I remember, My village, a poor one but with humble people, Small but everyone knew eachother, Secluded but beautiful as the forest and river cover it. I remember… Me and my brother playing by the river, My mother was watching from afar; she crouched down under an olive tree picking olives into a basket while we chased each other. “That’s not fair! You said climbing trees are forbidden!” I yelled at him as he climbed a tall tree while it was my turn to chase. “You made that rule now!” He yelled back at me. But when he grabbed a weak branch, it snapped and he fell down with a surprised yelp. He landed right on his elbow. “Agh- UGH- MAMA!!” he cried and ran back to our mother while I bursted out laughing. He hugged her tightly and she looked worried as she took a look at his elbow. But she sighed in relief when she made sure it wasn’t a serious injury: “You embicile! Why are you scaling trees! I warned you about that! You could’ve fell into the river!” she scolded while she rubbed olive oil we brought to dip out bread in to soothe his injury. His face was swollen with tears, his nose was runny as he sobbed, that was funny to me. “And you! Quite laughing at your brother’s misery before i smack you!” she yelled at me, and I instantly swallowed my laugher, my mother’s punishment are scary when she wants them to be. “Ugh, your poor excuse of a father should’ve been here helping me or atleast taking care of these two.” She mumbled under her breath as she wrapped my brother’s elbow. I was walking towards them as I noticed the sadness in her face, Mama must be tired from working. “Mama, where is father?” I asked and hugged her from behind. “He’s resting from working in the field, Fatima.” She replied bitterly. “But he finished around lunch, its almost sunset now” my brother stuttered. “Yes, but that’s how men are, they need a long time to recover from hard labor.” “but-“ as I went to argue she grabbed us bother and held us tightly. “Enough bikering, and lets finish these so we wouldn’t have to come back tomorrow” she nuzzled us both. “Let goooo-“ I squealed half heartedly “Mama my elbow hurts!” he squirmed in her grip. …This was the last happy memory I had of her. That night, my father chopped her head for suspission of cheating. I later find out it was never the case, He just wanted someone younger and more obedient as his wife. My mother always stood up to his bullshit until one day, he came back home and he snapped… I remember, Her funreal… My father stood at the table, while my uncles and aunts sat discussing my and my brother’s futures: -“The boy shall stay, he will grow up to be the man of the house and help you in your field. But find where you should toss that girl!” my elder aunt stated -“True, well, since youre suggesting, why wont you take care of her?” my uncle turned to her. -“absoulotly not! What am I to do with this disgrace!? A girl?? Give me that boy and I will turn him into a great man! She will tint our family name!” she exclime, her face full of distain. “One of you shall take her!!” she yelled. -“no..” -“I have enough disgrace from my sorry wife, I don’t need more.” -“don’t even look at me, I will raise no child of hers.” -“kill her, before she taints our name like her mother.” Then my father cut them off “ENOUGH.” The room fell silent, “We cannot kill her, that it obvious they will blame us, we will be jail.” He stated. -“Then how do we get rid of her..” my great aunt asked before he cut her off- -“However, I know someone who’s looking for a little girl, somewhat good looking to serve them, she lives alone with her son, we can sell her to them” As all of this was happening, I was standing in the corner, in a little black dress and barefoot, my brother was beside me holding my hand, he was in a black shirt and pants. I was trembling from the loud voices, from their fingers pointing at me, from their glares and eyes full of judgement and distain, full of hatred, I didn’t need to have a mature mind to understand These people hate me to the guts, because I looked most like my mother… Even though they knew my father made up lies, they knew she was faithful to that lazy man, they believed that lie more then they believed in god. More then they believed in good deeds. More then the truth. That their brother was crazy in the head. The next morning, I was hugging my brother tightly, my four year old mind back then didn’t know what was happening, but I knew if I let go? I will never see my brother again. And my brother held me tightly aswell, even with his injured elbow, he held me fiercly and fought back with what strength a six year old has… And that isn’t much when youre against a three grown ups. He was punched, kicked, grabbed and scratched, I don’t remember much of what I said or anyone said.. All I remember, in the middle of spring, And at dawn, An old lady was grabbing and dragging my arm down the hell of my house, while my brother laid unconscious and still being punished by my father, my aunt was watching from the side muttering cusses, till this day I don’t remember if they were directed towards me or him.. perhaps both of us… My little voice cracked from yelling my brother’s name, I remember his name, Asaad. After months and months, I was getting used to living with that old woman, Her name was Mama Jamila, She taught me a lot of things! How to be a good house wife, Cooking, Cleaning; Gathering herbs, She like my aunts said, had a son, An old man with a beard, I heard his first wife died, Poor her… she died of old age.. Mama Jamila lets me play with girls outside! They were taller then me, perhaps because I don’t eat a lot- Well, we play by the well, where she sends me to get water for chores, I had a best friend back then, Her name was… Her name… Was.. Ah yes, Her name was Ghania.. She was aswell sold away from her home, but unlike me, her stepmother is the one who gave her away. She was jealous of her beauty like she told me, And I told her my secrect aswell, I fear, Mama Jamila and her son.. Don’t get me wrong, shes a good woman when she’s in a good mood.. But her punishment are more painfull then my mother’s… And her son, always glares at me when I am working.. he had wide eyes, bags under them, with black pupils, his beard was white, while his face was greyish.. When I see him I always run to Mama Jamila and hide behind her, but she would sigh dramatically.. It didn’t help that we all slept in the same room, Well, the house was only a roof, no rooms, just a small space inside… Ghania understood me, but the person she was sold to was also a woman, but she was younger, and her son was younger, and they had a sister.. I also wished I had a sister.. I also wished I had a brother figure, But the one I should call a brother figure hated me and is older then my father.. But I was happy for Ghania, and she offered to share them with me. She is truly my best friend. Ill never forget when she used to bring me sweets when they gave her some, The woman she was sold to had a brother from france, when he got back he would get them this rare luxury, and thanks to Ghania, I had my first taste of a fruit! Its called bananas. I was sweeping the stairs, and she came running to me with it, we ate it like monkeys in the book cover she had at home.. slowly, and giggling to ourselves. I also sneak stuff to her, like traditional bread, or sometimes, cake.. But punishment was always severe when Mama Jamila caught me. Today, I turned six years! I am as big as my brother, and I am a woman now by mama jamila’s standards. Her son was less hostile towards me and more smiling, but I was still terrified around him. He has gotten more ugly. Mama Jamila switched sleeping places with me and he cuddles me everytime we go to sleep, and when I wake up and its still night and get up and go back to my place where mama Jamila worked as a shield to separate us. Nuh uh, Mister! You will not bribe me! Until you get more good looking I will not be near you! Ghania was getting busier with housework, she only comes out wayyy after lunch, and I aswell took over making bread and sometimes cooking and caring for the sheep, I always come back stinky, and Mama Jamila only allows me one bucket of water to bath. Her punishments are even more severe, and she looses her temper pretty quickly, I started to fear her more and more as the says pass. She wasn’t as this bad as when she took me, Pehaps I started to slack off? I hope she doesn’t throw me out… I don’t like the dark.. I don’t like the wolves to eat me like those stories of when girls get eaten for staying out after maghrib… I don’t wanna die like mama.. I… miss mother.. I miss brother.. I miss my house.. I wanna go home…but I don’t want to leave Ghania behind… I am getting fatter, From all the snacks and extra food I sneak from the kitchen I gained weight. I got smarter and found a way to sneak food without Mama Jamila noticing, and I always give some for Ghania. Ghania Told me she dreamt of going to paris The dresses, The food, The people, The buildings, She showed me pictures they received, and they were beautiful… -“I want to go there too..” -“Ill take you if I one day went! Don’t worry, Fatima.” -“Really? You would do that?” -“Yes!” she exclaimed “we will one day go there together. And we will live there and wear beautiful dresses and ride bisecalls” -“we.. we will!” I chirped “and we will enjoy chocolates and eat fancy food!” I didn’t sleep that night, I thought of the place, and imagined a life there… If I find you brother.. I will take you with me. And mother, I hope youre seeing me from up there. I am visiting paris one day. And I will tell people your name… or open a café in your name! that would be wounderfull!! Ahhh I cant wait till we go to paris.. …My belly get rounder… -“Fatima- you ate a lot. How did you get fat this fast?” Ghania asked me while she was poking me. We were sitting by the well, as usual, eating bread I snuck from the kitchen -“I don’t think it’s the food- maybe trapped gas like you had last week?” I proposed. -“hm! Yeah maybe- but that’s alottttt of gas” -“What should I do?” Ghania and I that day, had the brilliant idea of putting a heavy rock on it, maybe it would help release the gas faster. It didn’t, it only resulted to back pain and scolding from a woman passing by. Atleast we tried to make them come out faster? Now Mama Jamila would kill me for all the gas I would release in my sleep. A few days later was our first real interaction with women, aside from hellos and evenings.. -“Look at you two, our young and most beautiful youngest brides of our village” -“brides?” we both looked at eachother then back at them with confusion. -“Yes, brides!” the other exclaimed. “You two are women now” -“we are??” Ghania’s face lit up -“we are like you guys?” I chirped. -“yes, my sweets!” That day, we realized. We were sold, we were married off. And I wasn’t fat, I was pregnant, with what two months later I would find out it was a son. The delivery was difficult, I was what mama Jamila called in labor for 7hours. My small mind throught it was a punishment and I was apologizing constantly to mama Jamila and begging for it to stop, By the fourth hour I was begging for her to kill me. My husband wasn’t home, Mama Jamila said that husband don’t show up for these things, And that I should be happy I gave birth to a son, That night, he came back and slaughtered a bull in honor of him having a son. They congratulated him, and not me? I was the one in pain… I deserve a gift… I.. I want my mother.. I am in pain.. My legs hurt.. my back hurts, My body is shaking… I wasn’t my mother.. I WANT MY MOTHERR…. I wept that night, Inside, Alone, on the floor, only a matress.. And everyone thought it was the little child crying… Why is no one hugging me…? I want to be held… I don’t want to be a woman anymore.. The next few weeks I recovered and resumed my chores, this time with the child strapped to my back, Not like I had a choice.. But I quickly got attatched to him, he was chubby and cute. But it hurt my chest when he breastfed. Ghania loved him too! She carried my buckets and swept in my place when I got tired, I witnessed her get scolded and I tried to stop her, but she didn’t listen, and insisted. She told me I could return the favor when she gets pregnant. We promised eachother that we would take care of another when needed. I am forever grateful that i was her friend, Her being in my life was a blessing, Nothing I could do or say would ever suffice.. But, I never got to care for her.. She soon died during childbirth when she carried.. I never got to see her, Mama Jamila forbid me from going there, she said, “little girls don’t go for funreals” … I was nine at the time. I begged to care for her child, mine was already two and can somewhat walk alone, I wanted to raise what she left for this world, But she punished me for uttering foolishness… Forgive me Ghania, I tried… I swear I tried.. say hi to my mother if you see her.. I told you her name.. It has been, a year since she died… And today, I went out, but they were still asleep, I took my son Halim, and went to get my chores done, and since it was winter, I left the fire burning to warm them up. Just the usual, Right? I went out married, and came back and widow.. The house caught on fire and burned them both alive.. When I came back, I saw them pulling two long burned pieced of wood from inside. I looked at Ghania’s sister-in-law, -“what happened here?” I asked, my tone was empty of emotions.. -“they.. died. The house burned down and they couldn’t be saved..” -“huh…” I felt.. lonely.. and before I knew it I cried. Because, it was my fault.. I killed two lives.. I am as bad as my father.. I didn’t want to relate to that bastard.. now I killed two people that cared enough to take me and raise me as their own.. Hours later, The fire fighter picked me up, then took me to the back of a car… I have never seen a car before… “I am sorry, you had to witniss this at a young age, but youre okay, they will take good care of you…” he said, then he pointed at Halim strapped on my back, “You did a good job taking your brother with you when you went out. Thanks to you two people are alive.” He tried to cheer me up.. “brother..? that’s my son…” I said softly. He looked.. stunned.. then thoughtful.. then disgusted.. “who would care for me..?” I asked before he questions me. “child services, you will be in good hands.” He replied, with a forced smile.. “So… No, Halim.. I did not abandon you, they separated us. They thought it was best if they both gave us to different families, so I could recover from my trauma and live a normal life. You lived a good life, my love? I wrote a letter for you every single day since I started learning to write… I will send you that box…” My son, since that fire, was given to a healthy, wealthy family.. I haven’t seen him since fifteen years.. I aswell lived a happy life, in a small family.. they were loveable. My stepmother.. resembled my mother in warmth and kindness, and my step father was nothing like the figures I had in my life.. Now I stand before the one I gave birth to, he was angry before I sat him down and told him this story. But soon after was crying and after fifteen years.. I got to love my son, not out of obligation to be a mother.. but because after I grew up and matured, and was offered many paths.. I chose to come back to him and hold him and hug him and tell him the truth. If I had the choice... to give birth to you in better circumstances I would.. “I had to give you up, so you could grow up better then I ever had,” I murmured into his hair as I held him, like my mother held me.. “Are you happy, my son?” I added. “yes…. Mother…” he sobbed.. “are you?” he asked hesitately.. and at that time.. I had no answer to offer him but a smile.. “yes. I am” I muttered… this insprired by a real story, those who wants me to make it into a webtoon in the future can tell me or let me know. i will listen.