A Woman Is No Man

by Etaf Rum

It was a girl. Isra held her baby daughter in her arms for the first time—she stroked the softness of her skin, placed her against her chest. Her heart swelled. I’m a mother now, she thought. I’m a mother. When, at last, they entered the room, Fareeda and Adam locked their eyes on the ground and murmured a quiet “Mabrouk.” Isra wished Adam would say something to comfort her or show excitement. “Just what we need,” Fareeda said, shaking her head. “A girl.” “Not now, Mother,” Adam said. He passed Isra an apologetic look. “What?” Fareeda said. “It’s true. As if we need another balwa, as if we don’t have enough troubles.” Isra felt a jolt at the word. She could almost hear Mama’s voice ringing in her ears. Mama had often called Isra a balwa—a dilemma, a burden. Any lingering hope that America would be better than Palestine fell away at that moment. A woman would always be a woman. Mama was right. It was as true for her daughter as it had been for Isra. The loneliness of this reality seemed to leach out of the white hospital floor and walls into her. “Please, Mother,” Adam said. “There’s nothing we can do about it now.” “Easy for you to say. Do you know how hard it is to raise a girl in this country? Do you? Soon you’ll be pulling your hair out! You need a son to help you. To carry on our name.” She was crying now, a deep sucking sound coming from her mouth, and the nurse handed her a box of tissues. “Congratulations,” said the nurse, mistaking Fareeda’s tears for happiness. “W...