THE VEIL OF FEAR

By Samia Shariff

There is nothing peaceful about Samia Shariff’s account. Life has not been easy for this Algerian woman, who was born in France. The third child in a Muslim family whose father is a prosperous and respected businessman, Samia was not welcome in a clan where the birth of a daughter was considered a punishment from Allah!

A powerful, at times almost unbearable narrative, Veil of Fear draws us into a world of men who justify most of their actions towards women by means of an abusive interpretation of the Koran and its teaching. Thus, from the time of her birth, Samia lives in fear. In fear of her mother, of her father, of the husband she was forced to marry at the age of 16, of the fundamentalists who constantly threaten her, of the obstetricians who want to put her to sleep, of what might happen to her children, of fleeing towards the unknown, of choosing freedom over assured wealth and, above all, of making her daughters live through the same torments she has experienced. Humiliated, beaten, raped, harassed, she had the intelligence and courage to break out of the infernal circle in which a woman depends on the totalitarian power of a man, from generation to generation. Thus, in November 2001, using false passports for herself and her five children, she crossed the Atlantic Ocean and took refuge in Canada, where she was finally able to start a real life as a mother and woman.

In a style that is both simple and effective, Samia recounts her life, her trials and, above all, her victories. For several decades she was the instrument of a completely incredible belief system that granted her no rights whatsoever, not even the right to love or even live in peace. In this respect, she is now the spokeswoman for millions of other women who have stories that are similar and possibly even worse, to tell us. In her own words, Samia says, “I lost everything I had in order to obtain what I never had: peace and love.”

• Language: English
• Publisher: Éditions JCL
• Release date: Feb 6, 2012
• ISBN: 9782894319147

Samia Shariff

Samia Shariff naît en France. Elle est issue d’une famille d’origine algérienne dont le père était un homme d’affaires prospère et respecté. Très tôt dans sa vie, Samia a pris conscience qu’être une femme dans un milieu comme le sien, apparemment très collé à certains principes religieux, ressemble bien davantage à un handicap qu’à un atout. Elle n’est pas encore sortie de l’adolescence qu’on la marie contre son gré à un homme beaucoup plus âgé qu’elle. Sa vie, qui était déjà un réel purgatoire dans sa propre famille, devient alors un véritable enfer qui dure plusieurs années. Malgré cette prison construite autour d’elle, Samia, avec ses maigres moyens, parvient tout de même à force de ténacité et de courage à s’affranchir et à prendre des décisions qui vont transformer son destin. C’est ainsi qu’en novembre 2001, avec ses cinq enfants, elle traverse l’Atlantique et trouve refuge au Canada, où elle peut enfin commencer une véritable vie de mère et de femme. Aujourd’hui, dans son pays d’adoption, elle coule des jours heureux dans la paix et le calme. Et cette distance qui la sépare désormais de son passé l’a conduite tout naturellement à se raconter en 2006 dans Le Voile de la peur. Trois ans plus tard, madame Shariff fait le point sur sa nouvelle vie dans un ouvrage paru à la fin de l'été 2009, intitulé Les Femmes de la honte, où heureuse d’être enfin délivrée de la peur qui l’étouffait, Samia Shariff se sent en dette et épouse la cause des femmes répudiées en Égypte.

Book preview

Chapter I

Growing up

As far back as I can remember I hear my mother’s voice incessantly repeating, What did I do to the Lord to deserve giving birth to a girl?

This phrase had become her favourite lamentation. Hearing it hurt me. The choice had not been mine to make and there was nothing I could do about being born a girl. Today, her malevolent refrain has been transformed into indistinct murmurs and I am proud to have exorcised the destructive power of those hateful words.

Being born female in a Muslim family and, moreover, an Algerian, had oriented my destiny from the very beginning of my life. It took me both time and energy to reconquer my identity and my liberty, but now I am proud of the woman I have become.

***

When I was very young, I knew that being a girl was not something to wish for, but I did not know why. At the age of five, I wanted to know more,

Mother, why don’t you love me?

She looked at me scornfully.

You dare ask me this question! As if you didn’t know why mothers prefer boys to girls, she said, convinced of the self evidence of her answer.

She made me sit near her. The moment was surely important for her to allow this extremely rare privilege. You see, Samia, mothers don’t like having daughters because they bring dishonour and shame to their parents. Their mothers have to feed and keep a watch on them to make sure they behave honourably until the day comes when their husbands take charge. Girls are a constant source of worry.

I was intrigued by the importance that mothers, according to her, gave to the word dishonour.

What does dishonour mean, mother?

Hush, do not talk about misfortune! Do not concern yourself with such things at your age; you must only listen and obey your mother. When the time comes, I will explain it to you. Meanwhile, be a good girl until your wedding day!

My wedding? But I do not want to get married, mother. I do not want to leave you. I want to grow up and take care of you and papa when you get old.

That is impossible. We already have four boys who will take care of us, and if it is God’s will, others could join them. You, because you are a girl, your duty will consist of taking care of your husband.

In Muslim countries and particularly in my family, giving birth to a boy is a benediction and, evidently, the birth of a girl is a curse. A Muslim girl never gets to know what being autonomous means. She is the responsibility of a man her entire life. She first depends on her father and then on her husband. She thus represents a burden for her parents. This way of life is passed on from one generation to the next and the little girl comes to see herself as a curse. I was therefore my family’s curse where I occupied a central place, between two older and two younger brothers.

***

My parents were emigrants from Algeria who arrived in France at the end of the fifties. They had settled in a relatively well-to-do Paris suburb where I was born and lived the first years of my life. My father was a rich industrialist who had made a fortune in cotton and was also interested in the restaurant business.

Amina was my only friend. Her parents were also Algerian immigrants, but her family was poor. Her father was a garbage man. My mother was horrified when I would go visit my friend, because she considered her family unworthy of our social status. Even then, at the age of six, I considered Amina lucky because, despite their poverty, her parents showered her with love and attention.

One day, as we were playing with dolls, Amina launched into a very animated discussion on the significance of our given names.

My name is much prettier than yours!

No, mine is the prettiest, I promptly replied.

However, I did not like my name which seemed to me to be old and heavy for my age. I was careful not to admit it, because I especially did not want to concede victory to her.

Mine is the prettiest. Mother chose it because it is the name of her best friend who lives in Tunisia. She wanted me to become as beautiful and intelligent as her. I have done it, my mother told me, Amina declared in a triumphal tone."

Mine was chosen by my mother also, I replied, convinced of the logic of my answer.

Not to be outdone by my friend, I had invented the origin of my name. I was convinced that Amina had told me the truth, but as for me, I needed to know more.

All excited about the idea of knowing the origin of my name, I hurried to my mother.

Mother, please, tell me how I was born!

There is nothing to tell. It was the worst day of my life, she said gruffly.

I was sad for her.

I know mother. You suffered because of me!

She frowned and looked at me intensively.

Suffered? Yes. I suffered very much, but mostly in my heart. That day, the neighbour had to accompany me to the hospital because your father was buying a new business. When the doctor told me I had given birth to a girl, I thought the sky was falling on my head. I anticipated your father’s deception and feared that I had spoiled the joy of his new business deal. That is why I asked my neighbour to choose a name for you.

I would have liked it so much if you had chosen my name. My friend, it was her mother who decided to call her Amina.

It is not important! What matters is that you like your name now, she added indifferently.

All my illusions had disappeared.

Precisely, I don’t like it, I confessed, crying.

***

One day when I was at my friend’s house, her father brought her a beautiful doll with long blonde hair that he’d found in a garbage can. My friend was so happy that she jumped into her father’s arms.

You’re happy? he asked joyfully.

Yes papa. You are the nicest of all papas. Look, Samia, how beautiful my doll is.

She is very beautiful, Amina, and your father is very nice.

I came back to the house thinking that Amina was very lucky. As I entered the house, my mother caught me by the ear.

Where have you been again?

I was with Amina. I was looking at the doll her father brought her. I did not do anything wrong, mother!

Of course, you were doing nothing wrong! I do not like it you going to the garbage man’s house. I bet he found the doll in a garbage can… Am I right or wrong?

Yes, you are right, mother, but she’s all clean. Her mother had washed it.

Would you accept a doll found in the garbage?

If my father gave it to me and if it was as beautiful, yes, I would take it, I answered sincerely.

Your father would never lower himself to give you such a doll. Offended, my mother took on an air of haughtiness.

She turned her back on me and went back to what she was doing. I followed her because I was intrigued by her answer.

Why is it that he never gives me any presents? He could buy me some to please me.

To please you? And you, do you ever do anything to please your father?

Yes! I am always well-behaved and I always obey him.

Do you know what would really please your father?

No! Please tell me!

That you had never been born, said my mother spitefully.

That evening I had decided to ask my father for a doll. When I asked Malek, my younger brother by a year, he advised me not to do it, especially if he seemed tired from his day’s work.

Come and play with my garage instead! he said with eagerness.

But nothing interested me. I could think of one thing only: to show my friend my very own doll. As soon as he arrived, my father went into the living room and dropped into his favourite armchair. As she did every night, my mother brought him a basin of lukewarm water for him to soak his feet in.

As I came in, my father’s eyes were closed while my mother, on her knees, was washing his feet. This was not a good time to approach him, because he could get angry and hit me.

I went back to my room to write down my request: Papa, I love you and I would like to have a doll. You are the nicest of all Papas! I hid my little letter under his pillow. That night I fell asleep hoping that my father would offer me the doll I wanted so. Soon after, my mother burst into my room.

Did you write this note?

Yes, I said, half asleep.

What did you write?

I asked for a doll.

Have you forgotten that your father does not read French? Maybe Mademoiselle wants to thumb her nose at her father, now that she can write?

No, mother. I thought that father knew how to read in many languages.

Obviously, everything I did was subject to interpretation. I was suspected of having ulterior motives when all I did was to write a simple request for a doll! My brother explained that it would be best to forget about this idea. Our father hated dolls, because they depicted the devil and would not be tolerated in any wholesome home.

***

One morning, I was awakened by my brothers’ cries of joy. I quickly got up and joined them in the kitchen. My four brothers, supervised by my mother, were putting on their best clothes. All excited, they told me they were going to inaugurate my father’s new restaurant. Wanting to join in, I returned to my room to dress.

What are you doing? asked my mother.

I am getting dressed to go to the restaurant.

No, you are not going; only the boys are allowed to go.

Why? I want to go to.

You are not a boy, are you? The day that you will have a penis, we will talk about it. As for now, you are staying home, she said categorically.

I want to buy one. I want a penis, I answered, just as determined.

My mother was furious! She got hold of half of a hot pepper with which she vigorously rubbed my lips. The pain was intolerable. My legs were limp… As I had almost reached the sink to soothe my burning lips, she dragged me to my room and locked me in.

Mother, it hurts! Please, I need some water! I screamed with all the strength I had.

Despaired, I could hear her humming in the distance. She was doing her housework while completely ignoring me, not caring about my suffering. As it was winter time, my window was covered with frost and I pressed my lips against it. Slowly, the pain subsided and I fell asleep.

***

Christmas finally arrived. Though considered a pagan feast by Muslims, most parents buy gifts for their children to prevent them envying those who receive some. That year had been a successful one for my father and he bought a gift for each one of us. My brothers received an impressive quantity of beautiful gifts and they were allowed to invite friends to the house.

As for me, I became acquainted with Câlin, a beautiful, big, brown teddy bear whose eyes were round and who I adored the minute I saw him. It was my first gift and I was happy. I would have wanted to give my papa a big hug like Amina had done, but I held back. In our house, a good girl did not act that way with her father, because it would have annoyed him.

I ran to my friend’s house with my teddy bear in my arms. Finally, I could boast and show her the first gift given to me by my father.

Amina, look at my teddy bear. My papa bought it for me! He’s beautiful don’t you think?

Yes, he is very beautiful, she answered, pleased to share my happiness.

Her father had given her a couple of very lovely black dolls. But Câlin remained the most beautiful of all the gifts because it was given to me by my father. My teddy bear followed me everywhere except to school and it was always a pleasure to return to him every night. He had become my playmate and I shared all my secrets with him.

Chapter II

Teenage years

One evening, my brothers and I were summoned to the living room by my mother. We learned that my father, who had been quite successful in business in France, was thinking of returning to Algeria with new projects that appeared to be even more promising. The perspective of greater riches was enticing to my brothers.

Wow! We’ll become even richer! We’ll be going home! To see the sun and the sea again! That’ll be the life! my brothers shouted out in chorus.

How could I convey this news to my friend? That very afternoon, Amina came to visit us with her mother and we told them we would be moving soon.

You and I will never be separate, because I will always be in your heart, she said holding me in her arms. Every time that you talk to your teddy bear, he will communicate through telepathy with my dolls who will tell me everything. When you are unhappy, talk to Câlin and I will answer.

The two of us were saddened by the idea of our upcoming separation. I was then a little over seven years old.

***

One morning at dawn, my mother woke me up.

Get dressed quickly. We are taking the boat. Come on, get a move on!

But I haven’t said goodbye to my friend!

Forget Amina! Get dressed and come and drink your milk. We are already late. Don’t make your father any angrier!

I quickly got dressed and drank my milk in one gulp, hoping to see Amina before leaving. Just as I was leaving the house my mother grabbed me by the collar.

Come back here, troublemaker. Amina is sleeping now. It’s only five o’clock in the morning! she yelled sharply.

Once again, Câlin comforted me. I began to accept that I would not be able to say goodbye to best friend. My brothers were the first to leave and were followed by my father. My mother pushed me, hurrying me on. Handing me a basket which she told me to carry, she took hold of my teddy bear.

I don’t want you to drag this hideous thing around with you, and besides, you you’re your hands full carrying that basket.

She threw Câlin into the cupboard.

Mother, please, give me back my teddy! I cried with all my might, my voice choked with emotion.

I cried, but she remained unmoved. She pushed me out of the house and locked the door. She then headed for our neighbours to give them the key. Opening the door, Amina’s mother saw my tears.

What is happening to my beautiful Samia?

She does not want to leave without saying goodbye to her friend.

Wait, Warda. I will wake Amina, it is important.

I continued crying, wanting my teddy. Amina came down the stairs quickly. She looked with hatred at my mother.

I’m here, I’m here now, don’t cry, repeated Amina in a protective tone of voice.

I was sobbing more and more.

Câlin has been left in the hall cupboard. I cannot take him anymore; I won’t be able to talk to him anymore and he will never be able to do telepathy with your dolls. How are we going to communicate?

Hurry up and get out of here, or you’ll regret it when we arrive in our country, my mother promised angrily.

Amina had just enough time to tell me that she would go and get Câlin and that she would always take care of him. I went out, my head low, preferring not to see anything.

I got into my father’s beautiful new car. God, how sad I was with neither Amina nor Câlin to comfort me! I missed my friend already and I thought about our games and everything we had shared. How life was unfair to me!

What would happen in that far away country so unknown to me? Everyone around me was smiling while I was sad and heartbroken. My brothers were excited about what awaited them in Algeria. Sitting in the front seat, my parents were talking about our future home by the sea. They discussed of projects they wanted to do once we arrived. They were all thinking of the future while I could only think of the past which I already longed for. For no precise reason, when I thought of my new country I became vaguely uneasy.

***

Our family boarded the immense ship that would take us to Algeria in twenty-four hours. I did not want to leave the ship’s cabin which I shared with my younger brothers. Around noon, while my brothers ran around the boat, my mother came down to see me. She insisted that I go and eat in the ship’s luxurious restaurant, but I refused to get up. She became furious and abruptly took hold of my arm.

Get up, she yelled, lifting her arm to strike me.

I protected my face, but she calmed down, which surprised me.

Do you know the main reason why we are leaving France? she asked suddenly.

No! I answered with sincerity.

We are doing it for our children and especially for you, she solemnly declared.

Me?

Yes, you! France is not a country where we want to educate our children and especially our daughter. We want you to receive a proper education, worthy of a good Muslim.

I was unaware of what the words good Muslim signified, but I was about to discover it. When night fell we each went to our rooms. My mother came to tuck in my brothers and told me to cover myself which I promptly did. Then, turning off the light she left the room.

Samia, do you think it is very hot in Algeria? asked my youngest brother, Kamel.

Yes, I think so.

Do you think the people are nice over there? he continued.

Yes, the people are nice. Our grandparents live there and they will surely spoil us. Sleep now, my little brother.

As soon as I closed my eyes I could see Amina. By now, she had probably gone to rescue my teddy bear from the cupboard. I fell into a peaceful sleep knowing that Câlin was in good hands.

Early the next morning our mother’s shrill cries woke us up.

Come now, quickly, out of bed! We only have a couple of hours to eat breakfast and to get ready. Samia, help Malek to get dressed and then meet us in the dining room.

She took care of Kamel while I helped Malek, who was a year younger than I.

Samia, I love you, he declared very seriously. It makes me sad when mama is mean to you. When I am older, I will defend you and never let anybody hit you.

You are so nice Malek! Come now, or mama will be angry.

Together, laughing and yelling, we ran down the long corridor of the ship. We all sat down for breakfast. We were about to set foot in the land of our ancestors.

Move ahead, move ahead! Exasperated, the ship’s Captain waved us on. Aboard our beautiful new automobile, the whole family disembarked in Algeria.

We observed the people of our new country: they seemed so different from the French people that we had known up until then. Grubby children were playing on the dock near men wearing djellabas¹. My brother asked why the men wore long dresses.

Those aren’t dresses, my mother said, smiling. The men dress like that to be more comfortable because of the heat.

I could not believe my eyes when I saw a woman with a white sheet covering her entire face. We could only see her eyes.

Is that ghost? I asked, a little panicky.

Of course not, you little idiot! All good Muslim women dress like that, as you will in a few years.

She looked at my father seeking his approval. My father stared at me through the rear-view mirror.

I remember deciding at that precise moment to never ever dress like that woman, even though it was the symbol of a good Muslim.

The more we advanced through the city streets, the more frightened I became. It was dirty everywhere and it was too hot. The people around us spoke Arabic. The streets were full of good Muslim women, of men in long robes and children, even toddlers, were playing in the middle of the street. They played with spinning tops and balls in the middle of traffic.

Carts drawn by donkeys were filled with fruits and vegetables. Being the first time that Kamel had ever seen a donkey; he became frightened and started crying. Stroking his cheek, I reassured him. I explained that a donkey was a very gentle animal that looked like a horse. As we continued on our way, the scenery started to change. The streets widened and became calmer and shadier. We no longer were in the centre of Algiers, but rather in the suburbs.

We travelled up a small road leading to our new house which I found immense and magnificent. I had never seen any like it except on television soap operas. Thrilled, my brothers and I were dazzled by it all and our cheeks were flushed with excitement as we ran through the garden, running around this magnificent home.

Having burned off our excess energy, we entered this castle. The interior was impressive! Every room was immense and filled with light, accentuated even more so by the whiteness of the walls. I had never seen such bright rooms. My brothers were all over the house, determined to choose their own rooms. I did the same and chose a room which I found particularly pretty.

This one is my room! I yelled so as to make sure everyone had heard.

My brother Nassim protested.

I want it! This room is big and I can set up my electric train set in it.

No, I want. I saw it first, I insisted.

An argument started and my mother quickly intervened.

Stop arguing, she said abruptly pushing me away and taking my brother into her arms. The room will be yours my little darling and you can install your beautiful train in it. You, Samia, you will take the room at the end of the hallway, beside your little brother Kamel’s. That way, if he cries, you will be able to hear him and go comfort him.

Going to bed, I realized that my room was the smallest in the house. I was mad but I quickly calmed down upon realizing that I had nothing to put in my room, not even my teddy bear. I was alone with my memories, taking up but a tiny space in this immense house.

In the blackness of the night, buried deep in my bed, I was scared silly of the dark. This new house now seemed terrifying to me. I pulled the bed sheet over me and tried to think of something pleasant. I hugged my pillow as if it was my teddy Câlin and hummed a tune that I used to sing with Amina.

Suddenly Kamel’s crying made me jump up. I went to his room at the end of the hallway. I turned on the light and shushed him so that he would calm down.

Be still, my baby! Everything is alright, I’m here!

I held him tightly in my arms and hummed the lullaby I often sang for him. He would calm down only to cry out louder each time I tried to leave the room. At the end of my wits, I decided to bring him to my mother. But the darkness of the hallway caused him to panic and he started to scream with all his might.

Shush Kamel, shush! Mother will come!

As I was saying these words, my mother opened the door and, with an abrupt gesture which threw me against the wall, grabbed hold of my brother.

Why is he crying? she asked, exasperated.

He’s been crying for a long time. I’ve tried everything but he won’t stop.

Let’s go back to the room; I have something to tell you! Let’s go! she repeated pushing me in front of her, in the direction of the room.

I moved without saying a word, I knew my mother only to well. When she was angry, you had to shut up.

Now, sit down and listen to me. Above all, lower your eyes, she ordered.

I lowered them immediately.

You, you always know how to spoil everything. You are unable to calm your little brother without waking the whole house in the middle of the night. I am sure it is you who woke him because you were afraid. I know you very well, you rotten scoundrel! Go choke under your covers and get out of my sight! May God call you back to Him! she said while raising her eyes to heaven.

I curled up under my blanket, making myself as small as possible in order to escape her fit of rage. Calling me every bad name possible, she left my room. I was shaken. A little later I sneaked my head out from under the covers and took a deep breath to calm myself. I prayed to God for myself, but especially for my friend and my teddy bear Câlin.

The next morning my brother Malek came into my room, all excited.

Quick, wake up! We have to explore the garden in search of a treasure!

It was a good idea. Of course there was no treasure. After we were certain that no treasure existed, we began running at full speed on the grass when Malek unintentionally pushed me and I fell on some broken glass. My knees were bleeding profusely. Panicking, my brother went to get my mother, but the sight of my bloody knees did not affect her at all.

Good for you! That will teach you to run as though you were a boy instead of being quiet like a true little girl. Now then, go and take care of yourself alone! Her voice was arid and devoid of compassion.

She went back to her activities as if nothing had happened. My brother moistened some paper and dabbed at my knees. Farid, my oldest brother, applied some compresses and bandaged my knees before suggesting that I go in the house.

***

School started a few days later. My father sent the chauffeur to bring us to our classes. My brothers were enrolled with the Catholic Brothers where they could continue their education in French while I was to go to a private school where they taught only in Arabic.

I was unable to speak even one word in Arabic. It was a very unpleasant experience. The teacher constantly criticized me and took pleasure in calling me a she-ass, which caused my classmates to burst out in laughter. Obviously, this treatment caused me to be isolated from all the other girls. I had no friends at all. All the girls thought I was a show-off and accused me of being the rich little French girl. They criticized me for being different, which I now acknowledge, but did not know then. In France, I was reproached for being Arab; here, they disliked me because I was French. Every day that went by became more and more unbearable. One night, alone in my bed, I decided to quit going to school. The chauffeur would drop me off every morning, but I would thread my way through the students and exit that cursed place. I no longer wanted to be the laughing stock of the class.

I spent my days wandering the streets of Algiers with nothing to eat or drink until the end of the school day. I would then return to school only to exit it and continue to fool the chauffeur. I played hooky for three days. My father received a written convocation from the school, but as it was written in French, Farid was called in to help. A storm was brewing. I took refuge in my room and waited for what was sure to come. I dreaded the worst.

I heard my father’s heavy steps as he climbed the stairs and every one of them made my heart pound harder and harder. I prayed: God, spare me; God, help me. I climbed up on my bed and grabbed my pillow for protection, just in case. The door opened and my father, looking very angry, came in holding his belt in his hand.

You dirty, rotten scoundrel! I kill myself working for you. I choose a private school so that you can learn to read and to give you an education comparable to girls your age and this is how you thank me!

He whipped me with his belt. The blows rained down relentlessly until I lost consciousness. I remember opening my eyes while in my mother’s arms as she was splashing water on my face. Her voice came to me as in a dream.

See what you have done! Are you happy now? Lie down now and rest. Tomorrow is another day.

***

The following morning Malek came to tell me to stay in bed. My father had decided to enroll me in a French school run by Catholic nuns and well known for its rigorousness and strict discipline.

I had no trouble fitting in at this school and I soon made some friends who spoke French: Nabila and Rachida. The three of us had a lot in common. Nabila was from a family as rich as mine while Rachida was from a middle class family. Being an only child, her parents wanted to give her everything they could for her to succeed in life and were willing to go into debt for her education.

We invented all kinds of stories that would cause us to laugh our heads off. That is how I started to love school. One morning, my mother asked me why I was so happy to go to school. I answered that I had made two good friends and that we had a lot of fun together. She told me to make the most of it, because my school days could be over pretty quickly. I turned a deaf ear, because I wanted to join my friends with nothing on my mind.

One morning, when my parents’ signature was required after having received a bad grade, my friends asked about their reaction. I lied