Female rage

Every night when darkness covers the city of Adyrnis the rooftops become a very busy place. The desert wind carries the scent of cinnamon and turmeric while it dances and giggles through the night. Well placed footsteps jump from one rooftop to the next, hushed laughter and secret whispers following them until they reach the last rooftop, a wide and spacious place able to allow the 25 women to assemble here for the 55th night. This place is secluded enough to allow the 25 women the possibility of being loud, a privilege they use very enthusiastically. There are women of every generation, the youngest just celebrated her 13th birthday two weeks ago but most of them are in their teenage years and their twenties.

„Quiet please. We are all here, so let’s begin with our attendance list.“ Several groans can be heard from the crowd. The dark-haired woman who spoke scowls. „Ladies, we go through this every damn night. Attendance lists are important, they are proof of our achievements. Now: Aysel are you here?“ Eyes roll but the crowd quiets down. „Yes, Bea, I’m here, I’m literally in front of you.“ Bea sighs but can’t contain a smirk. Her dark hair already has streaks of gray in it, but she doesn’t mind, she says it’s like her armor, her act of resistance. To her the gray streaks say „I’m still here. I survived. I’m still alive. So, fuck you.“ Of course Bea would never curse in front of her students, but we heard her use the most colorful insults against one of the peace guards once and the man’s vein almost bulged out.

Bea still has a scar from that day. Right where her left eye should be today.

„Before you ask, I’m here too, Bea.“ I say from the last row. Bea smiles fondly. I like to imagine she likes me the most even if I do cause the most ruckus. I actually think it’s because I cause so many ruckuses. We’re so conditioned to sit still and be pretty that a loud girl is an act of rebellion in itself

„Yes, dear I was just about to confirm your attendance. Yasmina is present“, she mumbles as she puts a smiley next to my name.

My sister Az is bouncing up and down. It’s her first time with the Huriya school. She’s the girl that turned 13 two weeks ago, which finally allowed her entrance to our little group of 25. Our mother can’t come, she says someone has to make sure baba doesn’t catch us. I always tell her about everything I’ve learned in the early morning hours when I sneak back.

Bea finally finishes going through her sacred list and folds it neatly to put it back into our safe. She clears her throat, and everyone stops talking. We make fun of Bea but we all respect and admire her, she’s our heroine. It was her idea and her initiative that made this group possible.

Now I should probably explain why a group of girls and women sneak out when darkness drops her curtains around us just to go to school. A year ago, our government was overthrown by a radical group of bastards who radical group called Bastards who named themselves The New World. This new world is one where girls are to sit at home and please their husbands or work their butts off to find a husband to please. We aren't allowed to go to school or leave the house in general, at least not without our male guardians. So-called ‘peace guards’ patrol the streets to make sure we obey. Being curious is something women are supposed to unlearn and our government would love that.

Well, fuck that.

We continue listening to Bea’s warm, rich voice, as the wind whirls up sand and ruffles our papers. The wind has always seemed so magical to me. No matter what horrors occur in the cities of the world the wind simply moves on, traveling from one place to the next. The wind is so indifferent to our struggles. She just scoffs, rolls her eyes and dances with the trees and causes sandstorm after sandstorm. I envy the wind. I like to imagine it’s a woman, a sort of immortal goddess because imagining a woman so free that no man can restrain her, is magical. I’m so lost in my thoughts I almost forget the fear that’s always inside me, but Bea’s voice pulls me out of my thought-whirlwind.

Bea smiles proudly as her eyes meet every girl and every woman one by one.

„Before we begin, I want to say thank you to each and every one of you who’s present here tonight and to the mothers and sisters at home who I know want to be here as well but can’t. Our society thinks women should not be allowed to do what we do: learn about the world. Read books, solve mathematic equations, explore the secrets of the universe. We are supposed to sit at home, quietly and obediently listening to the men in our lives because they know better. Or so they like to tell themselves.“

A pause. Bea likes dramatic pauses like that but this time no one rolls their eyes or giggles. We all listen because we all suffer from the same restrictions, and we each share the same pain. Every one of us carries the burden of being a woman who doesn’t want to be quiet anymore. Who wants to scream until her rage is released, who wants to laugh and cry as loudly as she is physically able to.

We share the burden of being women who want to learn new things, explore the depths of their minds, and find their branch on their own fig tree before we end like Esther, forced to watch the figs rot as our minds do the same and we become mere shells who then become empty wives and empty mothers.

Bea continues, her expression now stern. The moonlight makes the scar over her left eye appear silver instead of the usual angry red color.

„I’m aware of how dangerous it is for each and every one of you to come here. But I couldn’t be more grateful, or prouder. These meetings would not have been possible without your bravery.”

Her voice then changes, an almost imperceptible hint of pain creeps in.

“As always, I want to warn you. Please be careful when you come to these meetings and when you go back home. Don’t get caught. The peace guards get more ruthless each year. We lost Isa in the beginning of the year and...“ Bea’s voice breaks. Az is unusually quiet next to me. The murder of Isa still causes nightmares in every one of us.

Bea clears her throat, but she doesn’t wipe away her tears. She always says emotions don’t make us weak, they make us human and that’s what differentiates us from the peace guards. When she continues to speak her eyes blaze with barely contained rage.

„Isa was murdered. The police, the media and every other place controlled by men who follow TNW’s rules, say it was a „disciplinary necessity“ but it was murder. She was killed because she was outside without a male family member. She was on her way to our meetings. They took her and questioned her the whole night, trying to get her to tell them where she was going but Isa never caved, and she died to protect our secret. She died simply because her innate curiosity had an urge to be satisfied and she chose to follow that urge. She chose to risk her life - like each and every one of you who is here tonight - because she wanted to learn about mathematics, about languages, about literature and about science. She was punished for that.“

The cicadas and night birds sing quietly, they sing a hymn for Isa, a hymn for freedom. I close my eyes for a moment and take in the scent of the desert mixed with ink and paper. Isa loved that scent.

„Human beings are naturally curious and inquisitive; humankind is where we are today because of these traits. But unfortunately, we live in a society where women are not supposed to learn. They are not supposed to explore. They are not supposed to have curious minds. They’re supposed to sit still-“

The rest of the phrase is finished by the group. „-and be pretty.“ Our collective voices carry across the rooftops and for a moment our minds are filled with the same thought, always repeating itself: I will not stop being curious. I will not stop being curious. They will not silence me.

Isa’s death had horrified us, caused some to stop coming to our meetings. Many concerned mothers forbid their daughters to attend our secret lessons for fear of losing their child. My mom never even considered keeping me or Az out of school. She is scared and anxious every single night and I can see how deep her wrinkles have become. But mom insists we go anyway. „If we continue living in fear of what the peace guards might do just because a woman dared to ask questions and explore our world then this will never end. We will always be confined and doomed to lose ourselves to an oppressive regime set on silencing us.“ My mom can be really wise sometimes.

And so, Bea begins. She is sort of our headmistress, but she also teaches mathematics and physics. We each come here to enjoy general education but also to find our passions. Mine is physics. If I told my dad I wanted to explore the secrets of the universe he’d laugh saying: „Women can’t do that, sweetheart. Why don’t you focus on learning how to make delicious cakes? Men love food, you know? You can’t find a good match with your endless talk about things you don’t understand.“ Obviously I don’t listen much to my dad.

We start our usual routine. Sara teaches literature, then we go over to self-defense lessons with Aliyah (she's 54 but don't let that fool you, the lady knows how to make her punches hurt really badly, I still have a bruise). After that we have mathematics and physics and that's where I shine the most. By the time we finish I can already see the sky shifting from deep blue to streaks of gray, red and purple. It’s time to sneak back home, the peace guards always make their rounds an hour after dawn.

I take Az by the hand, and she grumbles in annoyance. „Hey, I wasn’t done, I’m trying to conjugate these verbs, Yaz!“ I roll my eyes and pull her up with me. She continues to express her annoyance in more colorful insults now, but I don’t scold her. I get her frustration. She just wants to continue learning and find out more about things like Spanish verb conjugation (alright, that’s something I don’t get, but Az wants to explore Latin America one day, so she insists on learning Spanish & she also wants to learn the local languages because you guessed it, Az has a knack for languages). I get her reluctance to go back to our dull existence at home where baba and his dumb rules await. Where the peace guards ensure the girls stay as far away from places of knowledge as possible.

„Az, come on, mom will go crazy with worry if we don’t come home before the peace guards make their rounds, you know that.“ That does it. Az stops grumbling and we all pack away our books and pens and give them back to Bea who hides them after we’re all gone. It’s not that she thinks we might steal them but Bea insists we have as little as possible to tell the guards should they ever catch one of us. We have to protect the books so other women can still use them.

Every night the stink of oppression is covered by the sound of freedom. Even if just for a few hours at a time. I like to think it makes every new dawn a bit brighter.

So, this is our story, dear reader. We secretly convene on the rooftop of the 34th house in a corner of a dark street and we explore our minds surrounded by the desert wind and the spirits of the women who came before. We try to be present every night. Our mere presence amid books is an act of rebellion in a society where women are not supposed to explore beyond their kitchen. Well fuck that. That’s what Bea says. Listen to Bea.