娃娃新娘 － 三毛
The Child Bride - San Mao

I first met Guka around this time last year, she and her family live in a big house near my small apartment. She’s the oldest daughter of Handi, a police officer. Back then, Guka combed her hair into thick braids, and wore long flowing African dresses while barefoot, not wrapped in cloths or a veil. I often heard her outside, calling out to her goats in a clear and lively voice. She seemed like a happy little girl.

Later she would come to study with me. When I asked her how old she was, she told me “You have to ask Handi, us Sahrawi women don’t know how old we are.” She and her brothers and sisters never called Handi ‘daddy,’ they simply called him by name. Handi told me she was ten, asking me at the same time “You’re around the same age, right? You and Guka get along so well.” I couldn’t answer this absurd question, I just forced myself to smile.

Over the next six months I became close friends with Handi’s family, and we’d meet for tea nearly every day. One day I was having tea with Handi and his wife, Gebai. Handi suddenly declared “Our daughter will get married soon. Please tell her, when you can spare the time.” I swallowed my tea, and with difficulty asked “You mean Guka?” He said “Yes, she’ll get married ten day after Ramadan.” Ramadan is Islam’s Holy Month, and it was just about to begin.

 I drank some tea silently, and couldn’t help but ask “Don’t you think Guka is still too young? She’s only ten.” Handi very casually replied “Too young? My wife was married to me when she was only eight.” I reminded myself that this was Sahrawi custom, I shouldn’t be too judgmental and criticize this sort of thing, so I didn’t say a word. “Please tell this to Guka, she still doesn’t know,” Guka’s mother requested. “Why don’t you tell her?” I asked, amazed. “This sort of thing shouldn’t be too direct,” Handi answered, condescendingly. The two of them can be so arrogant.

The next day after math class, I had Guka stay behind, asking her to light a charcoal fire to boil some tea. “Guka, this time it’s your turn,” I told her, as I handed her some tea. “What?” she asked. She didn’t understand. “Silly girl, you’re getting married,” I said, directly. Her face flashed red with obvious surprise. With a small voice she asked “When?” I told her “Ten days after Ramadan, do you know with whom it might be?” She shook her head, put down her teacup, and said nothing. That was the first time I had ever seen her look upset.

A few days passed, and as I was buying a few things in town, I ran into Guka’s older brother and another youth. He introduced us. “Abudi is a policeman, working under Handi. He’s my friend, and he’s also going to be Guka’s husband.” When I heard that this was Guka’s future husband, I looked him over. Abudi wasn’t too dark, he was tall and handsome, he spoke politely, his gaze was gentle, and he gave a very good first impression. When I got back I searched out Guka and told her “Don’t worry! Your future husband is Abudi. He’s young and attractive, not rough or crude. Handi chose well for you.” Guka heard what I said and lowered her head shyly. But from the look in her eyes, it seemed she had already accepted that the marriage was going to happen.

According to Sahrawi custom, the dowry when a daughter married was a huge transaction. Before they didn’t use money in the desert, so the bride’s family expected flocks of sheep, camels, rolls of cloth, slaves, flour, sugar, tea, and those sorts of things. Now it’s civilized some, and while they still maintain the same basic concept, money has become the replacement. The day Guka’s dowry came, my husband José was invited to come for tea - I’m a woman, so I stayed at home. In less than an hour, José came back and told me “Abudi gave Handi two hundred thousand Spanish pesos. I didn’t realize Guka was worth so much!” (Two hundred thousand pesos was worth more than one hundred thirty thousand Taiwan Dollars ) “That’s nothing more than human trafficking!” I stated flatly. At the same time, deep down, I was a little jealous of Guka - when I got married, my parents didn’t receive so much as a lamb.

During this month, Guka’s clothing changed. Handi bought many new clothes for her, not in black, but in a drab blue. Because the clothes were dyed so poorly, the color all came off onto her skin. Guka wrapped herself entirely in these deep blue clothes, it gave an other-worldly atmosphere. Although she was still barefoot, she wore a pair of anklets made from gold and silver. She started to do up her hair, and she used a pungent home-made perfume to muddle the scent from not bathing throughout the year – it all made her seem like a genuine Sahrawi Woman.

On the last day of Ramadan, Handi took two of his sons to get circumcised, and of course I ran over to see what was happening - Guka was very rarely leaving the house. I went inside to have a look, but the carpets were still dirty, and the only things new were Guka’s clothes. I asked her “After you get married, what will you take with you? There’s no pan and there’s no oven!” She said “I won’t leave, Handi will still have me live here.” I was surprised, and asked “What about your husband?” She told me, “He’ll also come to live here.” I really was jealous. “How long can you live here?” I asked. “The custom is, up to six years.” No wonder Handi wanted such a large dowry, the son-in-law would be living at their house!

The day before Guka was to get married, the bridegroom’s side of the family came. I gave an imitation-jade bracelet to Guka as a gift. It was something she had always wanted from me. The evening before she was to get married, Guka’s auntie came. She was a very old Sahrawi Woman. Guka sat before her and was made up for the wedding. Her hair was twisted into thirty or forty thin braids, and a small wig was place on top, something like a traditional Chinese palace maid. A small colored bead was attached to each braid, but there was no make-up for her face. When her hair was finished, Guka’s mother brought in some new clothes. There were many folds and creases when Guka put them on, and her mother just used a black cloth to tie it all up. It made Guka’s fat figure look even fatter. “So fat!” I gasped out loud. Her auntie answered me “Fat is beautiful, that’s what we want.” Guka quietly sat down in her big pile of clothing. Her face was beautiful, and the beads in her hair gave a brilliant color to the dark room.

“All right then, let’s go!” Guka’s auntie and other relatives took her outside. She would stay at her auntie’s house for the night, and then return the next day. I suddenly thought of something - wow, Guka didn’t take a bath, not even for her own wedding?

On the day of the wedding, Handi’s house was partially transformed. The filthy grass mats were nowhere to be seen, the goats had been chased out, and there was a slaughtered camel by the front gate. In the main hall was spread out a number of red Arabic carpets, and most interesting of all was that in the corner of the room was a big sheepskin drum, it looked like it was at least a hundred years old.

 As dusk came, and the sun set below the horizon, the vast Saharan desert was dyed blood-red. The beating from the drum started. It sounded mysterious but monotonous, droning on loudly. If I hadn’t known about the wedding in advance, the mysterious rhythm would actually be somewhat scary. I put on my sweater as I walked over to Handi’s house, fantasizing that I was entering into ‘A Tale of Arabian Nights.’

The ambiance was terrible as I entered the house. A group of Sahrawi People were sitting in the main hall, all of them smoking. The air was disgusting. Abudi was pressed inside this group. If I hadn’t seen him before I never would have thought he was the groom. In the corner of the room sat a woman as black as charcoal, she was the only woman sitting with the men. She didn’t have any head covering, and a black cloth was draped over her shoulders. Her head was facing upwards, and she was absorbed in beating on the drum. She would often stand up and rock her body, then scream out in a high-pitched, primitive voice. It was reminiscent of an American Indian. She was the most remarkable person in the room. “Who is she?” I asked Guka’s older brother. “She’s a neighborhood slave my grandmother borrowed. She’s famous for playing the drums.” “She’s really an amazing slave,” I cried out, in admiration.

At this time three old women came in and sat down, and started singing along to the beat. Their singing was in a drone, and the melody sounded like crying. All the men started to clap along. Because I’m a woman, I could only look at all this from outside the window, all the younger women were pressed up outside. Their faces were covered, and only their beautiful eyes could be seen. Two hours passed quickly. The sky was already black, the sound of the drums was still the same, and the clapping was still to the same melody. I asked Guka’s mother, “How long will this go on for?” She told me “It’s still early. You should go get some sleep.” I asked Guka’s younger sister to come wake me before the bride was to be given away.

At three in the morning the desert is calm, but cold. Guka’s older brother and José were in the alleyway, talking about cameras. I pulled on an overcoat and came outside. Guka’s brother casually asked, “Oh, will she come too?” I immediately demanded I be allowed to join them, and was finally permitted. Women never have any say over here.

The street that we lived on was covered in Jeeps, both new and old. Because we had some prestige amongst Handi’s friends and family, we were allowed in the car that went to go fetch the bride. This long line of cars would then drive around honking their horns, and the men would all yell out towards Guka’s auntie’s house.

It’s said that in the past the custom was to ride a camel and fire a gun, and then go into the tent to fetch the bride. In modern times, the Jeep has replaced the camel, and honking the horn has replaced firing off blanks, but all the loud noise and commotion is the same. The most infuriating thing about the custom was that as soon as Abudi got out of his car, a group of young people burst into Guka’s room. Without even a greeting, they seized her arm and dragged her outside. Everybody laughed, but Guka kept her head down and struggled against them. She’s quite fat, so Abudi’s friends helped pull her out. This made her start to cry. I didn’t know if the tears were real or not, but looking at this rough gang of youth forcing her outside upset me greatly. I bit into my lip as I looked on, it all made me so upset.

When Guka had been pulled past the door, she stretched out her hand at Abudi’s face to scratch at it, leaving long lines of red blood. Abudi didn’t back down, he grabbed her hand and twisted it away. Suddenly everything was silent, and only Guka’s occasional gasps of tears unsettled the silence of the night.

 As they fought, Guka was still being dragged to the side of the Jeep. I was so worried, I yelled out to Guka in a loud voice “Silly girl, just get in the car, don’t fight it!” Guka’s older brother smiled and told me “Don’t worry, this is the local custom. If there’s no struggle, other people would laugh. This sort of scene is the mark of a good woman. If she didn’t struggle, it would be like they weren’t really getting married.” I sighed. He continued.

“Later in the bridal chamber she’ll have to cry out and scream. You’ll see, it’s remarkable.” It really is remarkable, but I don’t like this traditional style of marriage.

We finally returned to Guka’s house, it was already five in the morning. Handi had slinked off, but Guka’s mother, siblings, and friends still hadn’t gone to sleep yet. I sat with Guka’s and Abudi’s friends in the big hall, and started drinking tea and eating the camel meat. Guka had been sent to the small room off to the side, and was sitting there by herself.

After eating a little, the sound of the drum came again, and the male guests started clapping. I hadn’t slept all night and was very tired, but I couldn’t bring myself to leave. “San Mao, go back home and get some sleep. I’ll come and get you later,” José told me. I thought about it, but the wedding ceremony hadn’t reached its climax yet, so I didn’t go.

 There was singing and clapping until the break of day. Then I saw Abudi stand up, and as soon as he got up, the drumming suddenly stopped. Everybody looked at him, and his friends started teasing him.

As we waited for Abudi to go to Guka’s room, I started to worry and feel extremely uncomfortable. I thought back towards what Guka’s brother had said “In the bridal chamber she’ll have to cry out and scream.” I thought that all of us waiting outside, including me, were the worst sort of people, all letting this happen just because of the excuse of local customs.

Long after Abudi pulled back the cloth covering to the door and entered her room, I was sitting and daydreaming, thinking we were in a different century. I heard Guka yell “Ah!” and cry out in pain, and then there was no sound at all. Although the custom is for the woman to shout out, this shout sounded painful, sounded real, sounded hopeless and sad. I sat there quietly, my eyes starting to moisten. “Think about it, how is it possible for a ten year old girl to go through this, it’s so cruel!” I told José, angrily. He raised his head towards the ceiling, and didn’t say anything. We were the only foreigners there.

When Abudi brought out the blood-stained sheets, his friends all started to yell out and celebrate. The sound was hard for me to reconcile. From their point of view, it was expected to violently take a woman’s virginity by force, on the night of the marriage. I found this perspective sad and ridiculous. I stood up and walked out without even looking at them.

 The marriage celebrations went on for six days. Every night starting at five, guests would come to Handi’s house to eat and drink. People would sing and play the drums until past midnight.

Because every day it was all the same, I didn’t come again. On the final day, Handi’s other daughter came to speak to me, she asked “Guka is looking for you, why haven’t you come?” I changed my clothes and went to see Guka.

For the celebrations, Guka was kept apart from the others, in the small room. Guests weren’t allowed to see her, without exception, and only her husband could enter. But I was a foreigner, so when I went to Guka’s house I ignored the custom, pulled back the curtain, and entered her room.

Inside, the room was dark, and the air smelled rancid. Guka sat in the corner, on a pile of mats. She was very glad to see me, and climbed up to kiss me on my cheeks, telling me “San Mao, you can’t leave me.”

“I won’t go” I told her, “Let me just go get some things for you to eat.” I ran out and brought back some meat for her to nibble on.

“San Mao, do you think I’ll have a child soon?” she asked, in her clear voice.

 I didn’t know how to answer her. I saw that her previously plump face had become thin over these past five days, and her eyes had sunk. My heart shuddered, and I just looked at her stupidly.

 “Can you give me some medicine? The sort of medicine where you won’t have children?” she requested, in a hurried, quiet voice. I looked at her, and she was still that ten year old girl to me, with a ten year old girl’s face.

“Yes, I’ll give you some, don’t worry, this will be a secret just between the two of us.” I slapped the back of her hand. “Now go get some sleep. Your wedding’s over.”