‘Let’s just say that I knew it would end well, princess,’ she replied, hugging her. ‘I told you everything would work out, didn’t I? Be happy, dear,’ she whispered, holding Jana’s face between her hands. ‘I wish you all the best.’
Her mother took the news badly. Not only had Jana kept the relationship a secret, but she’d never even hinted at the fact that the man she intended to marry was an Arab.
‘How could you be happy with a stranger? You barely know each other. He doesn’t even speak your language. I tell you, he’ll take you far away and you’ll end up alone in a place where you don’t know anything or anybody. What are you thinking? In the end you’ll wind up a servant for him and for his children, just like me. And when he tires of you, he’ll leave you. He’ll make you suffer. This is the biggest mistake of your life.’
Jana, however, seemed more determined than ever. Marrying Mohamed was the only thing she wanted. In the end, her mother was forced to concede.
‘You’ve always been hard-headed. You already know what I think, but do what you want.’ And she went back to her housework, which was more important than her daughter’s future.
Jana wanted to believe that her mother was only speaking like this because she was afraid to be separated from her. She loved her mother – despite having grown up being reminded of every little sacrifice – but her bitterness had become corrosive over the years. Jana felt she had to escape to save herself; she had to escape in order to not become like her mother. The move would be a good thing for both of them. With time, her mother would understand and, above all, would learn to love her future son-in-law. The idea of going to live in Baghdad didn’t scare her. Mohamed would teach her everything. She would have a new family and would finally be at peace.
Jana and Mohamed were married in Dobříč on 31 December 1971. It was a modest celebration, as the Communist regime didn’t permit great luxury. Only a few members of Jana’s family attended, and nobody from Mohamed’s family was there, but the ceremony was happy all the same. Jana helped her groom understand the wedding rituals with the little bit of English she knew. While they barely understood each other in words, their shared gaze held real passion. Mohamed, holding her hands, repeated under his breath the only phrase he knew in Czech to her, ‘moje hezkà manzelko’, ‘my pretty wife’.
The pictures taken shortly after immortalised them together – Jana fair, in a dazzling white dress and Mohamed with the colours of the Mediterranean written on his features.
Her mother seemed more tranquil that day. She even smiled when she hugged her daughter outside the town hall. She would have preferred a Catholic marriage and this man wasn’t only foreign, he was also Muslim. She was, however, visibly mollified when she discovered his generosity, as he had come to Dobříč full of gifts. He brought gold for his bride, and whisky and cigarettes for the future mother-in-law; all the precious goods that few people in Czechoslovakia could afford. Babička left her daughter’s arm to greet her son-in-law. The sight of her mother hugging her husband struck Jana. She watched as they tried to communicate, each in their own language. It seemed as if they had overcome their embarrassment and distance. Her heart was full of joy.
Jana and Mohamed moved to Baghdad immediately. His entire family was waiting for them and they soon celebrated with another wedding ritual, this time according to Iraqi custom.
Stepping off the plane, Jana was immediately hit by the blinding light of the sky. Everything seemed new and magical to her. She held her husband’s arm tightly in anticipation. The taxi passed through part of Zeyůne, one of the most elegant districts of the city, before stopping in front of the driveway of an enormous three-storey villa made of light stone, like all of the other houses in this residential area of the capital. It belonged to Bibi, Mohamed’s mother. There was a tall boundary wall, fringed by a sweet-smelling hedge. In the parking lot, the chrome plating of four Mercedes cars sparkled in the sun. Jana felt her legs tremble with emotion as she opened the taxi door.
As soon as they got out of the car a small group of plump, excited women came out of the front door. They scurried into the courtyard and showered the newlyweds with greetings. They didn’t stop hugging and kissing Mohamed, crazy with happiness. Their flapping clothes and the clinking of their jewellery seemed like an unstoppable vortex. Jana recognised Kasside, who stayed silent. While Jana stood beside the car with a mountain of bags, the women pulled Mohamed into the house. One of them noticed Jana and came back for her. She was different to the others – tall, slender and very pretty. Her long, straight black hair framed her handsome face. She looked at Jana with big black eyes, which she immediately recognised as being the same as her husband’s. Even in her kindness, the woman reminded her of Mohamed and Jana knew it had to be Ahlam, his youngest sister. She took her hands as a sign of salutation. They hugged.
Ahlam guided her into the big room full of heavy damask couches where Jana would meet the rest of the family: her other two new sisters-in-law and their husbands, including Mohamed’s younger brother, and his nieces and nephews. Mohamed immediately headed towards an elderly woman who was dressed entirely in white, her head covered by a veil. This was Bibi. He greeted her by kissing her hands with great devotion. The other women, all without veils, stood waiting and then swamped Mohamed again as soon as he started distributing the gifts from Europe. He didn’t seem to notice Jana had been left alone, watching them, confused, without understanding a word and not knowing what to do. So Ahlam gave her a sign to come forward to the armchair where Bibi was sitting; it was crucial she greet her first.
Bibi had a stern and austere way about her. Jana didn’t notice right away that she remained seated because she was missing a leg. A dark braid as long as her back hung from her snow-white veil. She had a huge birthmark in the shape of a hazelnut on her right cheek. Her fingers, decorated with heavy rings, were wrapped tightly around a cane. A long string of swaràt, traditional gold bracelets, jangled on her wrist as she gestured for Jana to come closer. Bibi looked Jana up and down, studying her pale complexion, green eyes and golden hair, then turned to look at her son. For a moment Jana was terrified that the mother-in-law would subject her to another exam, just like Kasside had done when they first met. She thought she had made an error wearing pants; maybe it was too Western. The elderly woman said something in Arabic and signalled for her to approach. Jana bowed and kissed her hands as she saw her husband do. From her throne, Bibi finally nodded.
Jana found herself in the arms of one of her brother-in-laws. The family’s welcome dragged her into a whirling mass of faces. When she found herself face to face with Kasside again, Jana realised she resembled the old lady in a fundamental way; she had the same square face. Keeping her hands on Jana’s shoulders, Kasside squinted and smiled. Something in her sharp look contrasted with her affectionate gestures. She didn’t have the same serious expression as she had during their first encounter at Prague Airport, but she kissed Jana in an almost arrogant manner. Jana guessed it was important to be accepted by Kasside too, seeing as she was second-in-command to the matriarch of the house, Bibi.
Kasside murmured something in Arabic to the other sister, Elham, who then presented herself in welcome. She was the least striking of the sisters: her shoulders were slightly hunched and she had a stocky physique. Although lacking any grace, she had one thing in common with Kasside and the old mother: the same penetrating gaze. They all sat down together and offered Jana a mint tea. While the sweet liquid restored her, Jana scanned the faces of her new family. They all curiously observed the silent blonde woman who came from afar.
That evening, getting ready for her first night in Bibi’s house, Jana gathered her hair in a braid and tried to make sense of the family. They seemed like a big, united, loud clan, and this fascinated her. Her greatest desire, now, was to take part in family life; to be considered one of them. She wondered if it would ever be possible.
The first two weeks of the marriage were trying. Mohamed still hadn’t bought
a house, so they were living in Bibi’s big villa, along with the rest of the family – including Kasside. After the first day’s festive welcoming the cohabitation proved demanding. Jana felt ignorant of everything: customs, habits, and above all, the language. To overcome the mutual distrust seemed a colossal undertaking, but, trying not to become discouraged, she attentively observed everything happening around her.
Mohamed’s mother Bibi rarely moved from her armchair. Although she was a widow, it didn’t seem like she was affected by the loss of her husband. Bibi was the most powerful person in the house, demanding absolute respect and making all the decisions. She was very close to Kasside and always wanted her near. Not only did they share similar physical attributes, they had the same authoritarian character. They were the ones who held the reins of the clan; Bibi was the brains and Kasside the brawn. The men weren’t considered much in any of the decisions. Elham’s and Kasside’s husbands were submissive types; they let their wives and mother-in-law have the last word about everything. Mohamed, on the other hand, was much respected; he was the elder son, the favourite. Bibi had an almost morbid attachment to him and didn’t pass up any chance to remind everyone he was the heir of a family with noble origins.
In broken Czech, Mohamed told Jana the whole story: ‘My grandfather, Azzawi, was a person of great moral character, descended from a family of merchants and sheikhs. He was considered a wise man, and everyone went to him seeking advice about important decisions. He was so loved that, when he died, they named an entire neighbourhood after him: Al Azzawi. One day I’ll take you there. Actually my grandfather was important enough to have two wives.’
Jana made a vexed face, ‘And you?’
‘Me what?’
‘And you too … What I mean to say is even now, can a man marry more than one woman?’
Mohamed smiled. ‘For us, having two wives isn’t a bad thing.’ Then he took her chin between his fingers, ‘If I ever want to get married a second time, you ought to know that the first wife has to always give her approval. If not, no other woman can come into the house.’
‘Don’t even joke about it!’ Jana threatened angrily.
‘You don’t have anything to worry about. Apart from my grandfather, no-one else from our family has ever been married more than once. People of our class practically never do anymore.’
‘And your last name?’ she asked, changing the subject. ‘Is there a story behind that too?’
‘Nouri means “light”. It is a Persian name from an esteemed Sunni family. The nobility of the past was very different from the nobility of today. It used to be enough to be better off and wiser than your neighbours to be considered important. The family escaped from Iran during the time of the shah persecutions. They settled here and prospered, becoming rich and powerful.’
Jana stared at her husband, entranced. How many more things didn’t she know about him? Would she ever know everything about him? When they were alone, she bombarded him with questions. That’s how she discovered that, thanks to their elevated class, Mohamed and his siblings had studied at the best universities. He had a degree in economics from Cairo. His brother, Kassid, was a surgeon. All three sisters worked in commercial offices in the city. None of them remained hostage to domestic life.
Jana spent the first fifteen days in the house with the other women. It was customary to spend time together, drinking tea on the living room couches. The house was luxurious but smothering. Heavy, dark velvet drapes adorned the walls. An enormous crystal chandelier, so large it occupied most of the room, hung from the ceiling. They stayed in that room for hours while the bowl of salted watermelon seeds passed from hand to hand, as did small glasses of tea. They never stopped chatting. Jana guessed from their gestures it was one endless gossip between women, but she still did not understand their conversations. She felt alone and uneasy. What was more, nobody cared. The only one who seemed to notice was Ahlam. Every once in a while, filling her glass, she slowly repeated some Arabic phrases, hoping Jana would start to understand. Then Bibi would make an abrupt gesture with her hand and Ahlam, alerted by the jingling of Bibi’s bracelets, would stop and serve the others too.
The highlight of each passing day took place at night when she was finally able to be alone with Mohamed. In his arms, she tried to pretend that everything was going well. One evening, however, two weeks after their arrival, she finally opened her heart, ‘You know, I don’t think your sisters like me. I’m afraid of making a mistake … They don’t want me here.’
‘My love, you have to give them time. And, besides, Ahlam took to you immediately. She really looks after you.’
‘Yes, she’s very kind. But I always feel uncomfortable around Kasside – like I’m under examination.’
‘Don’t exaggerate. It’s normal that she pays attention to what you do. After all, she is responsible for many things in the family. You’ll get used to it eventually, it won’t seem so bad,’ he reassured her. Mohamed closed her eyes with a kiss before adding, ‘I have good news for you: everything is almost ready for the wedding.’
‘What wedding?’ She had completely forgotten.
‘Ours! My mother and Kasside have made the arrangements for the banquet, and the sheikh is ready to conduct the ceremony in the town hall in two days. The whole family has already been invited. It’s going to be a magnificent party. Aren’t you happy?’
‘My love!’ She held him even tighter. Maybe after this second wedding the in-laws would finally consider her one of them. She closed her eyes, dreaming of her party.
Jana didn’t have any idea what an Arab wedding would be like. The preparations had started three days before. When Jana went to lend a hand, the women made her understand that cooking was a duty, reserved solely for family members. Bibi controlled everything from her chair, hitting her cane against the floor whenever she gave an order.
On the eve of the ceremony, Jana remained in her room the entire day. She didn’t know what to wear, or what to do. None of the in-laws had explained anything to her and, afraid of creating a fuss, she didn’t ask. At a certain point, the door opened and Ahlam came in. She carried a big box in her hands and placed it on the bed.
Jana opened it and saw a long, ethereal, finely embroidered Eastern-style outfit. It wasn’t remarkable, but it had a simple and elegant line. She thanked Ahlam, saying one of the few Arabic words she knew: ‘shukran’, ‘thank you’. Ahlam smiled and left.
On the night of the wedding, alone in her room, Jana put on the outfit and looked at herself in the mirror. Even dressed like this, she could never look like one of them. Her complexion was too pale; she would never possess the dark and intense look of the other women. Ahlam was beautiful. Maybe even Kasside and Elham used to be, although now they seemed withered. And her? Did Mohamed really find her as pretty as he said? He must have been used to the mysterious beauty of the Iraqi women. Could she be as charming as them?
Seated in front of the mirror, she brushed her golden hair and put a few drops of perfume on her neck. While putting on her eye makeup, she realised her hand was trembling. She stopped and looked deep into the reflection of her green eyes. She felt strange, and not just because of the outfit. She thought about her friend Irena who wasn’t there to do her hair, nor her sister to make her smile. Her mother wouldn’t be there either. She was hit by a wave of homesickness she wasn’t able to contain. A tear came to her eye and risked ruining her makeup. She dried it and took a deep breath. There: the worst had passed. She was even able to smile, remembering she was about to get married to the man she loved – an opportunity not every woman could experience. She fixed her hair and smoothed down the wrinkles of her dress. Hearing a gentle knock on the door, Jana ran to open it. Mohamed was waiting for her with a dazzling smile.
The ceremony at the town hall went quickly. Seated in high-backed chairs, the couple repeated the marriage vows spoken by the sheikh. Afterwards at Bibi’s house, the guests paraded in front of the couple, honouring them with gifts and bles
sings. There were about a hundred guests at the banquet; many of them were dressed in luxurious clothes and some wore traditional garments. Jana didn’t know anybody, but she was enchanted by the other family members she had only met that day, who’d kiss and hug her – she wasn’t used to such enthusiastic displays of affection. She realised many in the crowd were observing her closely – those full of curiosity and those who seemed wary of her. It was, however, a glorious party. People danced late into the night, but everything ended that evening. The party didn’t last for three days, as it usually did at Iraqi weddings. To Jana, who didn’t know anything of that world, it seemed like a party designed for a princess, just as Mohamed had promised.
Mohamed left the day after the wedding on a long business trip. The afternoons with Bibi and the sisters-in-law started again, the same as before. Now that Jana was a member of the family, as part of her chores she also had to serve Bibi and the others, and take care of heavier domestic work. It was tradition; a woman who goes to live in her husband’s house has to serve the sisters and mother-in-law. Kasside, who assumed Jana was a proud woman, pushed her every once in a while in order to measure her character. Jana obeyed even when it was humiliating.
When the sisters-in-law invited her downtown to go shopping, Jana asked herself if it was a friendly gesture or another initiation ritual. A month had passed since she’d arrived and she still hadn’t visited the city. She let herself be dragged in an excited cortege into the commercial streets at the centre of Baghdad, full of women with covered heads.
It was a surprise to discover Baghdad was a city where Arab and Western culture mixed at every juncture. The bars, where alcoholic beverages were consumed freely, were only patronised by men. But there were also numerous American fast food restaurants, as many Americans were living in Iraq. Baghdad was a wealthy, thriving city. The streets were full of high-powered cars and red double-decker buses. In the shops, next to European merchandise, stood exquisite objects made by Eastern artisans; finely worked jewels, precious textiles, and tailored dishdashe, which were large embroidered cotton tunics that the sisters-in-law often brought home. They insisted Jana have one tailored for her too. Kasside chose the fabric and made the arrangements with the dressmaker. Jana wanted Kasside to think she trusted her and so she didn’t complain that the colour wasn’t to her liking.
The Girl from Baghdad Page 2