Infidel by Hirsi Ali Ayaan

Author:Hirsi Ali, Ayaan [Hirsi Ali, Ayaan]
Language: eng
Format: epub
Publisher: Simon & Schuster, Inc.
Published: 2007-02-06T05:00:00+00:00

After the nikah, my new husband and I had a week together to get to know each other. I went with him to Uhuru Park. I met his friends. He talked about his life when he was young, his dreams. It was all so nondescript, I’ve almost deleted it from my mind. We talked a lot about religion: Osman Moussa was very devoted to Islam, and to the good name of his family. He said Somalia was in a civil war because we had left the way of Allah. He talked again about Somali girls in Canada and their loose morals. He never made a carnal gesture toward me because he respected me as my father’s daughter and his own distant cousin. We would wait for the wedding party in Canada.

When we were alone together, I felt completely frozen. I couldn’t even imagine wanting to go to bed with this man, or waking up every morning beside him.

Not everything was traditional. No mother-in-law inspected my virginity. We were above that undignified procedure. It was all a show thing: I met his friends, and behaved properly, as the daughter of Hirsi Magan should, wearing my black hidjab, of which they thoroughly approved. We all made small talk about the war and current events. I concentrated on behaving properly: speaking softly, being polite, avoiding shame to my parents. I felt empty.

When Osman’s friends got angry, it wasn’t about people cheating or lying, but about women who didn’t wear the headscarf or men who didn’t pray often enough. I recognized the attitude from Ijaabo. It was beginning to irritate me more and more.

I accompanied Osman to the airport after six days, when he returned to Toronto. He would expedite the visa papers as soon as possible and I would fly to meet him there as soon as I could: that was the plan. At the airport, he gave me a hug and said, “Look forward to seeing you.” I nodded solemnly, said, “Travel safely,” and edged out of his embrace. I was aware of being cold, and I felt sorry for it, but I could do no better.

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