feminine curves, and a pleasant
voice. At thirty four she was twenty years younger than him— wise enough to
raise Layal, and young enough to still be desirable in bed.
At
the first interview with Kamal’s match-making
sisters, Umayma struggled to accentuate her best physical attributes without
coming across as slutty or too eager. Granted her bulging breasts were
impossible to hide, but everything else appeared shapeless under the black,
silk tunic she wore for modesty. And modesty was of cardinal importance to the
buyer, as she had been forewarned by the common friends who had recommended her
to Kamal’s family.
Whatever
she did seemed to have worked. Fifteen minutes into the meeting, Kamal’s sisters seemed all but certain she was the one and
were talking about ‘when,’ rather than ‘if.’ Kamal had four requirements he was unwilling to compromise on, they informed her. A virgin with big bosoms, fair skin, and straight hair. Her
virginity was implicit—most unmarried women in her social class had no other
option but to remain unconsummated until marriage. And her buttermilk skin and swelling
bosoms were more than evident. But it was her covered hair that was the only
question mark. So they asked her in the least diplomatic terms to remove her
scarf so they could ascertain for themselves whether Umayma had chemically
treated her hair or straightened it with a hot iron for the occasion, to
bamboozle their older brother.
The
procedure to get married and approved for residency in the UK was long and
humiliating. She wasn’t sure if some of the obstacles were official or had been
mandated by Kamal to ensure his investment was sound.
In addition to a battery of medical checkups for STDs and other illnesses,
Umayma had to endure a painful virginity test which left her in tears and sore
in the groin for weeks. It was a small price to pay for the ultimate reward of
fleeing a country swiftly descending into hell. Many of the people she loved
had been murdered in cold blood or obliterated in random explosions. Including the man who had given her the one dollar bill.
Any
illusion of a better life in London was shattered within the first few days of
her arrival. Kamal’s elderly parents were living with
him in the house, and unbeknownst to her when she agreed to marry him, he
expected Umayma to care for them as well. They both seemed relatively healthy
and independent for now, she consoled herself. But it wasn’t so much the two
extra bodies that needed to be fed and cared for that vexed her. From day one, Kamal’s parents looked down at her and only ever spoke to
her when they needed something done. No sooner had Umayma arrived, than Kamal promptly terminated the services of the Bosnian maid
who she was now expected to replace. Umayma had to hit the road running,
including learning how to shop in a foreign country, care for the house, and
tend to Layal.
Umayma
was not born with a silver anything in her mouth and
had taking care of domestic chores for as long as she held memories. I am
the woman of this house now and it’s my duty to care for my husband and his
family, she often reminded herself . Kamal had also been forthright from the start that this was a marriage of
convenience.
But
what she wasn’t expecting to hurt so much was to what extent her role as his
wife would be so devoid of any affection or emotional connection. Stripped of
the normalcy of what should transpire between a man and a woman in wedlock.
Perhaps out of respect for Layal’s feelings, Kamal had decided Umayma would sleep in a separate room. He
didn’t say for how long, so Umayma assumed just until the young girl accepted
her as a surrogate mother. But for a couple of months after she arrived, Kamal didn’t so much as acknowledge Umayma’s presence, let alone visit her room to consummate their marriage.
And
when he finally came in the dead of the night, he raped her. Violently.
She
woke up to find him mounted on top of her like a bull.
voice. At thirty four she was twenty years younger than him— wise enough to
raise Layal, and young enough to still be desirable in bed.
At
the first interview with Kamal’s match-making
sisters, Umayma struggled to accentuate her best physical attributes without
coming across as slutty or too eager. Granted her bulging breasts were
impossible to hide, but everything else appeared shapeless under the black,
silk tunic she wore for modesty. And modesty was of cardinal importance to the
buyer, as she had been forewarned by the common friends who had recommended her
to Kamal’s family.
Whatever
she did seemed to have worked. Fifteen minutes into the meeting, Kamal’s sisters seemed all but certain she was the one and
were talking about ‘when,’ rather than ‘if.’ Kamal had four requirements he was unwilling to compromise on, they informed her. A virgin with big bosoms, fair skin, and straight hair. Her
virginity was implicit—most unmarried women in her social class had no other
option but to remain unconsummated until marriage. And her buttermilk skin and swelling
bosoms were more than evident. But it was her covered hair that was the only
question mark. So they asked her in the least diplomatic terms to remove her
scarf so they could ascertain for themselves whether Umayma had chemically
treated her hair or straightened it with a hot iron for the occasion, to
bamboozle their older brother.
The
procedure to get married and approved for residency in the UK was long and
humiliating. She wasn’t sure if some of the obstacles were official or had been
mandated by Kamal to ensure his investment was sound.
In addition to a battery of medical checkups for STDs and other illnesses,
Umayma had to endure a painful virginity test which left her in tears and sore
in the groin for weeks. It was a small price to pay for the ultimate reward of
fleeing a country swiftly descending into hell. Many of the people she loved
had been murdered in cold blood or obliterated in random explosions. Including the man who had given her the one dollar bill.
Any
illusion of a better life in London was shattered within the first few days of
her arrival. Kamal’s elderly parents were living with
him in the house, and unbeknownst to her when she agreed to marry him, he
expected Umayma to care for them as well. They both seemed relatively healthy
and independent for now, she consoled herself. But it wasn’t so much the two
extra bodies that needed to be fed and cared for that vexed her. From day one, Kamal’s parents looked down at her and only ever spoke to
her when they needed something done. No sooner had Umayma arrived, than Kamal promptly terminated the services of the Bosnian maid
who she was now expected to replace. Umayma had to hit the road running,
including learning how to shop in a foreign country, care for the house, and
tend to Layal.
Umayma
was not born with a silver anything in her mouth and
had taking care of domestic chores for as long as she held memories. I am
the woman of this house now and it’s my duty to care for my husband and his
family, she often reminded herself . Kamal had also been forthright from the start that this was a marriage of
convenience.
But
what she wasn’t expecting to hurt so much was to what extent her role as his
wife would be so devoid of any affection or emotional connection. Stripped of
the normalcy of what should transpire between a man and a woman in wedlock.
Perhaps out of respect for Layal’s feelings, Kamal had decided Umayma would sleep in a separate room. He
didn’t say for how long, so Umayma assumed just until the young girl accepted
her as a surrogate mother. But for a couple of months after she arrived, Kamal didn’t so much as acknowledge Umayma’s presence, let alone visit her room to consummate their marriage.
And
when he finally came in the dead of the night, he raped her. Violently.
She
woke up to find him mounted on top of her like a bull.
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