“I’m so sorry, I didn’t mean to scare you; you just reminded me of a young girl I knew a very long time ago, she was married to a cousin of mine who died, his name was Mana!”
My heart stopped beating for a few seconds by the mention of Mana’s name. I’d never spoken about Mana to my children, or the fact that I was married before I married their father. I turned around and looked at the man; I’d seen his face before, but I couldn’t place him.
“I’m sorry,” I said, my voice trembling, “I don’t know your name; I’m surprised you remember me.”
I was still looking at his face, trying to remember him, but I was also worried. If this man had recognised me from all those years ago when all he could see were my eyes, I was in real danger!
“My name is Mohammed,” he said with a smile. “We did meet a few times, but it was a very long time ago, I was very close to Mana and he never stopped talking about you. Can I help you with anything?” he asked. I was hesitant. Although Mohammed looked friendly I’d become nervous because he had recognised me; I was uneasy.
“No! No thank you, I’m here to see Karen but she’s not in yet, so we will come back later,” I said, turning to leave. Mohammed was quick to stop me from leaving.
“Karen will be in at any moment, please come in and wait for her; are these children yours? They look like they could do with a nice cold drink,” he said smiling. I looked at my children and realised I needed to start trusting people, I was here at the Embassy, and at this moment in time we had nowhere else to go, so I accepted Mohammed’s offer and he escorted us past the soldiers, and into the Embassy.
It felt strange being taken into an English-owned building, where I could hear people speaking English. The women were dressed in trousers and tops, and although long sleeved and covered, they were still dressed in English clothes. I felt myself yearning to get back the days when I was allowed to wear what I wanted, and speak the language I was born to speak!
Mohammed took us into a room where he sat us down on some chairs, while he went off to get drinks for the children, and when he came back with the drinks he was accompanied by Karen, who had just turned up for work. She looked excited to see me.
“I’m so happy you came back!” she said, coming over and sitting beside me.
Mohammed told us he would see us again soon, and then left us alone while I introduced Karen to my children. Then I went ahead and told her a brief story of my life, dating back from my mother’s murder, to the present day. Karen wiped the tears from her eyes as she listened to me.
“I promise you, I will do everything I can to help you get home, but I have to let you know, it won’t be easy! First of all we have to prove your British nationality, but that shouldn’t be too difficult if you left England on a British passport, or can tell us where you were born?” Then Karen’s face changed. “Then we have your children, they are not British, and cannot leave the Yemen without their father’s permission.” My head started to spin as I digested Karen’s words.
“No! No! I’m not going anywhere without my children! Not without my children!”
I started to cry and Karen put her arms around me, reassuring me that she would speak to the British Consul, who would find a way to help us. She told me that she was his secretary and trusted him because he was a good man who helped people in bad situations, and she believed he would help us.
Karen went off to speak to her boss while we waited in the room. In that time, my children asked me about Mana. Wiping my tears I told them the story of how I met Mana and how he died.
After about 30 minutes she came back and took me into another side room away from the children. Then she told me that her boss felt it would be too difficult to get my children out of Yemen without their father’s consent; he asked her to try and persuade me to travel back home alone.
He said once back in England I could generate media attention, then return to the Yemen and shame my husband into handing over my children. I wasn’t shocked by what Karen was asking me to do, but rather more hurt; how could anyone ask me to leave my children behind? From the way she was speaking I didn’t feel as though she was trying to convince me into going home alone, she was merely giving me advice.
I told her under no circumstances would I ever allow my children to go back to the life I was subjected to growing up in Yemen. I would never abandon them, even for a short amount of time. I would rather we all die than allow them go through the abuse my sisters and I had been through.
I couldn’t allow my sons to grow up amongst family members as brutal as their father and mine, who would teach them their values? I also couldn’t allow my daughters to be subjected to sexual abuse, emotional, physical and mental torture, at the hands of their future husbands, the way I had by their father, and mine. Going home without my children was not an option I would ever consider!
I also told her that I’d run away from my family, and had nowhere else to go from here; I was being hunted, and our lives were in danger. Karen then told me she understood, and told me to understand that it wasn’t something she herself would do, however it was something she was told to ask me to consider. She then went back to her boss while I went back to my children. Shortly after she returned and sat with us.
“We have a lot to do, and we can’t promise anything, but we are going to try!” she said with a big smile.
We discussed my returning to the Embassy the next day to complete paperwork, and giving them the information they needed to get started, but then I realised I had nowhere to go. With Karen’s permission I was allowed to use the Embassy’s phone to call Yas, and wary of the fact that Dad could already be at her house, I waited for the voice at the other end, it was Amar her son, who immediately called his mum.
Yas told me Dad had been out looking for me, he called her house again the night before asking if I was there, and told her he was coming to her house today, she told me to be careful and stay out of sight. I updated her on what was happening and she told me they had found me a place in Sanaa where I could stay for a while. It belonged to Abdul’s cousin who was going away at the time and said we could use his outhouse to live in; Abdul trusted him not to say anything, so he said we would be safe.
While we waited at the Embassy the keys was dropped off to us by Abdul’s cousin, and then Karen came back to me with even more good news. “What could you really do with right now?” she asked, a big grin across her face; I’d no clue to what she could be referring to, so I gave up. Then she informed me that a nursery that took care of the Embassy’s children in Sanaa needed extra help, and she had spoken to her friend the owner about giving me a job, I couldn’t have been happier! For the first time in my life, it looked like I would have a job, where I would be the sole provider for my children; I would never have to rely on my father, or their father, ever again.
Karen drove us to our new home, or ‘safe house’ as we called it; it took us a while to find it, and on the way Karen told me a bit about her own life. Karen was married to a Yemeni, whom she had met and married in London. She told me she loved him at first, and moved to Yemen to be with him because of his work as a pilot; now she has two children with him, a boy and girl.
She couldn’t leave him because her children loved their father so much, and he was a good father to them, even though she was profoundly unhappy. Her children were getting the best education, and were not being abused, they travelled a lot and she told me her husband would never force them into marriage. She was sad when she told me her husband knew how unhappy she was, and would hardly allow her any alone time with her children, in fear that she would kidnap them! She also told me that although she was unhappy, all she cared about were her children, so as long as they were happy she would continue in her marriage.
I told her I thought she was brave, and I could feel how much she loved her children, because she was sacrificing her own happiness for theirs, that was the sign of a good mother! I could see the sadness in Karen’s eyes while she told me her story, an
d I could feel her need in wanting to help us. I knew she would do everything she could to make it happen!
We turned off the main road in Sanaa and drove down a dirt road, right to the end house that was well away from all the other houses. As we pulled up to the safe house I looked at these big red rusty metal gates.
“Well, at least we have privacy!” I said with a smile, looking at the high walls that surrounded the house. I got out of the car and unlocked the gates with one of the keys, then waited for Karen to drive in before I locked it behind her. The garden was big, with plenty of room for the children to run around and play as freely as they wanted, and the gate and walls were high enough to ensure nobody could see inside.
The kids jumped out the car, they were full of excitement as they ran around the garden. This was to be our very first home, where we would be entirely alone to do whatever we wanted, and it felt good!
In the middle of the garden was a single storey house. I was told that Abdul’s cousin, when home from his army job, lived on one side, and we would be staying in the outhouse. We were all excited to open the door and see our new temporary home; the outhouse was a part of the house that was still under construction, and it wasn’t even half finished!
The door opened onto a very dusty dirt corridor that had four doors off it. The door immediately to the right was a small room with a concrete floor, it had one big window that overlooked the garden from the road side, and a small square window high up on the gate side of the house. The room straight ahead was slightly bigger and also had a concrete floor, and a big window that overlooked the garden; this room had a few mattresses and blankets thrown on the floor, as though they had been left for us. One of the rooms was the bathroom, it had a rusty tap hanging from the wall, and a hole in the floor, and the fourth room was the kitchen. As I entered I looked up to see only half of the roof had been built so far, the floor in the kitchen was also unfinished, and it was dirt. But none of this mattered, this house was our safe house, and I didn’t care how bad it looked, all I cared about was the fact that it was safe!
There was a basin and a single tap that hung from the wall in the kitchen, and to my surprise there was running water, although I couldn’t tell where it was coming from! There was a single camp stove in the corner, with an old black kettle, and a few cups and pots, and hanging from the ceiling was a light bulb. Just out of curiosity I pulled the cord, and then jumped for joy as the bulb lit up!
“We have electricity!” I yelled, running outside to tell the kids.
Karen looked on as my children and I jumped for joy at the sight of our new home; for us, this was perfect, a step closer to freedom!
Karen left us with instructions on what to do the next day. Before she left she offered me money for food, but I reassured her that my sister had already taken care of us. Yas had given me enough money to last at least a week, and I knew we would manage somehow, we always did.
My children and I soon became familiar with our new home as we cut branches from the tree outside and made a sweeping brush, we cleaned and lay the beds, ready for our first night alone. We had stopped at a shop on the way back from the Embassy, and got enough food for the night. After their food the children played happily for the very first time in their lives, free to just be children, free from any fear whatsoever.
The next day we went back to the Embassy; it was going to be a long day and I’d told the children to expect to be bored, but they were all excited to be going back to the building where they had been the day before, so they could play with the toys! The only one of my children I worried about was Nasser; unlike my other children, I couldn’t leave him alone for long periods of time with anyone. Since his accident he had become unpredictable, he needed more attention than his brothers and sisters did at his age, and I couldn’t explain why.
We didn’t need to hang around at the gates because the soldier from the day before recognised me as soon as I asked for Karen, and let us straight through. Karen welcomed us and showed us to the play area where the children happily played, while Karen prepared the forms we needed to fill out. She had asked if it was OK for Mohammed to help out with the forms, I said it was OK, if I needed to trust anyone it would be someone related to Mana!
I found it difficult to give her the information they needed, starting with whether or not we left Britain on a British passport? Where I was born? Even my mother’s maiden name had left my memory. I was a child when I left England and couldn’t remember much, I’d buried my childhood memories a long time ago; it was a way I dealt with my pain, to forget certain things.
Then there were my children. None of my children had birth certificates, and although I’d memorised their dates of birth, they were never issued with birth certificates, not to my knowledge anyway!
There was also the identity of which family I was married into; I was sure this would worry the Embassy, my father in-law was not a man to be messed with! Mohammed smiled as he asked, “Just tell us which family are you married into?”
I let out a big sigh. “Nasser Ziad’s son!” I watched the smile slowly drain from Mohammed’s face as he nodded gently, trying to conceal his shock.
“Telephone company Nasser Ziad?” he asked slowly.
As we were speaking, another man came into the room and asked if we needed his help; Karen looked at me seeking for my approval, but I told her I wanted the fewest people possible involved in my case. I recognised him as the man I’d spoken to the day before at the gates, and he went on to tell me that we needed to work together, because if I was successful in my application, he would be the one stamping my visa, so he joined us. Mohammed then went on to explain to both Karen and the other man the wealth and power of my in-laws.
Unlike Mohammed, Karen and her friend looked less fazed by who my in-laws were, so we carried on trying to gather information to help our case. It was looking impossible to verify our identities, or find us another route out, but then I remembered someone who could, and would help.
“Uncle Jim, my foster dad!” I said excitedly. “I can give you his full name, and address, I can even get you his phone number! He can tell you everything you need to know, will that help?” Karen was over the moon to have someone in the UK who she could speak to, and took as much information as I could give her about Uncle Jim, which was a lot!
Yas and I had talked about him constantly throughout the years, and even though I myself hadn’t written to him much because of my circumstances, Yas had been in regular contact with him, and he had never stopped offering his support to both of us.
It was around lunchtime by the time we finished and said our goodbyes to Karen, but not before she had arranged to pick me up later that afternoon, to take me to see the nursery for the job.
Later that afternoon when Karen arrived I decided to take Nasser with me to the nursery, and when we entered the nursery the first thing we saw was this huge garden that looked like a playground, swings, slides, everything!
Nasser immediately ran and started playing with the toys while I was greeted by a tall lady with blonde hair who was pregnant; she told me her name was Louise, and that she owned the nursery. It was also her home where she lived with her Yemeni husband; they already had a nine year old son, and were now expecting another baby.
Louise was surprised when Karen told her I had no experience in child care, but accepted that I needed a job, and agreed to put me on a trial basis. She asked me if I wanted to bring any of my own children to work with me, and was happy when I said I would like to bring Nasser because of his age, and the fact that I had no one to look after him at home. Although she was fine with me taking him, she was quick to tell me she wouldn’t accept me showing him any special treatment over the other children, something I fully accepted.
She told me most of the children were fine and didn’t misbehave, although she warned me she had a child called Andrew, who although from a German background spoke very good English; she told me he was a very challenging boy who was big for his
age of four years.
She also asked me if I would be comfortable wearing westernised clothes, jeans and a top, she said she didn’t mind me covering my hair but would rather I didn’t wear a sharsharf inside the gates. I told her I had no problem with that, but I didn’t have any clothes myself, so she took me into her bedroom and picked me out a few of her clothes for me to wear at work.
She asked me if I could start work the next morning and I accepted, then when she told me how much I was going to be paid each month, I wanted to scream with joy! 4000 rials! If I’d been able to call my family and tell them, I would have, if only just to rub salt into the wound; I didn’t even think my Uncle Ahmed was earning that much a month and he was the most educated and highest paid of my uncles at the time!
When I got home I felt excited to tell my children, and proud when I saw the excitement in their eyes that their mother had accomplished something so big. Later that afternoon I took my children to show them where I was going to be working; although we didn’t go inside, I wanted them to see it from outside. It was an easy place to find if they ever needed me in an emergency, all they needed to do was follow the main road.
On the way home I looked for a phone box, I wanted to let my sister know I was OK, and let her know about my new job, but when I dialled the number a man answered. The voice sounded like Abdul but in my panic I put the phone down, I couldn’t take any chances. As I stood by the phone box I knew it was time to make another call, I’d been on the run for a few days now and there was someone who I really wanted to tell, someone I wanted to see.
As soon as he answered the phone, I recognized his voice. “Hello! Guess who this is?” I teased. I heard him gasp at the sound of my voice.
His giggle gave me butterflies in my stomach. “Oh I don’t know, tell me a little bit about yourself and I will try and guess!” he joked.
“Well,” I said happily, “I’m a girl on the run and I have a job in Sanaa!”
I could hear how excited Anwar was. “Don’t joke with me! Are you joking with me?” I laughed at the desperation in his voice, it was sweet.
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