A Woman Is No Man

by Etaf Rum

Isra would lay in bed and wonder what it would be like to fall in love, to be loved in return. She could imagine the man, even if she couldn’t see his face. He would build her a library with all her favorite stories and poetry. They would read by the window every night—Rumi, Hafez, and Gibran. She would tell him about her dreams, and he would listen. She would brew mint chai for him in the mornings and simmer homemade soups in the evenings. They would take walks in the mountains, hand in hand, and she would feel, for the first time in her life, worthy of another person’s love. Look at Isra and her husband, people would say. A love you only see in fairy tales. Isra cleared her throat. “But Mama, what about love?” Mama glared at her through the steam. “What about it?” “I’ve always wanted to fall in love.” “Fall in love? What are you saying? Did I raise a sharmouta?”

Isra hesitated. “But what if the suitor and I don’t love each other?” “Love each other? What does love have to do with marriage? You think your father and I love each other?” Isra’s eyes shifted to the ground. “I thought you must, a little.” Mama sighed. “Soon you’ll learn that there’s no room for love in a woman’s life. There’s only one thing you’ll need, and that’s sabr, patience.”

Oof

“Do you think maybe women have more respect in America?” Mama fixed her with a glare. “Respect?” “Or maybe worth? I don’t know.” Mama set the stirring spoon down. “Listen to me, daughter. No matter how far away from Palestine you go, a woman will always be a woman. Here or there. Location will not change her naseeb, her destiny.”

“I have no idea where they went,” Fareeda said. “Boys are a handful, going and coming as they please. They’re not like girls. You can’t control them.” She handed Isra a stack of plates. “I’m sure you know—you have brothers.” Isra smiled weakly. “I do.”