Chapter 3: The Dinner

Uncle’s house was alive with excitement. We had just served dinner to the men and the ladies lurked around waiting for the clear up. Once that was done, it would be the ladies turn to eat. I hated this mentality. Why couldn’t they all just eat together in one go and then clean up after? Surely that made more sense.

The chatter died down and all eyes turned to Uncle.

“Thank you all for attending my feast! I’m sure most of you are wondering what we are celebrating…”

I sat down on the only visible carpet space I could find. I knew these speeches. Uncle would glorify himself for at least ten minutes before getting to the point.

“We came from nothing, and now we have this…” Uncle was still singing his praises, “All our hard work has paid off and today I am pleased to say that I am expanding my family!”

My eyes widen. Expanding his family? Was Auntie pregnant?!

“I have found a suitor for my eldest daughter, Fatima! Today, I will introduce them all to you!”

There was a gasp of delight around the room. The aunties buzzed with excitement. A wedding would be taking place and there was a lot to be done. A middle-aged man made his way to the front and there was a lot of hugging and handshaking. I assumed he was the groom’s father.

“This is my son-in-law!” I tried to peer above everyone’s heads to see who the new member of the family would be but there were too many heads squashed together in the way. I wondered what he would look like. Would Fatima be happy with him? Questions whirred around my head and I felt a whole year go by before the sea of people parted and I realized I had been mistaken. Oh wow, was I mistaken! The groom’s father wasn’t who I thought he was. He was in fact the groom.

“Is that the groom?!” The disbelief in my voice went unheard.

“Such a beautiful couple!”

“A wondering partnership!”

The answers flew around the room in a blur. Fatima, my cousin was only 20 years old. This man was at least 45. What on Earth made Uncle think this marriage was a good idea? It made no sense.

I spun around the room seeking out my cousin. She was tucked away in the corner, perched delicately on an armchair with an elaborate scarf around her head. Any normal person would have thought she was getting married right there and then. But I knew the scarf was a gift from her future in-laws, she had to wear it.

“Did you know about this?” I demanded.

“Ssh! Keep your voice down…”

“No-one can hear me anyway with all this excitement!” I continued to rage.

“Sit down, will you? Why are you getting so upset? I’m the one that has to marry that grandad!” Fatima hissed, dragging my arm downwards.

I crumpled into a heap beside her and stared up at her for some answers.

“Dad wants it. He’s hoping this marriage will get him a promotion at work…” Fatima’s eyes welled up. “He told me last week, but I didn’t think he was serious!”

My mouth dropped open. How could she not think Uncle was serious? When wasn’t he serious? That man didn’t have an ounce of humour in his entire body.

“Fatima, you cannot go through with this. Why don’t you refuse? Put an end to it before it’s too late!”

“I tried Hannah! I did! He wouldn’t listen! And Mum isn’t helping either. If I don’t go through with this, they will ship me off to Pakistan!”

“What did you tell them?” I wondered if her words were forceful enough.

“I said, I’m not happy with it. I’m only 20. I haven’t even finished university and I want to focus on my exams.”

“And? What did they say?”

“You know what Dad said. Same thing as always. ‘I got married when I was 18. This is the way of our family…’ blah, blah, blah…” Her fingers squeezed the scarf she had interwoven between her tips.

I tasted blood in my mouth. I didn’t realize I had been biting my lip. I was terrified, the implications of this marriage were huge. Today, its Fatma, tomorrow it will be me. I had to stop this marriage for the sake of myself and not just my cousin. I located Mama and pulled her into the laundry room that was attached to the kitchen.

“Mama! What is going on?” I gestured towards to kitchen. “How is this possible?”

Mama looked confused.

“He is 100 years older that her. Why is everyone so happy?” I demanded.

“Hannah. The age gap is 25 years. What’s the problem? There’s 15 years between your dad and me.”

“Even 15 years is too much! Mama this is 2020. Not the 60’s. We live in England! This type of thinking isn’t the right way for us…” I was building up momentum when Mama’s palm appeared before my face.

“Ssh! I don’t want to hear your white ways. You are a Muslim! What they do in England is not our business. Our traditions have worked for thousands of years! Marriages work! Just look how happy every married couple is here!”

I looked incredulous. Was she serious? “Happy? Who’s happy Mama? Are you? Does Dad make you happy? What about Aunty? Is she happy?” I spitted out referring to the timid woman known as Uncle’s wife.

Mama’s face went white. A sharp slap thundered across my face. “Stay within your limits Hannah! You don’t know anything! At least we have respect for our parents! But what about you? So shameful!”

That was the second time Mama had slapped me that day and I felt a dam break somewhere inside of me. Rage poured out and I let myself be drowned by it.

“I don’t know anything?!” I whispered. “I don’t know?”

My voice began to rise, and I knew I was heading for a collision that would destroy the evening. “I know you cry yourself to sleep most nights! I know you work all day and night and Dad doesn’t seem to notice! I know Uncle dictates everyone’s life without a bloody thought about their feelings!”

Mama’s eyes went wide. She stepped back and held up both her hands, warning me to calm down. However, I had passed the point of calming down. I was on a roll.

“Today Fatima suffers and tomorrow it will be me! How can you be okay with this?” Hot, angry tears streamed down my face. I couldn’t take it anymore. I threw open the door to the laundry room and stepped out into the kitchen. The silence that followed was deafening.

The kitchen was full of aunties. Silent and staring. They had been eavesdropping, eager for some drama to unfold. But that’s not what gripped my heart. Dead in the center of the room stood Uncle. His face was like thunder. Set in a rage that rippled throughout the room.

“Is this how you raise your daughter?” His eyes had turned into angry slits as he sneered at Mama. “No respect! This is the problem with the younger generation. You have forgotten your roots! Who are you to question my authority?” He stepped closer, towering over me.

My feet were rooted to the spot. I couldn’t move. I was paralysed with fear. This wasn’t good. It had now turned into a public affair, which was unacceptable in our culture. Private arguments stayed private within the four walls of the family (and extended family), but to have an audience of random aunties from around town would be the height of shame for my parents.

“Uncle…” I stammered. I had to get the words out. I had to try to stop this madness. “Fatima is not ready…”

“Hush!” Uncle had already raised his hand high above my head. I braced for impact. Another slap was coming. My eyes closed tightly, and I held my breath.

Five, four, three… the count had begun in my head, two, one. His open palm connected with my cheek and sent me flying into Mama. She stumbled under the momentum but held me upright.

“Don’t you dare interfere in my decisions, Hannah!” His voice vibrated the windows behind us. The commotion brought in my Dad and other uncles who all looked equally enraged as each other.

The heat from the slap radiated downwards and engulfed the rest of my body. Embarrassment seeped through every pore and I had nothing left to lose. I had to get out of there but not before trying to explain myself.

“Your decisions may not be the best for everyone,” I began. I knew what had to be said but my brain didn’t allow the carefully thought-out sentences to be delivered. Instead, what came out of my mouth made me flee in terror, straight home where I locked myself in the safety of my bedroom. “You are nothing but a bully! No-one dares to speak in front of you because you scare them! What type of a man are you? I feel sorry for your wife and daughters, you pathetic excuse of a man!”

With that said, I found myself in my room, cowering under the duvet waiting for Dad to get home.