something, to greet the man, but my voice didn’t go out. I was on the verge of a crisis.

“She’s like that. As shy as her mother.” My mother got up with a huge smile and came by my side. After all, she was presenting her goods to the buyer. “Despite that, she’s a wonderful girl. She can dance, read, write and she’s a great cook.”

“I like shy women.” Fahrad said and smiled. “Let’s book the ceremony as soon as possible. The dowry will be a substantial quantity of pieces of gold. I’m sure she won’t have any regrets. “My parents’ smiles went wider when they heard the dowry offer. “Do you agree with this, Inaya?”

Of course I didn’t! What person in good mental health would agree to marry a ridiculous old man like that? Only I didn’t have that option. If I said no, I’d be punished and forced to marry him anyway.

“Yes.” I mumbled and my parents celebrated.

The man had lunch with us and the meal was served in grand style, as if we were partying. I thanked Allah when he left and I could go back to college. I ran all the way back, desperate and crazy to tell my uncle all about the proposal and ask for his help. He was the only one who could understand and help me. I arrived at the head office breathless and went straight to his room. He was checking some documents at his desk.

“Uncle, you need to help me!” I begged as I entered his office. I could barely breathe due to the effort of running and the hot weather.

“Great Allah! What happened to you?” He came to me and helped me to a chair and brought me a glass of water, which I drank at once. “Drink slowly or you will choke. Calm down and tell me what happened.”

I took some deep breaths, trying to calm down.

“My father wants me to marry Fahrad bin Abdul. You need to help me.” I gasped, breathless and desperate.

My uncle gave me a sympathetic look and sat back on his chair.

“You could have said no.”

“Of course I couldn’t. He’s the King’s minister. If I did that I would be punished and forced to marry him anyway.”

“What do you want me to do? Look at me. I’m gay, and married to a woman for over ten years so I won’t have to deal with our society.”

“But you date men discretely and are not obliged to fulfill matrimonial duties. I’ll be!”

The pity was more evident in his gaze.

“Poor Moroccan girls. Some have a lot, while others have so little.”

“What do you mean?”

“Just thinking outside. I know an odalisque who would give an arm to be in your place, but she’s forced to live by our country’s rules.” We stared at each other silently for a long moment, both getting to comprehension and the end of my trouble.

“Samir?” I said my uncle’s lover name and felt a spark of hope growing inside me.

Samir was a homosexual who didn’t hide it and worked as eunuch in the King’s vast harems. Since some businessmen were recruiting girls trained since adolescence to please a man in and out of bed to sell to millionaires in different countries with a eunuch who spoke their language, it wasn’t difficult do realize Samir would accompany one of these harems to another country. Perhaps this was the chance I needed to escape Morocco and a forced marriage, and to have the freedom I always wanted.

“Yes, Samir. He will escort a harem sold to a businessman in the U.S.A.,” my uncle said with sadness in his voice, knowing he would lose his lover as a consequence.

“Uncle! Muslim women are forbidden to travel without a niqab. I can change places with the odalisque who wants to stay and marry. No one will notice it isn’t her.”

“Don’t even think about that. Out of question. If it’s a bad thing to marry a man because he’s old and ugly, imagine being abused by more than one, because that’s what they are being sold for. They will be forced to sexually serve not only the man who bought them, but with whomever he decides to share them.”

“We are talking about America, uncle, the land of freedom. When I get there, I’ll run away and find something to do. I can work cleaning toilets. if necessary. to earn some money. The most important thing is that I already know English. I can stay in the country as an illegal immigrant until I fall in love with someone and marry. Then I’ll be accepted there.

“Things are not so simple. How will you get away from your owner? What if he calls the cops?”

“He won’t do that. Human trade is illegal in the U.S.A.”

My uncle saw the hopeful glance in my eyes and rolled his eyes.

“I knew I shouldn’t have let you use the internet all this time. This is the result.” I smiled at him victoriously as he smiled back. “Now I’ll miss you too. What will I do?” Then he added, “Wonderful people attract other wonderful people. Soon you won’t be alone anymore.”

During the last days before the trip, my uncle arranged everything. The girl who wanted to stay in Morocco was in love with one of the palace’s servants, where she had been confined since adolescence as a mistress to the king and his closest friends. If I took her place, her former owner would believe she was in America and she would be free to live her love story, just as she had dreamed, hidden somewhere away from the palace.

At home, I acted as if nothing was happening and pretended to be satisfied with the arrangements for my marriage. When it was time for the harem to depart, I left without saying goodbyes because I was too afraid that someone would question my behavior. I took only personal documents in a handbag and left as if I were going to the college to work, but went straight to the airport instead.

All went according to plan. The odalisque and I switched clothes in the airport bathroom, and I took her place in the boarding party, wearing a niqab to hide my face while she stayed in Casablanca, free to seek her own happiness.

I remained calm during the time I left home until we boarded the plane. Only when the plane took off, did I realize that it was really happening and I was leaving everything behind, including my parents and sisters, without saying goodbye. I felt the anguish in my breast and started to cry.

On the other hand, I was following my most improbable dreams, so absurd I thought I would never make it. I was close to becoming a free woman, owner of myself. I could wear jeans, go out at night with my friends, work wherever I please and even attend and graduate college. All this was more than the sadness of leaving my family behind.

I was sitting beside Samir, my uncle’s lover and the eunuch of this harem. He was the only one who knew I wasn’t the girl who was supposed to be on that plane. He was also the one who arranged everything, but only because of my uncle. They loved each other very much. In his opinion, I’d cause problems in the harem, to shame him and maybe even cause the loss of control of the women in the harem. He definitely didn’t support me or like me. He sat beside me only to prevent the others from talking to me and finding out the truth.

After seventeen exhausting hours of flight, we finally landed at Seattle’s airport. When we left the plane in a line, we became the center of attention for other passengers looking for their gates, because we wore our niqabs.

The first impact I felt was the freezing cold of that place. I’ve never experienced a temperature so low during day. I couldn’t imagine how unbearable it would be at night. However, even this couldn’t ruin the happiness I was feeling. I could barely believe I was on American soil, the land of freedom, as I always had dreamed. How could this happen so fast and suddenly? That it finally happened seemed a miracle.

I wanted to kiss the ground at that moment, but I wouldn’t make that mistake. It was bad enough that we were stared at suspiciously just because we wore black veils on our heads.

When we had deplaned and exited the concourse, a dark-haired man wearing a suit and tie was there to greet us. He was too handsome and young to be our owner. Maybe he was the driver. He was very nice and introduced himself as Jeffrey, the younger brother of our Master, and led us to the limo. It was just like the ones I had seen in the movies.

There was enough space for the girls and the two men, but we needed a cab for our luggage. I mean, the girl’s luggage, because I didn’t bring anything. The girl who switched places with me kept her things.

Jeffrey asked Samir to tell us to take off the niqab, but the eunuch said no, informing him that he could only obey the one who bought us.

I started to wonder how unpleasant a man who would buy women and practically enslave them to satisfy their carnal desires would be. He had to be a pervert or so repulsive that no woman, not even a prostitute, would want him. Even if he wasn’t ugly, because his brother looked like a model, what he was doing made him a disgusting man, really despicable.

As we crossed the city, I looked at everything surrounding us. Everything was new, the tall buildings, large streets, the wet asphalt from the recent rain, the way people dressed with few clothes despite the cold. There were no marketers or street vendors selling things, no dust, and no women wearing veils. The great number of cars circling was confusing and everything was too big. It was like being in another world, much better than the one I was born and raised. For years, I had longed for this world I had seen only on a computer’s monitor, and now I was a part of it. I couldn’t believe it.

To my disappointment, we were taken outside the city to a property so isolated we couldn’t see anyone for kilometers when we got there. I got chills after imagining what horrible things our owner might do with us in such an isolated location. There, in the middle of nowhere, it would be hard to escape, because we were too distant from the main road. The house, however, was beautiful. It had three floors, like a mansion I saw in an internet series.

The master’s brother guided us inside the house while the driver and a servant from the mansion took our luggage to the second floor. Without knowing I spoke English, he insisted again with Samir for us to take off the niqab. Samir strongly denied the request yet again, confirming that only our buyer could see or let anyone else see us.  He left very upset, promising he would come back with his brother soon.

There was a room for each one of us. The rooms were dreamy, and bigger than my entire house in Morocco. The furniture was very sophisticated, with a four-poster bed, a shelf filled with electronics, a set of Provence armchairs and two bedside tables. There were thick curtains on the big windows and two doors, one to a big bathroom with a bath tube that looked more like a pool, and a marble sink. The other door went to a closet filled with women’s clothes. Some clothes were typically Moroccan, although less ornate, and others were trendier. There was also very indecent underwear and, of course, shoes.

It was already evening when Samir told us to gather in one of the dining rooms to have dinner. We sat around a big table and two housekeepers served us in porcelain plates. That was when the other girls saw my face for the first time and panicked to discover I had taken Sara’s place. As soon as Samir explained everything, and told them Sara risked the exchange to go and live with her true love, they became more friendly and receptive.

Differently from what I learned as a child, the odalisques are not coarse and depraved. They seemed intelligent, sensible, very empathic and polite. They received me with open arms.

“But how will you do that? You’re a virgin, what will you do to attend the master when he or his friends ask for you?” one of the girls asked me as soon as Samir finished telling my story, while we were still at the table.

“I don’t know yet.” I answered. “But I won’t give in to any of those men. I’ll run away if necessary.”

“Run away, how? We’re in the middle of nowhere.” the red-haired girl with green eyes asked. “From what I can see, there’s no way to leave without getting lost in the woods. The man who bought us knows this arrangement is a crime in this country. He won’t let us get away that easily.”

She was right. He thought about everything, but I was determined that I wouldn’t be used by any of them. I’d get away before things went beyond my control.

“You can tell the truth, maybe the master will understand you.” Another girl suggested.

“No way.” Samir answered. “This would bring problems to all of us, including Sara, who would be captured and tortured in Morocco. No one is safe especially she, who is still there. To not let the buyer, know this was my condition when I agreed to this madness.”

We all agreed he was right.

“I’ll make it. I’m good in getting away and you can be sure I won’t be a trouble.” I said and noticed their frightened gazes. The room became tense and it was clear that everyone thought I would cause them problems.