Amina Is my Bouazizi

Today is a day of sorrow, today we stand all upon the grave of humanity. Picture humanity as a man struggling to move forward, but his legs keep moving while his hands and head are held back towards the opposite direction, chained to a wall he can’t beat. Screaming in an attempt to be heard, walking with his swollen feet dipped in thick water. Until he gives up and surrenders to death.

I am here today to say words Amina didn’t have enough time to say. I am here to scream with a louder voice, I am here to condemn the crime committed by society against that innocent soul. For those of you who are wondering who this Amina might be, I am here to tell you her tale.

In the small northern city of Larache lived a 15 years old little girl. One day, one sad, murky miserable day, probably while walking the streets of her town, or just running to get some groceries, no one really knows, a man who goes by the name of Mustafa filled with animosity and cruelty, enough to have no morals whatsoever… raped the little girl. However this not a typical rape story as they happen daily throughout the universe.
Let apart the emotional damage, the despair she must’ve felt, Amina and her mother had enough guts to go seek justice. Against the corrupted morals of the town’s men, including her own father. Sadly enough,life is no fairytale, at least not in Morocco. Justice (Ô Justice!) has sentenced, or help sentence ,the little girl to a life imprisonment with her rapist , against her own will by obliging her to marry him. All for a diaphanous sense of family honour. Agreed on by the court house, the family house and the mental house. Door after door kept slamming at the poor kid’s face, including the one of her own home. Beaten up by a husband that clearly appears as psychopath, mistreated by his people and rejected by her own. Our little Amina saw no light, found no other door to knock. At the age of 16, (Ô sweet sixteen) Amina poisoned herself to death.

Reading her story today, the world stopped spinning around me, no sun light could penetrate my corroded soul, no comforting words could appease the woes I was feeling. How could one be so monstrous? In an era when we only hear shouts defending human rights, papers standing up for children and women, presidential speeches and promises that guarantee a life with dignity as a major aspect! We all knew there was no fragment of truth in that, but we relentlessly seek something to believe in, that often we end up thinking that their words are holy revelations. Until of course , the days like today when we face the unbearable truth that we are more holy that they could ever be , and that they are very keen , shrewd people.
But then again who to blame? A corrupted system we all knew of but kept silent. A Specie we belong to but never represented, or a society we built but lost control of. Amina’s death is only one tiny aspect of the crimes we commit everyday. Standing there silent where such things happen daily in front of our eyes, around our families and kids is no less than accessory to murder.

Treating a rape victim, a minor, an innocent soul as a harlot is our court’s house latest prowess. Many people condemn the Islamic way of dealing with crimes (Al Houdoud, the limits), referring to it as criminal, monstrous, staggering. Henceforth something not worthy of the 21st century. I’ve never been one of those people , I strongly believe that if we applied the Muslim justice rules , which many people don’t know the details of nor the conditions under which they’re applied , I wouldn’t be hear witnessing this dismal reality. How could anyone approve of such an unfathomable judgement just a few days after the celebration of women throughout the country? Hypocrites is what we are, we celebrate merrily the Moroccan exception and act blind to its numerous flaws.

Bouazizi might’ve started a political revolution; But Amina has triggered the awakening of the long sleeping humanitarian in me. Thousands of girls like her are spread above our ground, most of them silenced by force and threat. While you guys are centered in finding Joseph Kony in the deep forests of Uganda, your kids are being stolen from you in your own land. I can sit here all day haranguing my despair, sobbing the death of what one day could be my daughter or my friend, it won’t change much. If we don’t do this together, if we don’t strife hard to change this Moroccan mentality we’re being trapped in we won’t reach far.

It’s good to bow in silence of our lost souls, but it is better to object louder the reason behind their loss.

I’ve never seen Amina, nor do I know what she looks like. However I ask the lord in reverence, the merciful to forgive her if she sinned and accept her in his promised heaven.

I know nothing about laws applied in this matter , nor do I have the position to discuss them. This blog remains a personal space where I share my vision of a perfect world.

The woman in you says Hi.

Dear man, Close your eyes for a second. Now let’s you and I venture deep into our imagination and try for a second to picture a world without our women. Scary thought isn’t it? I am actually dreading to ask about the image you saw. A huge deal of us would actually picture a morning without breakfast, an evening without sex, or perhaps a clump of wrinkled clothing. If you have done so, congratulations you are a cave man.

You wanna know what I see? I see nothing. I don’t see you I don’t see myself. We wouldn’t be here if it weren’t for a woman. We always talk about the evolution of men and women separately, and how women evolved lately but I never really grasp that point. Why did the woman have to start so late anyway? Sure Adam was created before Eve, but let’s face it he wasn’t going anywhere… At least not until she came.

So someone, whoever this person was chose the 8th of March as a day to celebrate the women all over the globe, I thought it would be nice to use that day to talk about women. Now I don’t know how we came to believe that a woman was simply a sex machine, a baby maker, a house keeper and nothing more. Back in the days a camel was considered wealth while she was treated as a slave or an object. But above that who gave us, men, the status or the power to be judge of that? I’m guessing you’ve sensed it by now, I was raised feminist by this wonderful woman I like to call mother. Seeing her everyday since I was a little kid taking care of a house of mischievous children, stubborn husband with the same passion, smile and dedication fills me with awe. She thought me what it is to respect a lady, she showed without being aware of it how a woman is ten times stronger that a man is in situations that require calm, faith or patience. Doing what I do, I personally think that just for the act of birth we should be their slaves forever. No man would be able to tolerate what they go through voluntarily.And trust me it is no exaggeration

I owe so much to women because I was fostered by two. In the figure of my mother and my sister. The latter did teach me a bunch of stuff as well. She thought me how to shave since my dad wasn’t really the kind of guy to have these kinds of talks. She thought me how to swear, how to talk to girls. Of course I got better at those by myself later on but the basis was all them. I remember when I was 13 or 14 years of age and my sister was a teenager, three years older than me at the time, and she would come home sometimes sad, because of a breakup or if she wasn’t allowed to go out to meet her friends, and I hated seeing her that way, so I always tried to cheer her up by any mean I could. But what I do really remember is that I promised myself I wasn’t going to grow to be this man who breaks up hearts or treats women badly. They are very brittle but really good at hiding it.

I remember a funny sentence I read a few days back that said “In Morocco, we have a day for women but a whole week for horses”. That is true to some extent however this day as I see it is an opportunity to speak about our women not really celebrate. You really want to celebrate a woman? You want to thank your mother for the years of hard labour she put on you? Your wife for the support she’s giving you? If you are really serious about this you probably are aware that one day isn’t enough at all. Our ladies are shrewd creatures, very savvy. You can’t fool them with one day.

You want to give back the love? Cook lunch a couple of days a week. Let her sleep the weekend and give her a breakfast in bed. Help her do the dishes to preserve those hands that look after you. Be supportive when she needs you to be and not judgemental. Do listen actually when talks cause she only does when she really needs to. I know women tend to talk a lot but when they really want you to listen they let you know. Otherwise they don’t require your permission nor your attention and they don’t always care if you listen or not. It is small gestures that can modify a lot in your life. You truly love a woman she’ll love you back twice as hard. And it won’t make you girly and even you feel like it does you can’t really deny that we all have a women within. As gay as this may sound but scientifically there is no XY without an X.

Dear man, dear I… the last wish of our prophet (PUBH) was to take care of our women. If you don’t honour it for all the reasons I’ve said above, just do it for that.
Ladies, if anything this day should be the day when we apologize for our mistakes towards you. So I’m sorry if I once hurt you , I’m sorry if I once judged you , I’m sorry if I ignored you when you needed to be heard , I’m sorry for the crap I will probably do in the future I’m sorry for being a typical guy.

Happy woman’s Day !