Hope and Heartache

After arriving in Yemen on April 12, 2006 and discovering that Ahmed was even meaner than he was before, I tried to stick it out. But after the end of the first week, I had had enough of him hitting, slapping, kicking, punching, pinching, andscreaming at my children. I believe that any mother who cares about her children could not stand by and watch what I watched him do to my children. After the end of the first week, I demanded that we leave Yemen and return to America.

Before I tell you how that conversation went, I first want to share some of what I saw and endured, but I understand that no words can describe the horrors that are now burned into my mind. But, I have to try. There were so many incidents, but I’ll just share a few here.

Ahmed treated me badly, which didn’t bother me too much because I went there so that he could see the kids and they could see him. He constantly blamed me for his time spent in jail. See, his original conviction was a conviction for domestic violence. When he was arrested in Oct. 2001 but the Dept of Homeland Security, the initial charge was that he was going to be deported because he had a DV conviction and a conviction for violating a protection order.

He had hit me so many times, starting right after we married, and I kept telling him that I would not tolerate being someone’s punching bag. He didn’t get it. I told him over and over and over again that, in AMERICA, it was against the law to hit a woman. He didn’t understand or he didn’t care, I don’t know which. I left twice and went to battered women’s shelters, but with no money, I had no place to go. The shelters permitted me to stay for 30 days, but the waiting list for housing assistance was 2 years long. After 30 days, I got kicked out, regardless of whether or not I had a place to go. Since I didn’t have anywhere to go, I went back home to live with Ahmed.

One day in December 1998, however, we went to the mall to look at buying a treadmill since I had gained a lot of weight from my pregnancy with my second child, and I had my own money to be able to buy one. While we were in Sears, I chose the one I wanted. He didn’t want to be there, and he was impatient and angry. When the salesman went into the back room to see if he had that one in stock, I saw another one with more features that was the same price. So when the salesman came back to the floor, I told him, “I think I’d like this one instead”. He said he would have to go into the back and make sure they had it in stock. When he left, Ahmed freaked out. He grabbed me by my hair and said, “What’s wrong with you? You already chose one. You’re selfish, and you’re bothering people and you’re embarrassing me. We’re leaving! You will NOT get a treadmill”.

After countless fights with Ahmed, I had already learned not to fight back because it was always days of heartache with no chance of winning. So I just turned around and walked out of the mall and got into the car. He soon followed with the stroller and the two girls, and he put the girls in the back seat. He then got into the drivers seat, but wouldn’t turn on the car. Instead, he started screaming in my face, telling me what a horrible woman I was, how selfish I was, how much I bothered people and embarassed him, how he couldn’t take me anywhere, etc. He was screaming so loudly, and the girls were crying. Unfortunately, the girls had already seen too many episodes of his anger and knew that this was going to end up with him hitting their mother. My oldest daughter was always standing up against him to protect me, even though she KNEW that that would get her hit, as well. I wish to God I had found a way to leave and get away from him with my children early on, but I didn’t. And this is how the story went.

I can’t stand to hear my children cry, so I kept calm and just kept telling him, “Shut up, Ahmed”. He continued his tantrum and his screaming. Several times I interjected and said, “Shut up Ahmed!”. He got angrier and told me “How dare you speak to me like that? Do you know that, in India (his whole family is originally from India & Pakistan), women bow down and kiss their husband’s feet every morning so they can remember their place? And you DARE speak to me like that?” After he continued on and on, I had had enough - the kids were hysterical now - and I screamed, “SHUT THE FUCK UP!”.

That was it. He lost it. He grabbed my face with both hands and left 10 red welts down my face. He grabbed my coat and twisted it, trying to choke me with it around the neck. I grabbed the door handle, trying to get out of the car, but he pulled the twisted neck of my coat tighter, hit me in the face, then reached over to keep the door locked so I couldn’t get out. I was losing my breath, and I struggled harder. I finally got the door open and fell out onto the pavement. I ran back into the mall.

I was breathing hard and crying, and I ran into a policeman standing near the front door of the mall. He stopped me and asked me what was wrong. I told him my husband had hit me. He told me to come back to his office, so I did. In the office, he asked me what had happened, and I told him. He said, “Do you want to press charges?” I said, “No. I just wish I cold find another place to stay”. He said, “Well, there are red marks all over your face and neck, and I am required by law to press charges.”

When Ahmed came back into the mall looking for me, the police found him and handcuffed him on the spot. They brought him back into the office where I was sitting, and he started yelling at me, telling me “What lies have you told them? I didn’t do anything to you, you ungrateful bitch!”. Because he was so angry and hostile, the police told him to be quiet and promptly removed him from the room and took him straight to jail.

I was horrified, because I felt so guilty. Looking back on it, I realize how stupid I was, but at the time, all I could think of was how much angrier he was going to be when he got out and how this might ruin his chances of finding his dream life in America, which was his main goal. So I took the girls and went home.

He called me from jail and was so very, very angry. He told me that he was going to make me pay for what I had done. He told me time and time again how he didn’t do anything wrong and I was such a bitch to do this to him for no reason, etc. He told me to go talk to the judge and the prosecutor and “fix what you’ve done”. I was scared, so I left the house and went to a shelter, because I didn’t want to be there to take his wrath when he got out the next day.

After my 30 days were up at the shelter, I went back home, as I explained earlier. He told me to get the charges dropped. So I made an appointment with the prosecutor and went to see him and asked him to drop the charges. He refused. I then went and talked with the judge and asked the same thing. She refused. Court day came, and I stood beside him in front of the judge and tried to tell the judge that it was all a misunderstanding, and that he just didn’t know better since he came from a country where that behavior is normal. They didn’t buy it, and he was convicted and got a suspended sentence. It was over. Or so we thought.

So anyway, back to being in Yemen. Because I knew how mean he used to be, I was used to handling his anger and his violence. But what I couldn’t handle was his anger and violence directed at my children - the same kids he hadn’t seen in 4 years.

When he refused to honor any of the promises that he had made to my kids, my oldest daughter went to him one day and said, “You’re supposed to be a man of your word. You lied”. He could not tolerate his child speaking to him like that, and he quickly grabbed her and punched her down onto the ground. I went to grab her and get her away from him, but he picked her up by one arm and put her in the guest room. I followed. In the room, he shut the door so the rest of his family wouldn’t see him (he only hits behind closed doors where no one can see what he does). When he was in jail, he spent 4 years lifting weights, and his biceps were HUGE. He had my daughter on the floor and was bent over top of her with both fists closed and was just pummeling her furiously with both fists. He was punching her so hard, the sound of those landed punches is completely indescribable. I jumped on his back to try to get him off of her. She was screaming, “I HATE YOU! I HATE YOU!” at the top of her lungs with her eyes full of tears, but trying so hard not to let him see her cry. That made him angrier, and he hit her faster and harder. I feared he was going to kill her right then - right there. I jumped on his back and grabbed his neck, trying to pry him off of her, and he flipped around, grabbed me by the neck, and threw me against the far wall with the one hand grasping my neck. Ihit the wall and fell down, and he jumped up, grabbed me by the hair, opened the door and threw me out of the room, shut the door and locked it. Inside, I could hear those god-awful fists pounding my daughter and my daughter was screaming, “MAMA! MAMA! MAA-MAAAAH!” and I couldn’t get to her. He had the door locked, and all I could do was stand outside the door and listen to my children get pummelled by a man who was 4 times her size, screaming for my help, while I coldn’t help her. Let me just say this, NO CHILD SHOULD EVER HAVE TO GO THROUGH ANYTHING LIKE THIS! No child deserves that, and no mother could possibly stand by and let it happen.

He continued punching her in that room until he tired himself out. I don’t know how long it took, but it seemed like an eternity. Then he opened the door and came out, but shut it behind him, leaving my daughter to sit in there and cry, uncomforted, all by herself. She kept trying to come out, and he’d step in and hit her some more and tell her to “STAY IN HERE BY YOURSELF AND THINK ABOUT HOW BAD YOU ARE!” He guarded the door so I couldn’t get in to hold her and help her or see how badly she was hurt.

After it was all over, the rest of his family members came down to see what all the noise was about. I told them what he had done. He stood there, in front of them all, and said to them, “I swear by Allah that I never touched them. She’s a liar”. He told them my daughter was being bad and wouldn’t let them go into the room to see my daughter. For some odd reason that I’ll never understand, they never stand up to Ahmed. They all just obey him and treat him like he’s a God. They purposefully try to just do what he ways and never make him angry. I know now that that’s why he loves them so much and hates us. He needs total control and total awe and respect, and he cannot tolerate anyone who doesn’t give that to him all the time. His family does that. In their eyes, Ahmed can do nothing wrong.

So this is the kicker - after Ahmed told them that he hadn’t done anything, his brother said to me, “We know Ahmed would never hit anyone. You need to go away and calm down. Ahmed didn’t do anything”. I just stood there, totally stunned.

Incidences like this happened every day, all day, whenever he was home. I won’t describe anymore, but there is one more incident which deserves mention.

Ahmed went to work every morning at 8 am, and he came home at 1 pm. While he was gone, my kids and I took the opportunity to play and have fun together, which was NOT allowed when he was home. One day, we were in the middle of a game of hide-and-seek when the front gate clicked, indicating that someone was coming home. My 5-year-old son was laughing and playing hard, enjoying the chance to play hide-and-seek when all of a sudden, he stood up and got the most horrified expression on his face. His eyes got as large as golfballs, and he stood there, just totally terror-stricken. I had not heard the gate click, because we were busy playing, but he had heard it. It was such a dramatic change - one second laughing and playing so excitedly, and the next minute, standing there looking as if he had just been stabbed.

I said, “What’s wrong? What is it?” He was trembling, and he said, “Baba’s home. I gotta go hide”, and he immediately ran and hid under the bed. (Baba is Arabic for “dad”). I stood there in that moment and the full realization of Ahmed’s behavior on my children hit me dead in the face. A precious, exuberant, lively, smart little 5-year-old boy, weighing only 30 pounds, was so terror-stricken by the thought of his father coming home. I knew what I had to do. I had to get my kids away from their father. I wasn’t going to wait untilt he end of the summer, as we had planned to do.

I told Ahmed that we were going to take our return tickets and go home. That’s when the real nightmare began….