Talking About Jane Austen in Baghdad

by Bee Rowlatt

  I must tell you about this morning. I woke at 9.30 and checked in with my boss online at 10.00. He is just back from a four-day leave. After saying our usual morning greetings etc. I told him that I wanted to make some tea before I started, and he asked me to just translate one item before I did, so I said OK. I thought the item would be so vital that it couldn’t wait for 15 minutes. Guess what he assigned me? A call made by a very unglamorous MP demanding the government provide water tanks for a hospital. The item is humanitarian, I know, but since no one but the government and the US forces can do a thing to help, what was the point of translating it before my morning mug of tea??

  Anyway, I did it. Then, when it was time to finish, he told me to stay for an extra two hours because the other translator had gone to the dentist. So I finished at 4 p.m. and the electricity went off immediately. It is 7.45 now and I’m going to mark some exam papers and read a little bit for tomorrow. I am happy, sad and anxious all at the same time. I do hope everything works out well.

  Ali sends his love.

  May XXX

  12.05.08

  Sweaty office and no custard creams

  May. I’m so glad to move into a new chapter. I don’t know how long it’ll take to get the paperwork all in place. My main fear is about what it will be like for you and Ali, in Jordan or Beirut, waiting for the response from the embassy. I think that will be a horrible wait, but nonetheless there’s absolutely no reason it should go wrong: everything is legitimate and correct; we will have all the paperwork and finances in place.

  I’m at work. Sun burning through the windows, hot stuffy office air, and loads of natural disasters around the world. Burma cyclone, China earthquake. The death toll just keeps rising.

  I ran down to the BBC canteen to get biscuits and tea. There were no custard creams in the biscuit tray so I stood there at the front of the queue, digging around searching for them, with a load of annoyed people huffing and puffing behind me. But you have to have the right biscuits. In the end I opted for jammy dodgers and chocolate bourbons.

  Bee XX

  12.05.08

  Back again for more

  Hello again! I’m back from work now. Just spent an hour watering the garden; my back’s killing me. The heat has suddenly made the jasmine plants burst into flower – two tall bushes covered in clustering small flowers – the smell nearly knocks you over as you walk past. I’ve been checking on all my new small plants and making sure they’re doing OK. It struck me that it’s rather insane to spend a day at work looking at the death toll from an earthquake rising by thousands upon thousands without any particular emotion, then get home and go berserk if I find that someone has trodden carelessly on a seedling.

  Then from downstairs I heard Elsa wailing so I went up and looked in on her; she had a dirty nappy and was pointing at it. I changed her, and put her back to bed all clean and happy. How wonderful it is to be able to help someone; just make them go from crying to smiling in one simple action. It’s unusual in everyday life, but it’s one of the most satisfying small details about being a parent.

  You know, May, I’m sorry to be nosy but I once asked you about whether you’d wanted kids, and you said no because you didn’t want to bring them into this mad world. But then another time you did say that you once wanted them with your first husband. So did it just never happen? (Ignore me if I’m being too nosy.)

  Bye for now, Big Sister!

  B XX

  13.05.08

  My secret

  Dear wee Sis

  I’ve always wanted to tell you about this point in my life, but it is painful to talk about and I seem to want to brush it aside. But since you’ve asked, I’ll tell you. Here is the whole story.

  At the age of 7 I got very sick and doctors failed to diagnose the reason. When I was finally taken to a surgeon they discovered that an ovarian cyst had burst, requiring the removal of one ovary. I was in intensive care for five days. After that I was taken to the UK every six months, where doctors on Harley Street checked whether I would menstruate or not. At the age of 9 I finally did, and they said I was as normal as any other female. Even so, I heard some remarks from the older and uneducated female members of my father’s family about me not being able to produce children and changing their minds about taking me as a wife for one of their sons. This suited me fine at the time, although I did feel a little heartbroken.

  When I got married at 17, I never thought twice about being abnormal as all the medical reports from the Harley Street doctors confirmed that everything was OK. But as the years went by (1980s by now), people began to ask questions, as children are regarded as a necessary factor in marriage here. I began to think about the subject, since I felt lonely at heart and thought maybe a child would make my husband quit drinking.

  I had some medical checks and then one of the gynaecologists asked for a sperm count from my husband. The results were disastrous. He was given medicines and hormones. My tests said that I was normal, but he never accepted the fact. He kept telling me it was my fault and reminding me of my operation. By that time the war had started and he was at the front, spending his seven-day leave getting drunk and aggressive. Every time I used to request him to take his medicine he would accuse me of using my mum’s medical connections to forge his lab results.

  I solved the feelings of loneliness by getting a dog. Then, in the 1990s, I made another attempt after we remarried. I had divorced my husband, but three years later we remarried, after he had stopped drinking and had turned religious. My medical examinations again proved normal. The doctor advised us to try something called artificial insemination, or something like that, and we did. I was 37. The doctor said we should have several attempts until it succeeded, but it was costly and we couldn’t afford it. My mother offered to pay, but I refused. If others were paying for me to get pregnant, how was I supposed to bring the child up? I hated myself for the mere thought.

  I told Ali all the details of my childlessness before we got married. He was very optimistic about it and was sure that I would become pregnant. I had doubts because I was 45. I again went to a doctor and she gave me injections to activate the ovary. I missed my period, but the test was negative. I broke down and cried all the pain of the past 30 years. Ali was very kind and said it did not matter. I stopped trying, but thought about it a lot now that I had Ali in my life. Every month was a heartbreaking event.

  The last time was in Syria, last summer. The doctor this time announced that my missed period was a symptom of the menopause. I had my last breakdown and cried so hard, and then deleted the matter completely from my mind.

  I think I was never meant to be a mother, and I have accepted it. But sometimes I feel hurt, and as if I am not a complete woman. In Iraq they think a childless marriage is lacking, and they always blame the woman (and try to get the man to marry another). Unmarried women here think a childless man an easy prey to catch – as you know, a man is allowed here to have more than one wife, so a childless woman always feels threatened.

  So that is my secret.

  May x

  14.05.08

  May XXXXXXX

  Oh May, what a deep long sadness. That is heartbreaking.

  Your life is full of extreme events that you have managed to overcome, but this one I found the hardest to read about, and the hardest to know how to reply to. I knew it would upset me, and it has. Tears are stinging my eyes. You deserve to have as much love in your life as possible. There are still many possible outcomes, you know. I think you can’t have conceived in Damascus because of the huge stress, fear and uncertainty. But whatever happens, you are special to me and my family; my girls love their Aunty May and can’t wait to meet you. I hope very much that you will have a role in their lives.

  With your kindness, wisdom and funny sweetness any person is lucky to have you close by, be it your family or students or anyone who loves you.

  It makes me realize how lucky I was to have the babies without any worries or hassle; it’s even more
of a blessing than I knew. I feel foolish for having moaned on about my period coming these last few months. I didn’t stop to think that it might have upset you.

  I just think you’re wonderful, May, and I will always love you.

  Your Bee XXX

  15.05.08

  Thinking of you

  Dearest friend

  Got your lovely and very kind email. The tears ran down my cheeks. I was so moved by your words. Yes, you are right – when I look back I realize that my life was and still is full of extreme events. But I don’t really regret or mind anything I’ve been through, simply because any experience in life has its benefits. If I hadn’t suffered with my late husband, for example, I probably wouldn’t have appreciated the second opportunity I was given. If I hadn’t suffered economic hardship, I wouldn’t have felt for the needy when my economic status improved. You know, I think God has always been merciful to me and has always helped me through. So let’s just look on the positive side of life, though it’s very difficult to see from where I am right now.

  Before I start talking about something else, I just want to say that you mustn’t ever think that the subject of you getting pregnant upsets me or anything. No, I swear to God that I never ever compare my situation to anyone else’s. And second, I do feel that I am part of your family and we should confide in each other. So don’t worry; talk about whatever you want, my bonny wee sister.

  Let me tell you about yesterday. I woke up around 8.30 and sat thinking with my third cup of tea about the good people who are helping me, through you. I so much appreciate their faith in me. Then my mind turned to Ali, and I was just thinking that I should wake him when a big explosion shook the house and the windows rattled. Ali woke of course, and came running to me. I hugged him and said, ‘I was thinking of a way to wake you up, and my wish came true at once!’ There was a time when we were woken by birdsong. Now it is bombs.

  It turned out that it was a car bomb that had killed 3 people and injured 26. The area turned into a battleground with ambulance sirens, helicopters and the army etc. This was the second incident in our street this week. The first was in a shop, which was completely destroyed.

  Will have to go now, my lovely. Hope you are in the best of shape.

  May XXX

  19.05.08

  Deep Monday breath

  May, lovely May

  I was struck by you and Ali having both been brought up with birdsong to wake you in the morning, but now surrounded by car bombs and sirens. Memories are so delicate and should be ‘taken out’ often, particularly when they hold meaning for you both. My day started very well: no special sounds, but do you know what Justin did? This is so sweet. He had to set off late last night to go and film down in Cornwall somewhere today. I grumbled that I wouldn’t get my morning cup of coffee in bed. So he made me a flask last night before he left, and put it by our bed. I woke up all excited, put on the radio and poured out my coffee, feeling like royalty and thoroughly pleased with the world. It was still quite early, so I then crept in on the girls and got into Zola’s bed and cuddled her. Eva heard me and she came down her ladder and joined us. We were all dreamy for a short while, then the girls began to squabble so I got out and went to get Elsa.

  Hope the bombings on your street stop. Have to dash now; I have a meeting about the book. Tell you about it later. A deep breath and off I go.

  Buzzing Bee XXX

  21.05.08

  Celebrations can wait

  Hello, dearest May

  So. We signed the Penguin contract, including an extra clause that we cannot publish it unless you’re out of Iraq. Then I handed over the cheques to Kate at CARA. It was exhilarating at the time, and as I signed I felt a rush of ‘How did it all come to this? How on earth did we get here?!’ But afterwards we had a long chat about the next step, and it stopped me in my tracks. It made me reflect on what we still have to get done.

  Really, I think that’s why I’m not feeling my usual self. I’ve sent you so many triumphant bursting emails in the past, haven’t I? But the next part is stressful and I’m so worried about you and Ali. Kate has said that she will send you detailed instructions about everything that you need to do. Don’t get me wrong – there’s no reason you should have any problems. This will not be like the last time. It’s a proper fellowship scheme and we have all the right paperwork and the money. Kate has just been to Amman, so she knows what’s happening and which way is best to proceed.

  So I’m going to save my emotions and the real celebrations for when you are actually here. That’s when I will celebrate. But after the meeting I met my friend Amy, who was working nearby in Soho. We stopped at a Greek place, had baklava and made a little toast to you.

  Yesterday I threw myself into the PA Summer Fair with a vengeance, and by mid-morning had secured a hotel break, a family trip to Legoland, and various nice local meals, as prizes or for auction. I was so delighted with myself and then plodded up and down the nearby streets doing more begging from shops, restaurants, hairdressers and so on. It’s exciting when it works.

  Today I was taken to the famous Chelsea Flower Show by my friend Tsam, and it was like being in a cartoon world. There is too much to see and smell – a massive wall of sweet peas with overpowering perfume, a tunnel of climbing roses in changing colours as you walk through. By midday our eyes were somehow exhausted and we lay down for a picnic. Next year I might take you and Ali; it’s a very English thing. The people are so passionate about their plants – you get specialists who do nothing but one plant, maybe dozens of different strawberries all heaped up, and they talk about it like it’s the only thing in the world. There’s something about flowers, the sheer voluptuous unnecessary beauty of them, that can make you feel differently about the world.

  A hundred hugs… B XX

  21.05.08

  Things are finally moving

  Dearest Buzzing Bumbo Bee

  I am delighted with the developments. I guess things are finally moving. As for you, well words are never enough, and the same goes for dear Kate. So now I think it is down to me to organize visas for Ali and myself and think about England!

  A lot of things have been going on but the most important is that I have asked for a letter from the college saying that I am still a teacher there, which is necessary for obtaining the visas to Amman. Anyway, I applied yesterday. It will take about a week for the letter to get through college, then another week at the university, then another at the ministry of higher education, then I don’t know how long it will take at the foreign ministry, and then finally I can take the letter to both the Jordanian and Syrian embassies, which will also take some time. If they are convinced, I will get a visa to enter their countries (it should work OK).

  Must go now, love. I am glad the meeting went well, even if there was no sign of your usually happy and hope-inspiring reaction.

  Love

  May XXX

  22.05.08

  Light of day

  … light of day, light at the end of the tunnel. We’ve never been this close before, May. I’m half elated, half sick with terror. Basically I can’t seem to sit still. I feel like a tin of Coke that’s been dropped on the floor but not opened. (May, if it goes on like this I will be a gibbering nervous wreck by the time you get here. You might take one look and jump on the next plane back to Iraq, haha!)

  Some calmer thoughts overtook me yesterday when I was at the flower show. I wanted to describe to you how it gave me a feeling of goodness and rightness in the world. It’s quite probably the diametrical opposite of what is happening now outside your door. It was like a true expression of civilized humanity (I don’t just mean lots of posh people swanning around in hats, although there were), love for something that is ultimately superfluous to our survival. I mean, who needs a flowery garden? It may sweeten life every day but, like music, no one would die if it were taken away. (But we would certainly be lessened.) I don’t know what on earth has brought on these thoughts; the pollen must have gone to m
y head.

  I had a similar reaction when the bombers attacked London back in July 2005. The day began as usual, in fact I was swimming in the pond, of all sacred places, when I found that Justin had called me to say all trains on the London Underground were cancelled and something bad was going on. Then all the phone lines went dead; it was very scary. All morning I watched the breaking news getting steadily worse. I collected Eva and Zola from nursery, cried and squeezed them tight, brought them home and made a huge batch of lemon cakes. As though cakes could restore goodness and make everything OK.

  Swam in the pond this morning and it was freezing again. The temperature has dropped to a shivery 14 degrees. But I saw my first ducklings of the year, tweeting around so fluffily. Soon, May, you’re going to visit the pond with me; you just have to see what I mean about it being special and heavenly. You don’t have to swim if you don’t want to! My limbs were aching with the cold, my skin felt sanded with sandpaper and it was hard to do my shoes up afterwards, but a flask of tea and some Viscount biscuits brought me back to life fairly swiftly.

  I’m now in packing mode, running up and down with laundry, bags everywhere, lists upon lists, to get us ready for our long-awaited Dorset trip. We’re leaving today after school and staying until a week Saturday. J has tried to sort out the internet connection so I hope I’ll be able to write to you from there. I am so happy we’re going away. Justin’s really tired and hasn’t been himself since Alaska, and it feels like a long time since we had some nice relaxing family time. I plan to eat loads of food and be barefoot as much as possible.

  All my love

  Bee XXXX