Wadha'a: The Sufferings of a Saudi Young Woman

By Maha Oboud Baeshen

Wadha'a

The Sufferings of a Saudi Young Woman

Novel

• Language: English
• Publisher: Books on Demand
• Release date: Apr 15, 2016
• ISBN: 9782322022878

Maha Oboud Baeshen

Maha Oboud Bashen Arabian writer Her novels: Wadha'a Love above Marmara's surface Our blissful days

Book preview

Maha

1

Dr. Saif

Dr. Saif, with his tall figure, typical eastern dark complexion, and usual elegance, enters a crowded downtown café, and sits at a small table in a corner, looking worried and distracted. He seems unaware of all what is happening around him and indifferent to all the noise, absorbed in recalling those recent memories, which kept flooding back; he says to himself:

It was a happy beautiful morning that I have never forgotten. I was wearing a black leather coat and holding in my right hand a briefcase stuffed with my certificates and some of my personal papers. I stopped by one of the highest and most magnificent buildings that had always caught my attention, in which I had always wished to have a smart well-furnished clinic to carry out my noble mission for the benefit of my patients, rich and poor alike, even for free if it is necessary.

It was the happiest day in my life. As soon as I went home and started reading a new medical research, the doorbell rang. It was the postman. He handed me a letter from the manager of one of the largest hospitals in the city, offering me a job in the department of neurosurgery.

This was the beginning of my medical career in New York City, where I attained the highest of academic positions and where I had many sweet memories, since I was a child, visiting it with my family every year to spend the summer. I used to love gazing at its skyscrapers, amazed to see the clouds covering their tops.

New York is a city that forces you to love it. Its people are characterized by kindness, a high sense of humor, and liveliness; they respect the other people. I am still on good terms with many American and immigrant families there. Despite the religious, cultural, and personal differences, human beings are all alike. The soul that originates from Allah is what binds them all together.

But what bonds me most to this city is that it was there where I first met the woman I loved so deeply. Faidh came from an Arab Muslim immigrant family that acquired the American nationality. Her father was a successful business-person; her mother was a dignified woman; and she had only one brother who studied law. They lived nearby and I maintained a friendly relationship with them. Despite their long absence from their homeland and their assimilation into the American society, they never forgot their roots, and they never abandoned their old customs and traditions. I never forgot the day on which I first saw Faidh when I went to live near them. She was coming back from school with her friends. Although she was several years younger than I was, I felt I would be permanently attached to this girl one day.

Years passed by quickly; I was very preoccupied with my studies, ambitious to achieve more excellence, and anxious to go back to my beloved kingdom to let my people benefit from my knowledge and experience. After I had finished the first years in the Faculty of Medicine and was about to choose a medical specialization, I thought of proposing to Faidh who had already finished her university studies, majoring in administration and marketing. I wrote to my parents; I was, however, astonished when they did not give their consent to the marriage, at first. They wanted me to go back to Jeddah, work in one of its hospitals, and get married to a Saudi girl. However, I thought that for a marriage to succeed, it must be built on mutual love and understanding, as well as on emotional and intellectual intimacy. Faidh was my choice, and I was quite sure that it was with her that I could find my happiness, in here or in my country.

As for returning to my homeland, that would certainly be a must one day. Nonetheless, I was still at the beginning of my career and had not yet achieved all what I have aspired to reach. As I insisted on my choice of Faidh, I eventually managed to persuade them. All the marriage arrangements were, thus, made with Faidh and her parents, informing them that one day I would go back to Saudi Arabia.

We got engaged; and a little afterwards, we got married. It was an entirely new life to me. I used to be lonely and used to think only of myself. However, I began to feel responsible for taking care of Faidh, and I did my best to make her happy, for she deserved love and care. Her heart was full of tenderness; she was very considerate of my needs and happiness. She was a mother, a wife, a friend, and a refuge to me. We lived happily for months until one day Faidh felt extremely tired and her mood changed a little. I thought it was some temporary illness but – what a happy surprise! It was Allah’s gift. I could not believe it. I will become a father after nine months. I wrote to my mother and she was very happy.

Days and months passed during which I did my best to divide my time between my work and Faidh, whose mother was always there to take care of her. I pitied her so much for all the pains she felt during those months. On a stormy rainy night, while I was watching the television; I listened to the news of the Soviet invasion of Afghanistan, and I was deeply moved. I was filled with sadness for the fate of these helpless and innocent people, especially the children. I called Faidh, who was busy preparing for the new arrival in the next room, but she did not answer. I got up and went to see what was wrong with her. She was in pain and extremely tired. I tried to put her to bed to have some rest but she said, It’s unbearable, Saif. I am beginning to have labor pains. They are very severe. Help me! And please call my parents. I was so confused. I called her parents and took her to hospital immediately, without stopping to change my clothes.

It was a very dark night with only a dim light. The only sounds that could be heard were Faidh's moans of pain and the whispers of the women who kept coming and going. The labor was neither easy nor difficult; by daybreak, the first cry of rebellion was heard. Glory be to Allah who grants life to his creatures.

The mother tenderly hugged her daughter and gaze upon her angelic face with relief and longing, nourishing her with warm milk that is mixed with mother love and happiness. Then, she wearily shuts her eyes as if she became unconscious. Later, she was wheeled on a trolley into her private room. As soon as my eyes fell upon her, I went towards her and kissed her, saying, I thank Allah for your safety.

A few days later, Faidh was preparing to leave the hospital, having restored some of her former strength. I took her and the baby home. As soon as she opened the door, there was a surprise for her. Family, friends, and Arab as well as American neighbors gathered around her, welcoming the baby. A little bit later, they all started to leave. Then, Faidh's parents kissed her and the baby goodbye and left. Happily, Faidh arranged the baby’s belongings and hugged her. I, then, held the baby in my arms and said to Faidh,

--- My mother and my family send you their congratulations; also, my mother has asked me to call her as soon as you leave the hospital. She wants to congratulate you herself.

Smiling, Faidh said:

-- It is my duty to call your mother, Saif. She is like a mother to me despite the long distance. Whatever makes you happy, makes me happy as well."

She picked up the phone and dialed the number; after the end of the call, she turned to me and said:

--- Where’s the baby’s provisional birth certificate?

--- Do you think I left it behind in the hospital? Then smilingly, or almost laughingly, I said:

--- Do you care so much for the baby and everything related to her?

--- Why not? Is it not a part of you? I love everything about you; therefore, I love it too. Give me the birth certificate. I want to see the baby’s name written on it.

--- Is it not enough that her name is written on our hearts? Here you are.

With extreme happiness, Faidh took hold of the certificate, staring at it for a long time. Then, in a loud voice, she read:

Name: Wadha'a Saif Al-Mazni

Sex: Female

Birth Date: 1979

Birth Place: New York

She has an American passport.

Days passed. It was a beautiful afternoon when Faidh and her mother were sitting beside the baby’s bed in which the baby slept peacefully. On the other side of the room, I was chatting with my father-in-law about the latest sorrowful events in Afghanistan: the conflicts, the insecurity, the killing, the economic deterioration, the oppression, and the intimidation of its people and children by the scenes of war and devastation such as, tanks, machine guns, and heavily armed soldiers. I said:

--- Life is so difficult around us, uncle; it is as if the Earth is about to collapse.

--- "You’re right, Saif, but what can the powerless, poor, developing countries do? This is how the two camps of capitalism and communism fight to fulfill their ambitions and carry out their schemes. It has to do with the communists’ attitude towards all religions. Do you sympathize so much with Afghanistan, Saif? Is it because it is an Islamic country?"

--- I don’t deny that, uncle; however, I hate the devastation of war which is disastrous to mankind, with all their different religions and nationalities. Is the Palestinian question, along with all the suffering it has brought about to the Palestinian people, not enough? What about the sectarian factions in Lebanon, Iran, and other countries? This is the terrorism that virtually destroys peace and degrades humanity, depriving it the fear of Allah and all of the other noblest values associated to it.

As we were chatting, Faidh came and said:

--- There is something which is more important than everything else, now.

Her father smiled and said:

--- "Wadha'a must have woken up."

--- Yes. But I won’t let you hold her or kiss her unless you stop talking and have your dinner.

We all got up and gathered around the round table beside which a place was left to Wadha’a’s bed.

Wadha’a was now one year old. She was a beautiful wide-eyed girl, with ivory complexion and black hair.

I liked to watch her trying to walk. I used to put some toys at a little distance from her and ask her mother to stand there to give her assurance and encourage her to move forward. Wadha’a then stumbled and fell almost all the way.

Years passed and Wadha’a started school to acquire the educational skills of girls of her age. I managed to persuade her mother who was a little reluctant at first.

On Wadha’a’s first day at school, we went with her. We introduced her to the class teacher, who, in turn, introduced her to her classmates. As we were leaving the school, Wadha’a saw us and