Promising Azra

by Helen Thurloe

  She patted my shoulder. ‘I know this is difficult. Make sure you ask your lawyer to help,’ she said. ‘It won’t be a good idea to go home today.’

  I clenched my teeth. She was right.

  ‘Can I use the toilet?’ I asked.

  ‘Sure,’ she said. ‘Second on the right. But wait on.’ She crouched in front of the cupboard and pulled out a plastic jar. ‘Can you wee into this? We’ll need it later. Just bring it back to me when you’re done.’

  It took me a few seconds to understand. She meant for evidence. For biochemical analysis of whatever he had drugged me with. I didn’t want to think about what they might find. I didn’t even want to know. Because of what it would mean.

  ‘Thanks,’ I said, as I took two wobbly steps.

  ‘You right on your own?’ she asked.

  ‘Yeah, fine,’ I said. And I better get used to it.

  When I got back, the policewoman was on the phone.

  ‘Here she is!’ She handed it over.

  ‘Alesha?’

  ‘I’m outside. Is there someone to bring you through? Someone official?’

  It was so good to hear her voice. Almost like she was family. My eyes smarted with fresh tears, but I blinked them back.

  ‘I think so,’ I said.

  ‘Well, make sure. Best have someone with a gun.’

  Seriously? I looked over at the policewoman’s belt. There was a pistol tucked into the holster.

  ‘Okay,’ I said. ‘See you in a minute.’

  I hung up.

  ‘Ready to go?’ asked the policewoman.

  ‘I guess. I need you to take me out to her.’ It felt like I was leaving this strange halfway place, suspended between the wedding my uncle wanted for me, and the life I had now tugged back for myself. Whatever that was now going to be. I couldn’t imagine it yet, but I knew it wasn’t going to be better than being at home with my own family.

  ‘Of course,’ she said. ‘I’ll get Constable Burchell to come with us. To the airline desk?’

  I shook my head. ‘No, Macca’s.’

  She laughed. ‘Hungry?’

  I smiled weakly. As if I had an appetite, after all that had happened.

  She pushed the wheelchair against the wall. ‘Do you want the bags?’

  Neither one was mine. I didn’t know what was packed in them.

  ‘Will he get them if I don’t?’ I had a feeling there were valuable things in them, which had cost a lot of money.

  ‘Later,’ she said. ‘That still needs to be worked out.’

  I shook my head. I didn’t want his stuff. Or any of the clothes that had been packed for me. For my wedding. For my married life. Like the earrings, and the underwear from Kmart. I shuddered.

  When the policeman arrived, we walked down a long hallway under lines of fluorescent lights. Sealed tubes full of electrons, unable to escape. Trapped like I would have been on that aeroplane to Kuala Lumpur, now boarding at gate twenty-three.

  We stopped twice to scan passes at security doors, and then went down two flights of stairs. There were no windows.

  When the last door into the airport lobby opened, I was struck by the noise and colour of people with luggage and flowers and food. People going places they wanted to go. With people they wanted to be with. It felt like a slap in the face.

  ‘Macca’s, right?’ said the policewoman. ‘Stay close.’

  We dodged trolleys and prams and lagging children, and headed towards the golden arches. Two girls in brown scarves served burgers and fries at the counter.

  Alesha stood tall in a black-and-white scarf and a charcoal suit. She saw me and smiled. Then her expression changed. To alarm. She motioned me forward, like hurry up, hurry up.

  I looked over my shoulder. It was Rashid, his face agitated. He grabbed my arm.

  ‘Azra!’ he said, pulling my face close to his. ‘Uncle’s gone crazy. What have you done?’

  The policewoman spun around. She touched her holster. The policeman lunged towards him.

  ‘Let go of her,’ she said.

  Rashid didn’t look at them. ‘You have to come with me,’ he hissed in my ear, ‘there’s no time.’

  Alesha ran up.

  ‘Let go of her,’ repeated the policewoman slowly. ‘Or I’ll have to arrest you.’

  ‘Arrest me?’ said Rashid. ‘This is my own sister.’ He pulled at my arm. ‘Let’s go,’ he said, dragging me backwards towards the car park. ‘Uncle’s waiting.’

  ‘I don’t think so,’ said the policewoman, pulling out a taser and pointing it at him. Two security guards ran towards us.

  Rashid looked at her, and at the policeman, and then at the security guards, and dropped his hold on my arm. I ran to Alesha. She hugged me tight, not taking her eyes off Rashid.

  The security guards took him by the shoulders.

  ‘Tell them, Azra,’ he said. ‘Tell them to let me go. Please.’

  I said nothing. It took him ages to realise I wouldn’t go with him. Or say anything to stop them. The expression on his face slowly changed from impatience to disbelief.

  ‘Seriously?’ he said. ‘You’re not coming? You don’t get what you’ve done, all the trouble you’ve made.’ He slumped. ‘You’ll regret it. The stress you’ve made for everyone.’

  I felt bad. He was right. But it wasn’t all my fault. I didn’t want the wedding. And nobody would listen.

  The policewoman looked to Alesha and flicked her head towards the doors. As if to say, Go!

  ‘Just a few questions first,’ said the policeman to Rashid. ‘This way, please.’

  Alesha and I turned, and ran out the doors into the sunshine, through the flickering shadows of the eucalyptus trees. Uncle must be somewhere in the car park, already waiting for me. I prayed he wouldn’t see us running past. Or try to stop us.

  And, for the very first time in my life, I wished I could hide under a burqa. And disappear.

  XXX

  Sublimation

  the transition of a substance from its solid phase to its gas phase without it passing through an intermediate liquid phase

  Dear Bassima

  I know it’s really old-school to send you a letter, with a stamp on it and everything, but that’s all I’m allowed to do right now.

  It’s been forever since I saw you. I guess Alesha told you what happened. Now it’s turning into a long story before I can even tell you the short version. Sorry I can’t say where I am, or my new name. Or my phone number. And please don’t tell anyone I sent you a letter. You must keep it a secret. Don’t even tell Alesha, I don’t think she’d approve. Promise? Dissolve the paper in the next chem prac. Hydrochloric acid should do it (without Mrs K noticing).

  For now I’m studying for the HSC, but not at school. It’s kind of all right, but not fun like we had. I miss you. I miss the library. I miss the labs. I miss Mrs K. I suppose Layla’s gone and happily married by now, so I hope you’re still friends with Vanessa—I told you she was nice. Teach her how to grow her fingernails or something. You need a project now that yours are off-limits.

  I’d ask you to say hi to everyone at school, except that you shouldn’t. So please don’t. Maybe throw a ball for me to El-charisma. I guess Soraya doesn’t see him anymore either. And I still feel bad about Pratik. He was only trying to help.

  Right now I can’t see my family. Which is good and bad. Even after everything I feel that’s where I belong. Not with Uncle, of course. But with my parents. And Soraya. Even with Rashid, if I’m feeling extra homesick. It’s hard not to be part of a family, not to have a proper home.

  But you know it was all going wrong. That what they wanted and what I wanted were too different. It’s still too soon to trust that it won’t go wrong again. So I can’t go home yet. I don’t know when it’ll be safe. Properly safe.

  After all this trouble, I’m determined to see it through. Otherwise I would’ve been better off sucking it up and having the wedding. Whatever, I’ve made my choice. One day I hope it’ll feel wor
th it.

  In the meantime I’m staying busy with molarity calculations. Until it’s safe to recondense. Then I’ll come see you and tell you everything, I promise.

  For now, heaps and heaps of love and plenty of aqueous tears,

  Azradium (or something like that. I’ve been renamed, like bits of the periodic table, but my chemical properties remain the same.)

  Xxxxxxxxx

  PS: Put your summer holiday fingernails on your FB profile so I can check them out.

  PPS: Don’t try to find me. Not yet. I’ll tell you when it’s safe.

  PPPS: I’ll work out a way to see you again. Sometime. I promise.

  Author’s note

  My starting point for Promising Azra was an article in the Australian in February 2012, about the forced marriage of girls in Sydney. It featured Dr Eman Sharobeem speaking about her work with the Immigrant Women’s Health Centre. I couldn’t believe this was happening in Australia today, with girls who attended state high schools being sent overseas for weddings they didn’t want. I wanted to understand how it could happen.

  Azra Ajmal is a fictional character. However, the things that happen to her are all based on true or possible events that were either told to me by people I interviewed, or discovered in my reading of legal cases and other published articles. In fact, much worse things have happened to real-life girls, but I wanted Azra’s story to reflect a more typical (and less clear-cut) forced marriage experience in contemporary Australia.

  Forced marriage is a marriage entered into without meaningful consent, and it’s illegal in Australia. If you are under the age of 18, you can only be legally married with both parental and court consent. (A forced marriage is different from an arranged marriage. An arranged marriage relies on the free and full consent of both parties.) Forced marriage is not advocated by any major religion; rather it’s a cultural practice that takes place in many parts of the world.

  It’s hard to know exactly how often forced child marriages occur in Australia, as many of them are conducted in religious or cultural ceremonies, and are not formally registered. But in 2012-2013, at least 250 Australian girls aged under 18 were forced into marriage. In several cases, these girls were taken overseas for weddings.

  During the course of my research, and from the various conversations I had with staff and students at Birrong Girls High School in Sydney, it became apparent that teachers, school counsellors and school friends can provide crucial support for girls at risk of forced marriage.

  My intention with Promising Azra was to give a voice to girls who can’t perceive, or properly articulate, the options they might have around choosing a life partner.

  I hope this story also gives a window into Azra’s world for those who are quick to judge the complexities of other cultures. There’s a part of all of us that wants to do the right thing, and to not rock the boat, but sometimes it’s hard to know quite what that right thing is. And when it’s about who and when and why you get married, that’s quite a large thing to want to get right.

  If you, or someone you know, is at risk of forced marriage, the following organisations can help: Australia: mybluesky.org.au UK: karmanirvana.org.uk

  Acknowledgements

  While the actual writing of a novel is necessarily solitary, the help and encouragement I received in writing Promising Azra made it an incredibly collaborative and enriching experience.

  For support for the writing process I must thank the Writers’ Studio, the NSW Writers’ Centre, Varuna the National Writers House, the Children’s Book Council of Australia (NSW), Arteles Creative Center (Finland), James Roy and Nathan Luff. And also my writer friends, whose encouragement (and humour) kept me going through the difficult patches. Thanks.

  For content input, my deepest thanks to Birrong Girls High School, especially Victor Davidson, Kelly Andrews, Athena Tselepi, Marwish Khan, Sandra Dang, Helay Zarmati, Aleyna Celik, Nida, Marion, Marwa, Haman, Zahra, Fatemah and Iman. Also thanks to Dr Eman Sharobeem of the Immigrant Women’s Health Centre, Dr Jennifer Burn of Anti-Slavery Australia, and Yvonne Lay from Good Shepherd Victoria. For chemistry advice thanks to Nick Malouf, Lachlan McGinness and Alex Miglietti. For legal details, I appreciate the assistance of the Australian Federal Police and Valerie Gibson-Tilley.

  For reading early drafts and other advice, thank you to Matt Watson, Constance Titterton, Richard and Amanda Woolveridge, Carolinda Witt, Kirsten Low, Bernadette Kazzi, Kirsty Logan, Hamna Khan, Mohammad Khan, Noor Khan, Sally Lewis, Sarah Kent, Ruby Barnsley, Mel Bairstow, Annabelle Warren, Jennifer Muir, Sally Hall, Jenny Pollak, Kirra Reimann, Astrid Holm, Amal Awad, Alyena Mohummadally and Roseanne Hawke.

  The chemistry definitions used as chapter headings are drawn from a variety of sources, including Wikipedia, Chemistry-Dictionary.com, Chemicool.com, thefreedictionary.com, Study.com and Dictionary.com.

  Of course nothing would have come of all this without the enthusiasm of my agent, Tara Wynne of Curtis Brown Australia, and the courage and persistence of my publisher, Allen & Unwin, especially Anna McFarlane and Jennifer Dougherty.

  And finally, my gratitude to David, Sofie and Isaac, for facilitating answers to many random questions, and for giving me the mental space to complete Promising Azra. Thank you.