“But Daddy I Love Him” by Amira Sheikh

 

What can you do if you fall in love with a person with whom you can start a life only when your life is about to end? What can you do when your heart doesn’t understand the language of law and justice? What can you do if the love of your life is a criminal? Well not just because he stole my heart, but because he was accused of being involved in a murder and looting a bank or two.
My father, Lieutenant Fredrick Carter was the head of the maximum security prison after serving 8 years in the military. He always made me build interest in his work and trained me like I was one of the soldiers in his army. His apathy and harsh nature towards me always reminded me that I was not his son.
I was 25 when my dad took me to his work place, prison. That was when I met him.
On the 2nd floor, outside cell number 134, behind the bars, I studied the face of a man in his late forties, dressed shabbily in a dark blue prison jump suit, a heavy, built figure and anxious grey eyes. His toned arms hardly visible behind the scary tattoos. He looked at me and smiled. That was it. I guess this is why they called him a killer. He was beautiful, or maybe my aesthetic sense didn’t know it’s boundaries.
I started meeting him every week. After a few weeks I met him almost every day. My dad was happy about me being so dedicated to his work. I told him about my life and he told me about his. I was a skeptic when he told me about why he was a prisoner. After knowing his story and what he had been through, for me he was innocent and even if he wasn’t, he was a better person now and imprisonment for twenty years wasn’t the right punishment for him. I was ready to do anything to get him out of there. Even if it was against the law.
I helped him plan a prison break, or let’s say he helped me plan the prison break. As I knew each and every corner of the prison and I was an astute observer, I decided the time, the day and how will it happen. I had my access to the main power room. I told the officers I was making an observation about how everything is controlled there and I asked them to tell me about the main power source. They gave me the smallest details about all the buzzers and switches and also told me about the main lever which when pulled down, there will be a black out and all the bars and gates will be unlocked automatically.
One night after 12, when most of the guards are off duty, I reached the main power room, held my breath and with the image of his grey eyes and crooked smirk in my eyes, I fearlessly pulled down that lever. Within a split of a second everything was dark and I could hear the convicts yelling and fighting. With a flash light in my hand, I ran to the second floor, entered his cell quickly, held his tight wrists and ran towards the last exit gate which led us to the forest. My heart pounding, my legs shivering and my mind telling me to stop. It was 2 in the morning and I was in the dark forest running with an escaped prisoner who broke out of the maximum security prison with the help of the daughter of the owner of the prison. Love surely is unconditional.
We ran for two hours after which we finally sat under a huge tree as it seemed like we were in the safe zone. I rested my head on his stone hard chest and we both fell asleep. It was the first time I was this close to the person I love, without any iron bars separating us. I could touch him, I could feel his heart beat, I could hear him breathe but only if I knew that it was the last time, I wouldn’t spend that transient moment sleeping.
We woke up with the sound of choppers right above our heads, surrounded by my dad and various other officers pointing guns towards us. As we tried to move we could see and hear bullets in the air. He caught my neck with his left arm and his other arm grabbed my stomach. “Let her go at the count of three!” My dad commanded.
-1-2-3-
The sound of me yelling, “But Daddy I love him!” was suppressed under the noise of the gun-shot which went straight through the middle of his head.

Revolution by Amira Sheikh

By Amira Sheikh

For the first time in the twenty-nine years of my existence, I could taste freedom in the air that I was breathing. In fact, I could exhale without any hesitation.

As I set the rear-view mirror, I saw the reflection of a presumptuous face. At least for that moment I wasn’t the single burden to my family, the loner who can never spend her life with the non-muslim she fell in love with as her religion doesn’t allow that. I let all these thoughts slip away as I tightened my fingers to the steering wheel and accelerated the speed-o-meter along with my heart-beat. I could even feel the blood in my veins rushing and chanting, I could hear my hair weep under the darkness so I fearlessly untied my hijab with my other hand and let my hair breathe for the first time under the open sky. Yes I profaned almost all my norms that dawn, but I could feel it’s proximity to heaven.

I ignored my cell phone flashing against the dashboard every five seconds as I knew it was either my ferocious dad or my brothers, probably with daggers in their pockets waiting for me to be back home so they can bury me alive. But I knew where I was going to end up that day. Yes, I was the profaned muslim woman, without her hijab, driving her brother’s Mustang on the mirage-filled roads of Riyadh, Saudi Arabia. I was one of those very few partisans in my country who want to renounce the fact that us Saudi women can never know what it feels like to give life to a car engine, drive alone to malls, drift in the desert sands, follow and learn the traffic rules and do all that we watch our brothers doing with longing eyes and gasping with amazement under our hijabs. We dreamt day and night about this revolution.

I smiled carelessly as I pulled over on the highway and handed my I.D card to the police-officer. I could hear my family yell, I could hear them abuse but I was busy savouring the taste of the last few seconds of that very temporary freedom. Hand-cuffed but I was proud as I somehow managed to fulfill my precluded dream.

Secret by Amira Sheikh

By Amira Sheikh

Her mother’s lost smile was back which she longed for
Her brother’s grades now wouldn’t be low,
She bought this happiness which now knocked on their door.
But the price she paid for it, they would never know.

Six months ago when her dad took his last breath
Their rents and bills were due, they cried for bread.
While wiping her mum’s tears, she saw in her shelf,
A pair of her bright red heels, and asked to herself:

‘If it’s money in which my mum’s tears can be soaked,
Being a woman, I surely know the easiest way to earn it.’
Starvation and cries were by what she was provoked,
She thought her dignity was worth it.

Dressed up, makeup on, she would leave at night,
A daughter for whom the dark was a fright.
Her mum thought she got a job at the call centre,
For which daily wages were paid by the mentor.

Self-esteem, character, a lot she lost, to her own self she was a disgrace,
The price she paid for her mum’s smile was her cloaked secret.
Now she looks at the mirror, degraded and can’t face,
The exploited reflection of a mere harlot.