Dr. Jamshid Ibrahim
Senior Member
- Joined
- Jul 19, 2005
- Member Type
- Academic
- Native Language
- English
- Home Country
- Iraq
- Current Location
- Germany
Scooped Aubergines VII
My father came for a second visit during the summer vacation. It seemed that he had already made his decision to move to the south. There was now no hope for him to be transferred back. The question was what to do with our house: sell it or let it. My mother was not happy with the idea of moving house at all. She was now more self-confident and flatly refused: No, I am not going to move. My father was not used to arguing with my mother like that so he raised his big right hand and hit her in the face many times. My mother fell on the floor bleeding and burst into tears. My eldest brother threw himself between them so that my father would stop. I couldn’t bear any more watching my mother suffer like that. I turned to him for the first time and warned: The next time you hit her you will get into trouble with me. He turned in his typical angry way with his red eyes and hurled what came into his grip at me. I ran as fast as I could. I felt a strong pain in my eyes from the sudden shade-sunshine switch. It was the first time for me to think of hitting him.
After a while I saw my mother leaving with her suitcase and my brothers after her like a hen and her chickens. They shouted to me to follow them and we all went to her mother’s house or better her eldest full- brother’s. They comforted her and we went playing with their children. After three days just as my mother anticipated we had the impression we were not that welcome. My mother always said: fish and guests stink after three days. This was understandable because her brother had only two rooms for his wife, himself and their seven children. My father always said: Even if your relatives kill you, they will bury your bones.
One week later, my father’s step-father and his mother came to take my mother home. This was usually the custom. I still have the picture in front of my eyes when my mother went back home not at all happy with the situation and threw her suitcase on the floor. It was the early hours of the evening and my father was sitting with one of our illiterate relatives drinking tea. When my father saw my mother he showered her with praise. My mother didn’t react as if saying: I don’t believe you. You are out to impress your illiterate relative only. However his relatives often swore that they kept contact with my father only because of my mother.
I think in a way my father was a victim of his own culture. It demanded from him to show people that he was master in his own house. I remember, short before my elder brother got married two women gave him a piece of advice about how to behave with his future wife. They told him: In the second week after your wedding you should show your wife two pieces of cloth, one green and the other red. First, show her the green piece and ask her: what colour is this? If she says green, say no it is red and insist until she agrees. Do the same with the other piece. When I asked why this game they said he must show her from the beginning who is master in his house otherwise she would ride him like a donkey.
My father and my elder brother often teased me by saying I was a foundling and my real father was a poor policeman. They said I was dumped when I was still a toddler somewhere outside our town. My mother and father together with my elder brother were picnicking when they found me. They felt pity for me and took me to their house. They often repeated this strange story and then when my father noticed I was upset he swore it was a joke. One day I was walking alone past a poor hut when I suddenly heard a female voice calling my name in a way as if she had always known me. I went towards the hut and saw a woman I had never seen before together with her husband. They invited me in and offered me a juice. I think the man was a policeman for I saw some kind of uniform inside.
To be continued
Jamshid
24 March 2008
My father came for a second visit during the summer vacation. It seemed that he had already made his decision to move to the south. There was now no hope for him to be transferred back. The question was what to do with our house: sell it or let it. My mother was not happy with the idea of moving house at all. She was now more self-confident and flatly refused: No, I am not going to move. My father was not used to arguing with my mother like that so he raised his big right hand and hit her in the face many times. My mother fell on the floor bleeding and burst into tears. My eldest brother threw himself between them so that my father would stop. I couldn’t bear any more watching my mother suffer like that. I turned to him for the first time and warned: The next time you hit her you will get into trouble with me. He turned in his typical angry way with his red eyes and hurled what came into his grip at me. I ran as fast as I could. I felt a strong pain in my eyes from the sudden shade-sunshine switch. It was the first time for me to think of hitting him.
After a while I saw my mother leaving with her suitcase and my brothers after her like a hen and her chickens. They shouted to me to follow them and we all went to her mother’s house or better her eldest full- brother’s. They comforted her and we went playing with their children. After three days just as my mother anticipated we had the impression we were not that welcome. My mother always said: fish and guests stink after three days. This was understandable because her brother had only two rooms for his wife, himself and their seven children. My father always said: Even if your relatives kill you, they will bury your bones.
One week later, my father’s step-father and his mother came to take my mother home. This was usually the custom. I still have the picture in front of my eyes when my mother went back home not at all happy with the situation and threw her suitcase on the floor. It was the early hours of the evening and my father was sitting with one of our illiterate relatives drinking tea. When my father saw my mother he showered her with praise. My mother didn’t react as if saying: I don’t believe you. You are out to impress your illiterate relative only. However his relatives often swore that they kept contact with my father only because of my mother.
I think in a way my father was a victim of his own culture. It demanded from him to show people that he was master in his own house. I remember, short before my elder brother got married two women gave him a piece of advice about how to behave with his future wife. They told him: In the second week after your wedding you should show your wife two pieces of cloth, one green and the other red. First, show her the green piece and ask her: what colour is this? If she says green, say no it is red and insist until she agrees. Do the same with the other piece. When I asked why this game they said he must show her from the beginning who is master in his house otherwise she would ride him like a donkey.
My father and my elder brother often teased me by saying I was a foundling and my real father was a poor policeman. They said I was dumped when I was still a toddler somewhere outside our town. My mother and father together with my elder brother were picnicking when they found me. They felt pity for me and took me to their house. They often repeated this strange story and then when my father noticed I was upset he swore it was a joke. One day I was walking alone past a poor hut when I suddenly heard a female voice calling my name in a way as if she had always known me. I went towards the hut and saw a woman I had never seen before together with her husband. They invited me in and offered me a juice. I think the man was a policeman for I saw some kind of uniform inside.
To be continued
Jamshid
24 March 2008
Last edited:
