When Honor Is At Stake

Her name is Mona.

The first time I met her, I was enthralled by the twinkle in her eye hid by the black folds of her hijab, a lady's head covering.  She seemed to have a confidence about her that was unparalleled by any woman I had yet met in the dusty capital city, Amman.  Her sly smile often betrayed the mischievous spirit that she had to hide to fit in among the other Arab women with whom we worked.

One day, while sitting together, she showed me a picture of a wedding dress on her mobile phone.  It was gorgeous--white lace and organza with a long beaded train--and she was so very excited to tell me the details of her wedding party.

"Promise me you'll come," she begged.  I wasn't so sure.  A Palestinian wedding wasn't an experience I had had before.  Was I really ready to make my first appearance in Arab society as an American in the oft-volatile refugee camps?

Mona convinced me with a heart-felt plea.  Plus, she had invited other Americans that I could travel with.  And she promised me her family wouldn't shoot off any guns until after we had left.

Over the course of the month of so leading up to the wedding, listening to the stories of wedding preparation customs, I learned a lot about Mona's life.   Her husband was a good man, a tall business-type with a thin mustache.  They had chosen each other, something that usually never happened in traditional Palestinian society.  She was very proud of him.

I found out later that he wasn't so proud of her.  Apparently, Mona had been married before.  This would be her second husband, her second marriage.  While her family had accepted it and her new fiance had also, there came a time where the magnitude of how much honor was at stake became too much for her future husband to bear and he began to lash out.

In Jordan, this is common, as it is in most Arab countries in the world.  Family honor is held in the highest regard, so much so that the brothers and fathers of women who have committed sins of honor (adultery mostly) are "allowed" to stone them to death and get off with a three-year prison sentence.  Three years for the life of a woman.

True, there are human rights groups working fervently to change this practice.  But the practice is centuries old.  That is why when I read I am Nujood, Age 10 and Divorced, I was not surprised that child marriage happens in Yemen.  I was actually shocked that little Nujood was able to turn the Arab world on its ear by actually being granted a divorce.

For Mona, the night before her wedding, her husband told her he hated her because she was no longer a virgin.  He pleaded, "How could you do this to me," even though he was well aware that she had been married before.  But his family's honor was at stake and as a man, he had to make things right.

The day of her wedding, Mona was not herself.  Her mischievous smile was gone.  She stood solemnly beside her husband while her family ululated and chanted around her.  She wasn't the same Mona I knew.

A few days after the wedding, she took off for her mandatory 60-day post-wedding period, where the woman is expected to set up the family house.  When she returned to work, she had changed.  She said her husband was not nice to her.  That he wasn't happy with his choice.  But she couldn't do anything because she didn't want to hurt her family's honor again.

I left Jordan before I was able to see the end to Mona's story. I hope that she is well and I think of her often.  And after reading this book, I cried a little for her.  I hope she gets everything in life that she wants.  And I hope she is safe. 

This post was inspired by the book I Am Nujood, Age 10 and Divorced by Nujood Ali and is written as part of the Silicon Valley Moms Group book club. I was sent this book from the publisher for review purposes. The opinions about it and stories that it has inspired are all mine.