Ziad didn’t meet us at the airport, but he was stood outside a big row of shops as we pulled up. As soon as we got out the car he picked up Tarek, swinging him around, and then he turned to Issy, who was in my arms.
“Pretty little thing!” he said, pinching her cheek, which was all she got, but it was more than I did. He simply nodded at me and said, “Hello,” then turned his attention to two males stood beside him, their heads bowed as if they dared not to look up. He spoke at them in a demanding tone and in a language I didn’t understand, but I knew he was telling them to get the suitcases from the car.
They bowed to Ziad as they hurried to the car, and then Ziad turned around and walked over to some steps that were in between two shops. He ran up them with his son in his arms, beckoning us to follow. At the top of the steps was a long round circular balcony that was the entrance to around 15 flats. The balcony overlooked a huge courtyard that was also where they parked their multiple cars.
Ali stayed downstairs while Ziad led us into a big beautiful flat, showing us the living room which was big and full of brand new furniture. It had a brand new multi-coloured carpet on the floor, with a big settee and a glass coffee table next to it. A lovely oak table and chairs with a vase and flowers in the middle of the table was to one side, and a TV in the corner of the room next to a big cabinet that had a stereo and cassettes on it.
The whole length of the living room had long beautiful curtains that covered glass balcony doors, which opened up and joined onto the rest of the flat, but also overlooked the street. Out on the balcony were a table and chairs, which I was told I could sit on and relax whenever I wanted to!
In the living room next to the table and chairs was a door. It led into another room which was our bedroom that had an en suite bathroom. It had a big double bed with brand new white bedding laid out on it, a beautiful white cot resting in the corner for Issy. The carpet was fluffy and off-white, and there was a big white wardrobe in the corner. The bedroom also had huge glass doors that led to a balcony looking onto the street, and on this balcony were also table and chairs. Tarek ran around excited to see his new home, but I was also excited! “Do you like it?” Ziad asked.
“I love it! It’s gorgeous!” I said, excitedly exploring as I opened the wardrobes and ran in and out of the bathroom. I was so excited! A toilet, a shower, a bath tub! I could have jumped up and kissed Ziad at that moment, but I knew he wasn’t the kind of man who liked that kind of behaviour, especially with people around, and the men who had brought up the suitcases had just entered the room.
As they put the cases down I approached them to say thank you, but as soon as I did they fell to their knees and bowed their heads! Ziad said something to them and they stood up, and with their heads bowed they walked out of the room, backwards, shifting their eyes sideways so not to bump into anything on their way out.
“What the hell was all that about? All I did was say thanks!” I asked Ziad in shock. Ziad laughed and told me I should never thank them or treat them kindly. He told me they were his ‘servants’ and they were there to do as he told them to do. He said if we treated them kindly, they would take advantage of us. He said I should make sure they bowed to me every time they entered or left the room and if they spoke to me without permission that I should let him know and he would punish them.
He also said I was not allowed to lift a finger while in Africa; I would have a nanny, a cook, a cleaner, and a driver! Although I didn’t tell Ziad at the time, I had no intention of treating anyone as my servant. I was more than happy to have help from anyone while in Africa, but I knew I would be treating everyone as kindly as I possibly could.
Once Ziad finished giving me a lecture about his ‘servants’ he grabbed Tarek to show him his room, which was detached from our flat; it was right next door but it was a single room with its own door. Although Tarek’s room was beautiful with a brand new bed, a TV and the carpet the same as our bedroom, I didn’t like the fact that it was detached from our flat. Tarek was just over two years old and I didn’t like the thought of him sleeping alone. However I knew I wouldn’t be able to do anything about it. At least I knew Tarek was a good baby and a good sleeper, he hardly ever woke up!
After Ziad showed us around we went back into the living room and sat down, and then he called out to the servants who came into the room. With their heads bowed they shuffled along, and once they got in front of us they dropped to their knees awaiting Ziad’s instructions. Ziad introduced me to them in their language, telling them I was their ‘mistress’ and they were to obey me. I’d never felt more uncomfortable as they shuffled over to me, kissing my hand as if I was some kind of queen! I told Ziad I never wanted them to do that ever again, but he just laughed at me and carried on to tell me their names.
He had nicknamed the older one Matata which meant trouble maker; he said he was fond of him because he had been the family cook ever since he was a child. Matata had worked for Nasser Ziad for over 20 years; he also said that if I needed anything I should ask Matata because he knew everything. The other one was younger and his name was Danso. Once he finished the introductions he ordered them to go and bring us our food, and once again they left the room in the same manner as they entered.
After we finished eating Ziad told me he had work to do. He said he would be gone most of the night and not to wait up for him. He said he would sleep in one of the other flats so that he doesn’t wake me up! I didn’t question him because I was tired, it had been a long day and all I wanted to do was cuddle up to my children and go to sleep. It also meant that Tarek could sleep in the bed next to me if Ziad wasn’t coming home.
Ziad went through his usual routine of getting ready; he always took forever perfecting himself and the fact that he had a bathroom and shower only made him take longer! Once he left I took the children and we cuddled up on the bed and fell asleep.
The next morning Ziad was nowhere to be seen so I took my time playing with my children in my room, bathing them in the bathtub that they had never seen before. Tarek jumped up and down on the bed and I allowed him, but all the while making sure he didn’t dirty or damage anything, everything was so clean and new! After they were washed and dressed we went for a wander outside the balcony that overlooked the courtyard and I bumped into the servants. As soon as they saw me they bowed their heads and fell to their knees.
“No! No!” I said calmly, trying not to freak them out while helping them up one by one and shaking my finger, trying to let them know I didn’t want them to do that. Matata could speak a little Arabic so I explained to him that I didn’t want them to fall to their knees for me, but he said if ‘Patron’ saw them, meaning Ziad, then they would all get punished, even lose their jobs! I told him this would be between us, so when Ziad was around they could do it, but I wasn’t like Ziad.
The way I saw it we all needed to treat each other with respect and kindness. I asked him to quietly talk to the other servants on my behalf and let them know how I felt. Matata translated to Danso but I could see Danso was struggling; it was as if he had never been treated with kindness from an employer before! Danso shuffled away smiling, but bowing his head and walking backwards until he was out of sight!
Matata and I continued to walk along the balcony as he pointed out which flats were vacant and which were occupied. He also pointed out the flat on the far end and told me that was the flat Ziad slept in, said he hadn’t come home until early hours of the morning because he was working. He told me he usually slept until late afternoon but if I needed anything I was to ask him. I asked him if he would post a letter for me if I wrote one to my sister in Yemen, he said yes and agreed to take it to the post office. I wrote a long letter to Yas telling her all about my new beautiful house and how happy I was!
Later on that day Matata came to my room and introduced a young girl to me who looked in her late 20s; her name was Ayoka. Ziad had hired her as my nanny. Ayoka was lovely and although she didn’t speak Arabic or English and we had no way of commun
icating, that didn’t stop us from getting on. The children took to her straight away and we became instant friends. Ziad woke up late afternoon and after he showered and had some food he spent a few minutes with the children. Then he sent Ayoka off with the children while we spent time alone.
Ziad always treated me as though I was a chore, something that needed to be ticked off his ‘to do list’, and when he was done with me he would always get up and leave. Later he would spend hours getting ready to go out, telling me not to wait up and that he would sleep in the next flat. I just wanted a quiet life so I never questioned him even though I had a gut feeling he was up to no good! This became a daily routine for Ziad, until one night about three weeks after we arrived in Africa, I made a terrible discovery!
It became a routine for me after putting the children to sleep to sit on a balcony at night; Ziad was always out so I would sit alone. In the daytime the front balcony was nice, I was allowed to sit and watch people go by as long as I acted respectfully and didn’t hang over, so I would sit way in the corner and just enjoy being able to do so. However, at night the front balcony was lit up by the street lights so I would prefer the back balcony.
On the courtyard balcony at night I would take a chair and hide in the corner. My privacy was protected by the balcony stone wall that had beautiful flowers and plants all along it. I was able to sit in silence and watch people as they come and go between the gaps in the wall and plants, and they couldn’t see me! It was extremely quiet and peaceful, and it gave me a sense of freedom to sit outside by myself, something I wasn’t allowed to do in the Yemen! While I sat I would often nod off and then wake up later and go back inside.
On that night I woke up at around midnight and as I woke up, I picked up my chair to take it inside, when I heard voices coming from the flat a few doors up. It was the flat that Ziad slept in and it was Ziad’s voice, and a female. I made my way over to the flat and realised the reason I could hear them was because the door was ajar they were laughing and making lots of noise, so I tiptoed inside. The flat had a small narrow entrance that led into the living room and as I entered the hallway I saw female clothes on the floor, then I saw Ziad’s clothes. My heart started racing and a voice in my head told me to turn around and leave, but because of my stubbornness I carried on walking. I came to a complete standstill as I entered the living room and saw Ziad and a female completely naked having sex on his settee! For a few seconds I froze, and as my heart pounded against my chest I could feel the rage building up inside me! They hadn’t noticed I was stood there at this time and I could see a bottle of whiskey and glasses on the coffee table next to them, and then he looked at me. He shoved her off him, throwing her to his side.
“What are you doing? Get out!” his voice slurred, full of rage, while he staggered to his feet, he was drunk!
The female just stared at me, slouched on the settee not even attempting to cover herself! I stayed silent for a few seconds while Ziad struggled to regain his balance, I couldn’t find the right words to say! Then I turned and ran from the flat, but as I did I stopped and picked up both their clothes, grabbing what I could, which was almost everything, slamming the door behind me!
As I ran down the balcony towards my flat I could feel tears pouring down my face as I threw their clothes over the balcony into the courtyard. I ran into my living room and sat on the settee, resting my face in my hands I cried. I wasn’t jealous of what Ziad had done but I was angry! I didn’t love him and I was under no illusion he loved me. He had never once told me he loved me since the day we married, I was purely his trophy wife, but I was furious that he could do this to me!
I knew Ziad was no angel when it came to his women because I’d heard the rumours more than once about what he was like. While I was in Yemen he could do as he pleased because I was not here to see it, but I was here now, so why did he have to carry on behaving like this? Why was I brought to Africa if this was what he wanted to do and why did he have to humiliate and embarrass me like this?
I was crying out of pure rage and frustration when the door flung open and Ziad staggered in with a towel wrapped around his waist. “Where are our clothes?” he demanded, making his way over to the settee towards me.
“Get lost, you can go and buy your girlfriend some new clothes! You have enough money!” I responded sarcastically while wiping away my tears. Ziad came over to me with a grin on his face and yanked me up off the settee by my arm.
“Don’t mess with me, bitch! Give me my clothes!” he threatened while squeezing my arm. My whole body was trembling with fear but I refused to give in and, with defiance written all over my face, I put my face up to his, and with gritted teeth I confronted him.
“How dare you do this to me? I’m your wife!”
Ziad pushed me away from him and let go of my arm, then he punched me with all his force in my face, sending me crashing to the floor. Blood started spurting from my nose as he repeated his demand.
“Where are my clothes?”
I gave in like a coward, as blood sprayed from my mouth; “In the courtyard,” I choked. I couldn’t argue with him anymore, I could barely hear or speak from his punch because my head was spinning.
As soon as he left the room I tiptoed into the bathroom as quietly as I could so not to wake the children. Blood dripped from my nose onto the brand new bedroom carpet and I silently cursed him as I thought to myself how difficult it would be to get blood out of that white carpet!
My face was red and swollen and my nose wouldn’t stop bleeding, so I took a towel and went back into the living room and lay down on the settee trying to stop the blood. After a while my nose stopped bleeding, but I knew it was broken; I could hardly breathe and it was swollen and looked crooked. I sat there and tried to straighten it but the pain was too much. I sat and thought about what had happened, wondering if I had done anything to make Ziad behave this way towards me when suddenly, Ziad came back into the room.
He was still wrapped in his towel, only now he was holding a bottle of whiskey with two glasses. Ziad came and sat next to me and placed the whiskey and glasses on the coffee table and as I got up to walk away he pulled me down, forcefully telling me to sit back down. I sat down; too scared to move as he poured whiskey into both glasses. “Drink!” he demanded, handing me a glass.
I looked at him, then the glass. “You know I don’t drink, I hate the stuff!” I said pulling a face and wondering why he had offered it to me in the first place. At first I thought maybe he was trying to make peace with me, but it became evident he wasn’t as soon as I refused! Ziad yanked my head back by my hair, and as I struggled to try to release his grip he held the glass to my mouth.
“If you don’t drink it willingly I will pour it down your throat!” he threatened.
I knew he meant what he said; I’d never seen him look so evil. The look in his eyes scared me, and once again I could feel myself shaking with fear as my eyes filled up with tears. I hated myself for feeling scared, for feeling weak. “Why are you doing this to me? What have I done to upset you?” I pleaded. Ziad looked at me, no emotion in his eyes as he let go of my hair.
“I need you to learn how to satisfy me. I want a real woman in my bed not a child, now drink!” he said coldly.
His words made me angry; if he had wanted a real woman then he should have married one. With a mixture of fear and anger raging through my body I screamed at him.
“It’s not my fault you married me when I was a child! Why didn’t you marry a real woman if that’s what you wanted?”
Ziad didn’t want to hear any more. He took the glass and shoved it in my hand. “Drink!” he demanded again. With raging anger I took the whiskey and gulped it down in one go! Not realising how strong it was I started coughing and heaving, struggling to catch my breath.
Ziad started laughing whilst he refilled the glass and handing it to me again, “Drink!” he demanded again, but this time I refused. He tried to persuade me to drink the whiskey, telling me it would make things
easier for me if I did, but again I refused. The first glass had made me feel sick and my throat felt as if it was on fire.
He went on telling me how he never wanted to marry me but he had no choice, he would have chosen a real woman if he could have, someone who could satisfy him the way he wanted to be satisfied, but now he would teach me what he really liked. Ziad then picked up the glass of whiskey and gave me one last chance to drink it, but when I refused he got angry and raised it in an attempt to smash it in my face.
I raised my arm to protect myself and the glass smashed into my elbow, digging into my skin and cutting me as it smashed to pieces. While blood poured from my arm, he dragged me off the settee into the middle of the sitting room. As I viciously wriggled and kicked to try and escape his grasp I kicked the beautiful glass coffee table, smashing it and breaking it into pieces, but he carried on dragging me through the glass as I begged and pleaded with him to let me go; he was big and strong and I was no match for him!
All I could think about were the children who were asleep a few feet away. I begged and screamed as quietly as I possibly could. I had never in my life felt this much physical pain. I had pieces of glass stuck in my body and blood pouring from my wounds, but I had to stay quiet, I couldn’t allow my children to wake up and witness this.
“Please Ziad, the children, don’t do this, please they might wake up.” He just kept telling me to shut up, telling me I should have done as I was told and everything he was doing was my fault!
He leant over me, punching me on one side of my face then the other. I clawed at him, trying to fight back but I could feel myself getting weaker and weaker as he ripped my clothes off. I could hear myself faintly cursing him. “You bastard! You bastard!” He grabbed my head and slammed it repeatedly on the floor until I passed out!
I woke up a few times whilst Ziad was raping me, but I felt paralysed, I couldn’t move or speak. It was as if he was a beast and it wasn’t me he was raping. I closed my eyes and drifted back into unconsciousness.
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