Islam

I have never given much thought to marriage. It was a foreign concept to me. I never fantasized with the other girls in the village nor did I have an image of the knight that would one day sweep me off my feet and carry me into the sunset. No. Building castles in the air was never for me; particularly when it came to marriage.

It is not that I do not want to get married; I know I am bound to soon enough. The suitors have been knocking on our door ever since I turned 13 last year, but none of them was good enough for my parents. They have their eyes set on Hajj Ahmed.  In fact, every family in our village wants Hajj Ahmed for their daughter. Never mind his old age, he is a man of position and power; his land stretches beyond what the eyes can see, he owns most of the date trees in the village and heads every committee here. Indeed, he is a great catch.

It is not about my education either. No, I stopped going to school the day I grew into a woman as does every girl in the village. “What use is school for a woman anyways?”  My father would say. I knew he was right. The role of the woman in our village is very simple: she is to get married, bear children and take care of her house. There is no room for education in her life and as such, there will be no room for education in my life.

I never wasted thought on marriage because I always knew that it will happen someday. It was the custom in our village. And I had no choice in the matter either. When the time comes, I will marry whomever my parents choose for me. So, what good is it wasting time thinking about the inevitable?

“Ayooy yooy yooy”

Ululations fill every corner of the house, rocking it off its foundation. My mother has gathered the women of the village and is conducting preparations for an engagement feast. Hajj Ahmed just asked for my hand in marriage and predictably, my parents have agreed. The news did not come as a shock to me. There has been word around the village that Hajj Ahmed is planning on making me his wife. I heard my mother talking to Amna the seller of milk about this one morning, not so long ago. “I am telling you Khadija,” said Amna “that Hajj Ahmed will soon come knocking on your door.”

“Mabrook Mariam,” says Asha to me, although I can see the disappointed face beneath her mask of happiness; she often fantasized about marrying Hajj Ahmed herself. I smile courteously at her as she has been my companion since childhood and I do not want to lose her friendship. I spend the rest of the day accepting congratulations graciously. I am not as excited about marrying Hajj Ahmed as I thought I would be yet, I fake enthusiasm to perfection.

All my parents want out of life is to marry me to a man who makes a comfortable living and raise their status in the village. Marrying Hajj Ahmed will give them just what they want. That new glimmer in my father’s eyes when he looks at me and the unwavering smile that paints my mother’s face are enough reason for me to go through with this marriage. I will not let doubt taint their joy. Soon, I will become Hajj Ahmed’s wife.

For our last meeting, I chose to read “Madras on Rainy Days.” Though the book touches upon several important themes in Islam but the topic of arranged marriages, something I have come across many times in Sudan, stuck with me the most. The idea parents forcing their daughter/son into marrying who the family thinks is right for them has always seemed odd to me, particularly given the fact that in Sudan it is mostly underage girls who are forced into these marriages. I used to ask my parents why no child would stand up to their parents and refuse to get married. My mother would reply by saying that many of the girls dream about getting married all of their lives and an early arranged marriage to them is like their parents making their fairytale dream come true earlier than expected. Another explanation I got was that some girls just trust their parents and want to make them happy and if an arranged marriage is what it takes then so be it.

This piece is a short story I wrote where I explore the thoughts of a young girl in a rural village in Sudan as she prepares to get engaged. It is mostly what I believe would be going through the head of young girl. I base my style of writing in this piece on Tayeb Salih’s short story writing style as many of his stories, if not all, focus on rural villages in Sudan.