That one time I broke free

Early in my pre-pubescence age, it became clear to me that my family was profoundly biased against my older sister and I. It was clearly because out of four children we were the only two females. 

  I grew up in a strict Muslim household where the rule was typically “their way or the highway.” Social and mental control came from both parents as well as from the male siblings. In my case, even my younger brother was expected to fill my over-seas-working father. 

I can’t say how many times I was physically beaten and berated with foul language for things I didn’t even do in and around our home. This was always magnified if the source of information that led to the punishment was a local gossiper who made the allegations about me. My family always accepted the false information provided as truth even if it fabricated. They didn’t trust in their daughters nor value our words. 

Sadly this is not exclusive to me since just about all Muslim communities worldwide create a strict surveillance of teen girls and adult women so as to ignorantly blend Islam with community rules.

I spent most of my days and nights in Bangladesh living in fear. The Fear of making mistakes or doing something wrong in their eyes was overwhelming and exhausting for me as a teen. All the while, I constantly tried to act my very best at home and succeed at school. I tried to improve at everything and specifically tried all the activities they approved of, but it was never good enough. 

       Growing up in a small, tight knit village in Bangladesh, I began to accept my perceived fate. At such a young age when a child should be experiencing childhood and seeing the world as a magical and explorative place, I instead saw futility. It was at six or perhaps seven years of age that I began to see my existential reality. The emptiness and lack of connections or familial love that my family lacked had become terrifying and confusing to me.

Things took a turn when my entire family was fortunate enough to get sponsored by a maternal “auntie” living in Brooklyn, New York, thus allowing us to all migrate here in 2005. It was then that I suddenly realized there could be an alternative than to just being married off to a random Bengali man back in Chittagong at an early age.

Yes, that was always a tremendous fear I had, being married off to an unknown and unloved man selected by my parents and family. Disheartening, as it may seem, a young girl should not have to be afraid of such commitments so early on in life.

Sadly, this is a major concern for females living in Muslim countries worldwide. While some welcome it and often sit by without opposition, I could never see myself doing it. This is what made me feel different early on.

I had always dreamt of having the freedom to be able to make my own decisions in life. That freedom also included the ability and the luxury to choose where and when to be able to walk outside to get some fresh air without a male escort. Yes, in most Muslim cultures worldwide, women need an escort to walk the streets both for protection from “men” and for social control. The social control being the prevention of any straying from the planned marriage plans each family has in the works.

In addition, to go to the store, do laundry, exercise outdoors, have friends, and most importantly to have the space for my much-needed mental and social growth. They say dreams don’t come easy. It was quickly evident that after a year of living in Brooklyn I was sure that in order to fulfill my desired dreams and wishes one day would require that I simply run away from the family.

My plan was to keep biding time until I finished college. By waiting till the time was right I would avoid the entire “arranged marriage” thing and prevent being shipped back to Bangladesh for that sole reason. The threat of being married off was extremely high for me since my sister had run away from the house and married a man she eventually learned to love.  Fearing the family backlash and abuse as well as the community humiliation her life changed overnight. She fled by social and familial force.

My family was now hell bent on doing everything in their power to not let history repeat itself twice with me reaching adult age so quickly. It is why their preventative efforts and surveillance were heightened regarding my life. Their restraints were increased so much that my life became unbearable and increased my stress levels extremely. I was followed to and from school and prevented from acquiring communicative devices at all times.

On a daily basis I thought of plans to figure out an escape from what I felt was a prison. I was practical enough to realize that if I ran away from home right after high school it would be impossible for me to study full time and pay rent somewhere. So I understood quickly that the best way would be to obtain a Bachelor’s Degree first, land a normal job and begin to support myself someway. Getting to live alone and pay rent would eventually lead to a post-grad degree where my economic state definitely would improve and hopefully happiness might follow.

While I was walking on eggshell in order to survive, my close cousin came up with an idea. She was thinking of going to Bangladesh to study in medicine at the time and she painted a perfect picture for herself as she also sought the same type of freedom I did. Or so I thought. 

Her plan was to live on her own while studying abroad while her parents lived and worked here in NYC. She also mentioned that most of our relatives live in small villages too far from the major cities where med universities are located. Living with relatives would not be an option. This made the plans more enticing to me. It sounded perfect to me, at least on paper since her parents would not allow her to dorm here in the States.

What a brilliant idea I thought? She was always full of bright ideas. So without thinking twice I said I wanted to tag along and figure out a way to escape my parent’s house also. I figured I would do anything to have my family off my back and be away from them. I would do anything to be able to live on my own even if it meant leaving with her, my perceived “best friend” at the time. 

Even if it meant me forcing myself to study medicine and leaving my new city and country. I was willing to please my family just to get them off my back even if meant going back to BD and study there. My cousin loved and entertained the idea of us studying together as we were inseparable at the time.

My family on the other hand was gloating with this news of me having such new interests. My brother had a relative of ours send us books for the entry exam for medical schools. I even remember studying those books a bit here and there to appease them even though my sentiments were not so concrete at the time.

Eventually things got real. I realized it was a pipe dream. My parents were suddenly prepping to relocate back to Bangladesh to accompany me and increase my supervision. In other words, to spy on me because they didn’t trust me to live alone or with my cousin. “How could a girl live on her own here or Bangladesh?” they said. 

It was at that point that it hit me. I would be surrendering my rights as a female the second I boarded the airplane. I would also become a puppet to my family, as I would be fully depending on them to pay for my education and living expenses. It would be like pressing the rewind button and become the same prisoner I once was in Bangladesh. 

I asked myself a few questions. 1. When you return to Bangladesh do you think your family will stop the abuse? 2. Now that you’re more beautiful and exotic (you know what I mean ;)) to many Bangladeshi men (for green card), do you think your family will neglect to take precautions? 3. What are you going to do if your family says, “fuck it, you’re getting married!?”

I had my answers. NO! The abuse will never stop, they will be even more paranoid and I would have no escape plan if they decided to marry me off. 

One day I toughened up and let my family know that I was no longer interested in studying in Bangladesh. It was too late though, they were already banking on it HARD! Of course I got in trouble for trying to sabotage their plans and the duress increased tremendously. On the other side, my faithful friend/cousin had recently told her parents that she suddenly changed her mind and the studying abroad idea became a thing of the past. All of a sudden I was left “holding the bag” so to speak. Plan B had to be made and fast.

One thing for sure was that as soon as I graduated high school I would be getting shipped back to Bangladesh with a one-way ticket. It was then that I began to plan my escape as time was ticking. I had no money, as I wasn’t even allowed to work. My cousin again came up with a novel idea. She volunteered to work full time and cover rent and other expenses while I would attend college full time and also worked part time. This plan seemed promising to me. 

Eventually I graduated from high school. I started taking classes in the summer to get a head start in college. All along I was praying for my family to forget about my unwanted commitment and the Bangladesh idea would fade away. 

       Then one day in the summer of 2010, I remember my older my brother came home around late in the evening sometime around 10:30 PM, which was earlier than usual. His appearance seemed anxious and under duress. The first thing he said to me was, “there is an emergency with our lands and I have booked a one way ticket for you and I.” Adding, “we’re leaving tomorrow in the evening.”

My heart fell on the ground. I couldn’t think nor breathe. My mind was in shock and I felt a visceral reaction. My mind switched into survival mode. I have no idea how quickly I did it but a new plan had to be devised immediately. I needed to figure out an escape plan. It was really beyond me but I managed.

I had to device a plan so I didn’t even say a word to him, as there was no need. I also didn’t own a cell phone because my family thought otherwise since it was a better way to control me. I did however have an iPod with Wi-Fi and a the handy messenger app called “AIM.” Back then this was the surest way to communicate with anyone else especially on the down low. 

I started reaching out to people who I confided in for help. There were high school friends and anyone else I could think of. Everyone was occupied except Miguel. At the time we were friends and I knew he cared for my wellbeing. When I told him of my dire needs he immediately offered an empty space at his home for my escape.

I began packing everything that I possibly could to run away with while at the same time my family thought it was just packing for Bangladesh. Then I messaged Miguel. As suggested, he was to come and park near the house and make my loading easier. I had to be careful and avoid detection by my family in addition to my vigilant relatives who lived on the top floor of the house whose balcony faced the streets.  

All I knew was that I had to get my luggage into Miguel’s car without anyone noticing. I was packing, lingering, putting on a show while having mini heart attacks at the same time. My body was shaking and sweating immensely just like those intense scenes in movies where a hostage is planning his/her escape. 

Then the perfect moment arouse when my older brother left the house to run an errand and my father also left to pray at the local mosque. My youngest brother wasn’t home and my sister who came to visit went to pray in the room next door with my mother. 

       THIS WAS IT! My perfect moment to flee. I took one of the biggest chances of my life. As quietly as I could and began taking out my luggage piece-by-piece to Miguel’s car, which was parked across the street. I don’t remember how it happened through all the haze but it was then that I suddenly realized I was in his car.

When I finally shut his car door on the passenger side that I took the deepest breath of my entire life. For that single breath and split moment, I suddenly felt safe and protected. I would be away from my family who didn’t care for my lack of happiness and wellbeing in the manner that was correct. It was then that I suddenly began feeling the tears and I BROKE DOWN. 

Miguel offered to drive off to make me at ease but I urged him to stay just to see what would my family do in my sudden disappearance. I also felt no one would do anything since the area was quiet.

After waiting a few minutes I suddenly saw my sister run outside to see if I was there or in the area. A bit later I saw my older brother speeding his way towards the house in my aunts car. The windows of the minivan were rolled down and he seemed alarmed. As predicted, he didn’t see me nor did he notice Miguel’s car, but I could clearly see him. I will never forget his distinct look. It was a look of desperation, fear, panic and much more. 

In the same facial expression I could also see the shame and betrayal portrayed. The perceived shame that accompanies each and every family going through a similar instance where a captive daughter flees the home was evident. A facial expression that read, “manush ki bolbe?

“What will people say?”

This look on his face I had seen once before when my older sister was forced to flee and find freedom. It was then that I saw him park the car unevenly (something he never does) and run inside the house. I suddenly felt so guilty and so terrible for doing this. My tears wouldn’t stop pouring out of eyes and nose, as my body couldn’t stop shaking. I knew I hurt him and I had hurt my family.

I cried a lot but it was because I had no other choice. I cried because it had to be me. I cried because I needed them in my life but also needed them to accept me for who I was becoming. I cried because I wasn’t sure if I would be able to survive without them. Finally, I cried harder than I ever had in my entire life.

A few hours later when things were a bit less hazy in my head I decided to call my brother. When I took the phone on my hand I had flashbacks of how my sister made the phone call to him when she fled the house. I hated myself for having to do the same but knew I must. 

He answered and knew it was me, he then began to cry on the phone. Then my mother and father chimed in begging me to return and all were crying hysterically. I too started sobbing uncontrollably with tremendous pain and guilt but I couldn’t figure out if their sadness and tears were out of missing me or their massive concern for social image status. As emotionally unstable as I was I knew I had to layout my condition and state of mind.

“I want my freedom and I don’t want to study in Bangladesh” I told them. Adding, “I want to study whatever I want, here in the US.”  He cried and answered, “You made your point. You’ll get everything you want.” He then added, “Just come back home before anyone else finds out. Don’t make us carry this twice.” 

That was the first time I had the fortitude to fight for my FREEDOM. It was my first battle against familial oppression, and I WON. I was now BREAKING THE BARRIERS. I felt the fire in me was surging. I agreed to return home that same night but it was as a true Social WARRIOR and not as a captive Bengali woman. 

A special moment when my older brother once left me allowance money with this note. "Rumi, I left $10 for you."

I am forever thankful to Allah for sending Miguel to me as my personal savior. His presence in my life is like the sun breaking through the clouds after a storm. Those of you who were supportive throughout my high school and college life, as well as today, I appreciate you. If I neglected to tell you then, I am telling you now. 

To my Biological family, I am saddened that I couldn’t be the person you needed me to be for you. Many times I wished I grew up to be the ideal daughter or sister that you wanted me to be. Things would have been a lot easier between us had life been typically perfect and as expected.

For the countless females worldwide who are going through similar paths and struggles, it is okay to choose FREEDOM; it is okay to choose YOU. I hope you find the strength and courage to stand up for yourselves and for your own FREEDOM. 

A message to our Bengali/South-Asian Muslim community - please stop the violence, torture and abuse against girls and women regarding freedom and choices.

Instead, be kind, show love, teach self-defense and help women build confidence so they can prosper and feel counted. Stop incarcerating your females and forcing them to marry unknowns and unloved in exchange for social status, financial gain or losses.

Children of all genders should be loved and given the opportunities equally within the family and culture without biases. Most importantly, men should learn to respect women everywhere as equals and stop the pervasive abuse that seems never-ending.