Courage to Say No

by Raana Mahmood

  I knew that wasn’t true. He had a hectic office. I was very hurt, and that night I could hardly sleep trying to figure out in my mind what I might have done to cause my abrupt dismissal.

  The next Wednesday morning, I awoke to loud conversations outside my bedroom door. It burst open, and a group of men and women rushed in. I tried to jump out of bed, demanding to know what they were doing. I grabbed for my phone, thinking to call 911 for help. Someone slapped it out of my hand, and it clattered to the floor. One of the women pushed me down on the bed and clamped her hand over my mouth and nose, and the other grabbed my neck and started strangling me. I gasped for breath. Her hands were so tight I couldn’t even scream. I feared she would kill me. Fearing I would black out, I prayed for help. The thought came to me to fight for my life. I bit her hand and I pushed as hard as I could at the lady with her hands around my throat. And she backed off.

  I screamed at them, “Why are you doing this?” I backed away from them.

  “Just leave her,” one of the men said.

  Mumte and other women grabbed my arms, pulled me from the room, and pushed me out the front door of the apartment. One of them threw my purse outside on the sidewalk, and then slammed the door. I was too dizzy to think straight. The day before I had lost my job, and now I stood in the road with no shoes and in my nightdress.

  I went back to the apartment door and banged on it. I shouted through the door for my shoes and my jacket. I was freezing. I kept beating until the door opened, and a woman threw my shoes and coat at me.

  “I need my clothes.”

  She slammed the door in my face. I found the nearest subway and used my MetroCard. I had very little money in my bag, but I had enough in the bank to rent a room. I had to find a new place to live with someone Khalid wouldn’t know. New York was a big city; he couldn’t know everyone or be everywhere.

  All that day, I searched. I read classifieds and used pay phones. I spent the night at a kind woman’s apartment I knew from the center. I left her apartment early the next morning to continue my search. That night I stayed with an Afghan lady and spent all day Friday searching again. By Friday night, I was so exhausted I could hardly walk when I saw a room advertised that might work. Finally, I found a tiny room, but the landlady couldn’t have it cleaned and ready for several hours. I was able to crawl into bed at 2 a.m. I slept so soundly on a mattress with no sheets or pillows. The kind landlady put a comforter on me, so I slept well.

  Saturday morning I needed to be at CVS for work. I didn’t have anything to eat, and I rushed in, hungry and dizzy. My manager, Angel, at first was angry with me that I wasn’t prepared to work. He threatened to fire me if I couldn’t work.

  “Please don’t fire me,” I pleaded. “It’s the first and last time I will ever come to work like this. I’m just exhausted. Give me some time to straighten out my living situation, and I’ll be ready to work.” Angel turned into a true angel. He agreed, and said that I could return tomorrow, ready to work.

  I went across the street to Citibank, requested a new bank card, ate breakfast in Jackson Heights, and bought a new cell phone with a new number. Perhaps I should have changed my phone number long ago, but I feared losing contact with my son and family in Pakistan. That night, I slept for ten hours, and went to work refreshed and excited about my job.

  After work, I went to the police station and filed a report, asking for help retrieving my belongings. The police met me at Mumte’s apartment, and I was able to pack my bags and leave. I saved my job, and with a new place to live, I called my son to tell him I was fine. A week later, a new store manager, took over my CVS location. He complimented me on how hard I worked, and how well I treated customers. When customers turned in their surveys, they were always satisfied.

  Within a short time, he increased my hours to full-time. After three years, I moved to a Duane Reade Pharmacy near the UN as a beauty consultant.

  Over time, Taimoor met a girl at his job, and I allowed him to celebrate his engagement. He applied for a student visa for a European country, and received a scholarship and moved to a safe country. He kept asking me to visit him. In June 2016, I flew to meet him. On my long flight I kept thinking about him, how I missed seeing him happy and grown. I regretted that I had left him alone to face uncertain dangers. It had been five-and-a-half years since I’d seen him. I felt like weeping, I missed him so much, but I kept myself together on the flight.

  When I landed, cleared customs, and greeted him for the first time after half a decade, I searched his eyes—he was glad to see me. I held his hand. When I had left him, he was a skinny teenager; now he was a grown man. He was so polite, kind, and gracious. He was the man I had raised him to become. I was very proud of him.

  He drove me to his apartment in a nice part of the city. As we talked and got reacquainted with each other, he spoke of his surprise.

  “Mother, you look so weak and fearful.”

  I had to admit, I was weak. I had lost weight through all the ordeals of the last five years, and my struggle to establish myself in a new country. I began to miss all the years we weren’t together. But here he was, a full-grown responsible adult. He had learned to manage his own life well, working and studying abroad, and taking care of himself.

  He wanted to know what had happened to me in New York that I would come to him so tired, worn out, and full of fear. I told him about Khalid and Mansoor, but he stopped me.

  “Mom, these men are harassing you because you’re a good person. You need to realize they are more afraid of you than you are of them. If the only way they can get women to be with them is bribery and intimidation, they are small and mean people. You are an exceptional woman in Pakistani society. I’ve always admired your bravery and independence and how confidently you went about your life in a Pakistani society that degrades women to second-class status. Men in our country don’t like women like you. They are afraid of you.”

  I felt so proud of him at that moment that he knew my struggles were always against a society that didn’t honor women.

  “My son, I am sorry that I didn’t leave any money for you.”

  He sat next to me, and took my hand. “Mother, you have given me so much. You’ve taught me the right way to live. I can live confidently and take care of myself. No parent can give their children more than that. If you had left me a lot of money and never taught me anything, I would be nothing but a spoiled child.”

  “When did I teach you all of that?”

  “I witnessed everything you went through, and how you always fought for what was right. I am very thankful for the education and teaching you’ve given me. You are the best person I’ve ever seen.”

  My heart was filled with gratitude to God. I could not think of any better reward in my life then the word of my son.

  “Mom, here is what I suggest you do. Stay here with me for a few months, and be at peace.” He wanted me to pray again, to regain my peace and happiness.

  For the next three months, I stayed in his home. I prayed every day, I took walks, and cooked for my son. After all the running from trouble and the difficulties of my life, I began to relax and find some peace.

  Living with my son, I observed that he had become a responsible and practical young man. All the hard and difficult times I had while raising him didn’t come into our conversation. He seemed to only remember the good things, the pleasant times, and the humorous events that made our life easier to bear.

  During my stay we celebrated Ramadan. I began again to pray, to read the Quran, and to fast. I spent the whole month reading the Quran, and my faith in God became strong again. My hope for my son and for my own life revived.

  In thinking about my life and all my troubles, I knew that I had to leave all of the troublemakers, those who had made my life miserable, to God. One day, we will all stand before God on Judgment Day. God will judge them.

  Now is the time for me to be at peace and to be happy that my life has not been in vain. My son is here with me, and he i
s safe, and he has become a real man, one who knows how to treat others justly and kindly, especially women.

  Now I know, God is at my back.

  Postscript

  IN FEBRUARY 2019, I WAS sworn in as a United States citizen. As much as I miss my home, I am very proud and happy to live and work in America. I am safe here and free to live my life without any further harassment. In many ways, it is not the life I imagined as a child, a satisfying one of practicing medicine. But perhaps it is the life I was meant to live, one without compromise. I regret some of my choices, but not that one.

  One day I will return to Pakistan carrying my American passport to witness the marriage of my son to his beautiful fiancée, and to visit my ageing father. Then I will go to my mother’s grave and recite Darood and Fateha. I will assure her, once and for all, that I am safe and happy, and living the life I am meant to live. I will tell her that she can rest easy in her spirit, for I have acted on my beliefs, which she taught me, and I have remained strong.

  What I have learned so far is that it takes courage to be your own person, it takes strength to run into the wind, and that I am the daughter of a kind lawyer and a patient mother. For all that they gave me, I am thankful to God forever. My faith in God is stronger than ever.

  Now I know, God is at my back.