Stories from Our Reality: Journey of a Darfurian Woman

He spotted her, wearing her school uniform, standing with a bunch of girls in front of an all girls’ school. To him, they all looked plain... dull, even. But she, on the other hand, stood out ever so elegantly. In all certainty she was the most beautiful young woman he’d ever seen. Even from afar, her big brown eyes were gleaming with splendour, and her dark chocolate skin was the fairest he’d ever laid eyes on. Their eyes met for a split second of majesty… she caught a glimpse of him and gave the most radiant smile, emerging her glistening teeth that to him appeared whiter than pearls, then timidly looked away.

Finally, he gathered the courage to approach her in the midst of the crowd of girls… but this was far from a normal situation. This was not merely the case of a guy approaching a girl whom, after only one glance, knew was the one for him. It was not as simple as a love-at-first-sight scene where the guy expresses his feelings and the girl forces a bashful smile.

In reality, it was a time of war, and he, a 26-year-old Northern Sudanese soldier, has fallen for an 18-year-old Darfurian girl. It was a critical position to say the least, where a state filled with bloodshed, racism and political unrest that suffered from harsh economic measures knew very little about racial tolerance. Yet, even though the chances of something sparking between the two of them were next to nil, the army soldier refused to hold back.

“Marry me,” were the only two words he uttered to her. Her friends, astounded by what had just happened, all turned to see her expression; which was blank. He anticipated for her to articulate something for what he felt was an eternity, but in fact were purely a few moments. Finally, she responded. “Our house is right over there,” she said, pointing at the old brick house just down the end of the road.

Later that night, he made an appearance at the house that she had earlier described. He was welcomed inside and introduced himself as Emad. The old man who invited him in appeared to be the young woman’s father, and Emad did not hesitate to ask for his daughter’s hand almost immediately. He anxiously awaited the response of the old man, only to hear him voice out the name of his future’s wife for the very first time; “It is up to Khadija, my son”.

Just like that, two weeks later Khadija and Emad were married. She moved to Khartoum to live with her husband at the housh, the big family house. It wasn’t very big though, or at least their share of the house wasn’t. Khadija and Emad were crammed in the tiniest room in the house. It was a room that had a very small kitchen with very few utensils, a tiny bathroom, and two metal beds joined together. Khadija didn’t mind the simple life… all she cared about was taking care of her husband.

Little did Khadija know that she was about to embark into the most difficult journey of her life. Dealing with her sister-in-law Nadia, who objected to this marriage from the very beginning, was a daily struggle. Nadia’s disapproval of her brother’s marital union was purely racist-driven. She was ashamed to tell people that a young woman from the West was part of their family, so she kept Khadija isolated in her part of the house and forbade her from engaging in any family activities around the housh. Khadija was patient about all of this, but it was very gruelling for her especially since Emad was always away.

It was manageable for Khadija at first; she would wait for Emad to return home every few months and would then make the best out of it. The little quality time she would spend with him was well worth all the suffering she was forced to endure day to day. Khadija was beginning to get used to how things were, until a few months later she became pregnant. As much as she and her husband were ecstatic about welcoming a new baby into their family, Khadija couldn’t help but worry about their current living arrangements and their financial situation. Emad did not make much money, and with the baby due they would not be able to afford basic things like food and electricity.

Khadija found herself taking matters into her own hands. She started working privately for women around the neighbourhood as a beautician. With her stomach expanding, she still managed to circulate around the area, going door-to-door offering her services to married women. She would wax, scrub and sell her home-made natural face scrubs, and shortly after her business took off.

Initially, Emad was typically not happy about his wife working and occasionally bringing in more money than him. But as life got harder and basic commodities became more expensive, he eventually accepted it. In a week’s time, Khadija would earn more money than her husband does in a month. Things were looking up for the young couple as Khadija’s business bloomed.

After giving birth to Ahmed, the young boy found himself dragged to his mother’s beauty calls at a very small age. She was unable to leave him at the house unattended, and Nadia refused to do any babysitting for her while she worked. Predictably, Nadia was very critical of Khadija’s job, and at times expressed her jealousy in unsubtle ways.

While Nadia thought of Khadija’s job as demeaning, Khadija didn’t care. All she was concerned about was maintaining her customers, who loved her pleasantness and soft-spoken nature and often tipped her well.

Singlehandedly, Khadija was able to support her child and help out her husband. Like any young Darfurian woman with big dreams, she came to Khartoum expecting to lead a normal life away from the depressions of the war and the harsh circumstances back home. Instead, she was met with discrimination, punitive living conditions and desertion. While this may have been enough to shatter the hopes and dreams of any woman in her shoes, Khadija persevered and beat all odds, and did not care for or respond to racism and intolerance, as ‘hate’ was not a word in her vocabulary.

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