The Child Bride (22 page)

‘“A husband has been found for you,” my mother said coldly. “Now run along. You’ll do as you are told, or else.”

‘“Or else what?” I demanded, desperate, and daring to challenge my mother for the first time ever.

‘She finally met my gaze. “Or else you won’t be going home, Zeena. Ever.” Her eyes were so cold and her voice so hard that I knew she meant what she said.

‘I ran out of the hut and burst into tears. I felt sick with fear as it finally sunk in. But what could I do? I was a child in a strange country, miles from the nearest town. I was trapped. I was going to be married and I could see no way out. The only place I could go was my father’s village, but I instinctively knew they’d bring me straight back, and I would be in so much trouble for dishonouring my family again that I might never go home.

‘I stood in the courtyard and cried. The sun beat down through the trees. Then Sumi came to find me. “Don’t be upset,” she said kindly. “All girls are scared on the eve of their wedding. I was. But it will be all right.”

‘“I’m too young to get married,” I sobbed. “We don’t do things like this in England.”

‘“We do here,” Sumi said matter-of-factly. “I was married at your age. Most girls marry before they’re sixteen. Some are much younger than you.”

‘This didn’t help me. We no longer shared the same culture. I was English. Sumi comforted me as I cried, and then she led me back to the hut where my other cousins were waiting to continue the preparations, which I now knew were for my wedding and not my birthday. That I was getting married at thirteen to a man I didn’t know seemed perfectly normal to them. They joked about pre-marriage nerves and the wedding bed. I thought I was going to be sick. They weren’t being horrible, they were just trying to put me at ease.

‘That night when my mother and I went to our hut to sleep I said, “How could you do this to me?” She didn’t answer.

‘We undressed in the semi-darkness and then lay on opposite sides of the mattress, being careful not to touch each other. I cried, and although she must have heard she didn’t say anything. I couldn’t sleep. I thought about running away while the village slept, but there was nowhere to go. It was surreal. I felt I was caught in a nightmare from which I couldn’t wake. I watched the sky outside lighten. It was my birthday – not that that counted for anything now. I couldn’t believe my friends in England would be going to school while I was about to marry a man I didn’t know. When Mother woke, we washed and dressed in silence. Eventually I asked, “Who is the man you are forcing me to marry?”

‘“Farhad,” she said, without turning. “He’s your cousin’s uncle.” The name didn’t mean anything to me. I had lots of cousins in Bangladesh and England. “Hasan’s uncle,” she clarified quietly.

‘I looked at her in amazement and disgust. “You’re forcing me to marry the uncle of the man who raped me?” I said.

‘She spun round and slapped my face hard. “Don’t ever say that again. You don’t mention what happened. Show respect. This marriage will heal the shame you brought upon us all.”

‘By then I fully believed it had been my fault, and I now saw my marriage as punishment.

‘“But why him?” I asked, defeated. “You could have married me to Hasan.”

‘“Farhad needs a wife,” she said. “He wants to come to England.”

‘I didn’t understand. “But how can marrying me achieve that?” I asked.

‘“When you’re sixteen you will be able to send for him and marry him in England, then he will be able to stay and his family will be pleased.”

‘I had no idea if what she’d said was true and the English law allowed this, but I found some comfort in the timescale. “So if I marry this man he will stay here and you and I will return home?” I asked.

‘“Yes,” she said. “As long as you do as you’re told. If you make a fuss you’ll stay here with him.” I had no doubt she meant it.

‘That morning my cousins and young aunts got me ready. They brushed my hair and plaited it with beads and then helped me into a gold-coloured sari. It was a beautiful dress and I would have admired it on someone else. “Don’t you like your dress?” one of my aunts asked, seeing my sad face. “We had it made specially on your mother’s instructions.” So my mother had been plotting my marriage for some time, I thought.

‘They finished getting me ready, hung a garland of flowers around my neck and then the guests started arriving, some of them ringing bells. They led me outside where the man I was to marry was waiting. He looked so old. I found out later he was forty-nine – almost four times my age. We went to an area that had been decorated with flowers and shaded with cloths, and the ceremony began.

‘I did what was expected of me, said the words, and I was married. Then we ate specially prepared foods. They ate; I felt sick. The wedding celebration continued into the night. Hasan was among the guests but he didn’t approach me. When it was time for me to leave, one of my aunts took the garland from my neck and hung it around Farhad’s neck, then everyone clapped as we walked away. He took me to the hut my mother and I had been sharing, and for one moment I thought he was going to say goodnight and leave me alone. But he came into the hut and in the semi-darkness began stroking my face. He grinned. His teeth were missing and his breath smelled. In Bengali he told me to take off my clothes.

‘“Mother sleeps here,” I replied in Bengali.

‘“Not now you are married to me,” he said.

‘I looked around for my mother’s belongings but they had all been taken away. I started to cry. “I’m only thirteen,” I said. “Please leave me alone.”

‘“You are my wife,” he said, taking hold of my arms.

‘“Please wait until you come to England,” I said.

‘He smirked. “I’m not going to wait three years,” he said.

‘“Please don’t,” I begged, and dropped to my knees. “Please wait. Don’t hurt me like Hasan did.”

‘His grip tightened on my arms. He pulled me roughly to my feet and then onto the bed. I knew there was no point in crying out. As far as everyone else was concerned he was my husband and he had a right to me. He tore off my clothes and when I was naked he forced himself into me as his nephew had done. He raped me twice that night, then every night until we left. We were there for another week and I barely left the hut. My aunts brought me food but otherwise left me alone. Now I was a married woman I was none of their business. I counted the days and hours until we were due to go home. It was the only thing that kept me going. When that day finally arrived, in the morning Farhad walked out of the hut and disappeared, and my mother came in. She had her suitcase with her and told me to pack. That was all she said. “Pack your clothes. We will be leaving soon.”

‘The uncle who’d collected us from the airport took us back. Some of the villagers waved us off, although Farhad wasn’t among them. Neither my mother nor my uncle spoke to me in the car, and when we got to the airport Mum gave me both our passports and tickets and expected me to take control again. I took them and ran off, leaving her to make her own way with the suitcase. I didn’t want to be anywhere near her. I felt betrayed, and I hoped she’d miss the flight. But when I got to the check-in desk the lady said I had to wait for my mother, as I was under age and we were travelling together.

‘When my mother arrived there wasn’t much time. I could see she was angry but she couldn’t make a scene in front of so many people. I led the way to the departure lounge and she had to walk very quickly to keep up. We didn’t speak in the airport or on the plane going home. My father collected us when we arrived back in England and couldn’t even look at me. All the way home he moaned to my mother about Aunt Riya being bossy and ordering him around. I was pleased she’d given him some grief. When we got home my little brothers and sisters fell into my arms. They were so happy to see me and I was them. We smothered each other in hugs and kisses and I cried with joy. I was so happy to be with them again.

‘Aunt Riya was already packed – she’d had enough of my father too. I knew that the bangle she’d given to me had always been intended for my wedding, not my birthday, but I didn’t say anything. I don’t think she knew any better. Her marriage had been arranged, as had my parents’.’

‘But an arranged marriage is surely different from a forced marriage?’ I said.

‘It can come to the same thing in the end,’ Zeena said.

We were silent for some moments. ‘And you’ve told no one else about this?’ I asked.

‘No, not until now. When I returned to school I was quiet, but everyone assumed it was because I’d been to a funeral. Then Farhad started phoning me and I found out that my parents had paid him a dowry. They had paid him to marry me! They might just as well have paid Hasan to rape me. That’s what it feels like.’

I shuddered and looked down at Zeena’s pale and lifeless hand in mine. ‘You’ve suffered so much in your short life,’ I said. ‘I can’t begin to feel your pain. But I do know we must get you help, so we need to tell Tara and Norma.’

Zeena nodded.

I had no idea what the law was in England relating to what had happened to Zeena, but Tara and Norma would know. ‘I’m sure something can be done,’ I added.

‘I’ll tell them,’ Zeena said quietly.

I hoped she meant it this time.

I sat beside Zeena in her bedroom holding her hand for some time. There was little I could say beyond reassuring her I would do all I could to help and support her. Usually I’m quite good at soothing a child’s pain, but what Zeena had been through was so huge and outside my experience that I felt almost as overwhelmed as she did. It was Friday evening and the social services offices would be closed. If I telephoned them now I would have to speak to the duty social worker, who wouldn’t be familiar with Zeena’s case. As Zeena wasn’t in any immediate danger I decided to wait until Monday to phone, when I would be able to talk to Tara. I explained this to Zeena.

‘Yes, I’d rather you waited for Tara,’ she said.

Presently the front door opened and closed and Lucy called up, ‘Hi! Anyone home?’

‘I’m in Zeena’s room,’ I returned. It was after six o’clock. I’d been with Zeena listening to her story for over two hours.

Lucy came upstairs and knocked on Zeena’s bedroom door. ‘Can I come in?’ she asked.

‘Yes,’ Zeena returned. I sensed she welcomed the normality and diversion that Lucy offered.

‘Are you OK?’ Lucy asked Zeena as she came in.

Zeena nodded.

‘I’m going out later,’ Lucy said to me. ‘Shall I make us some dinner?’

‘You can, although I was thinking we might have a takeaway delivered, as I haven’t got anything ready. Will you be all right if I go downstairs and order it?’ I now asked Zeena.

‘Yes,’ she said.

I went out, leaving Lucy with Zeena. Half an hour later Lucy came downstairs to see how long the takeaway would be. Zeena had told her some of her story, and Lucy was shocked.

‘Do you believe her, Mum?’ Lucy asked, finding it as unimaginable as I had.

‘Yes, sadly, I do,’ I said. ‘Do you?’

‘I think so. It seems incredible, but she wouldn’t lie over something like this. And that bloke – her husband – does keep phoning her.’

I nodded thoughtfully.

The takeaway arrived at the same time as Adrian, and the four of us ate together. Paula texted to say she’d been swimming and was going back to her friend’s house for something to eat. Zeena was quiet during dinner, which was hardly surprising. When we’d finished she said she was going to her room. I checked on her after about a quarter of an hour. The phone used by her husband was on the bed beside her.

‘You don’t have to speak to him,’ I said. ‘Why don’t you switch off the phone or give it to me. You have your other phone for your friends.’

‘If I don’t speak to him he’ll tell my parents and I’ll be in more trouble,’ she said. ‘He may even try to come here sooner, so it’s better if I speak to him and keep him happy.’ Which I accepted for the time being – until we’d spoken to Tara and Norma and had heard their advice.

I went further into her room. There was something else troubling me. ‘Zeena, love, I’ve been thinking,’ I said gently. ‘I know this is difficult, but he really needs to be told about the diseases he’s carrying so he can be treated.’

Zeena looked at me, puzzled. ‘What do you mean?’ she asked.

‘The sexually transmitted diseases you caught from your husband,’ I clarified. ‘He should be notified so he can be treated.’

She hesitated, as though she was still having difficulty making the connection, and then said, ‘Yes. I’ll tell him.’ I was almost certain she wouldn’t.

I believed Zeena when she told me she’d been raped as a child. The detail with which she’d described the event, her pitiful tears and misplaced guilt suggested she was telling the truth. But I was struggling with the second part of her story. Was it possible for a thirteen-year-old British girl to be tricked into going abroad and then forced to marry a stranger? It seemed incredible to me. Perhaps Zeena had invented the story, possibly to protect her boyfriend from being identified? I’d no idea, but if she was telling the truth then maybe there were other cases similar to Zeena’s. Nowadays most incidents, atrocities and revelations can be found documented on the internet, so that is where I looked.

That evening, with Zeena and Adrian in their rooms and Paula and Lucy out, I took a mug of coffee into the front room and switched on the computer. With little idea of where to start, I typed
underage forced marriage
into a search engine. To my horror and amazement pages and pages of websites came up – over 179,000! The first website carried the headline:
60 million underage girls have been forced to marry worldwide
. I thought I must have misread it, but as I scrolled down I learned that millions of girls across the world, from different religions and cultures, had been forced to marry while still children, often to much older men. As in Zeena’s case, the marriages had been arranged by the children’s parents and the ceremony carried out by a holy person. In some countries children as young as eight and nine were being forced to marry, sometimes resulting in the girl suffering horrific internal injuries from being repeatedly raped by her husband. One case was that of an eight-year-old girl who’d died on her wedding night from internal haemorrhaging after being raped by her husband. He was forty years old. My stomach churned.