Why Do You Blame Me?

Why Do You Blame the Cripple?

I grew up a cripple. I didn’t have the legs to walk with. Boys of my age engaged in all sorts of activities that were available to them in a remote village of northern Afghanistan. I am Gulu but I am called the cripple. Not just a cripple but the little cripple. I tried to match the neighbor boys in every single game they were playing. I was good but I could not match them. As I was growing up, everyone could easily see that I lacked legs or that my legs were too tiny to be called proper legs. For me, they were proper legs. I could feel them. They even had hairs on them. I could also move them a bit. As time passed, I learned and did most of the things others could learn and do. I learned how to climb a tree or a wall. Everyone could see my tiny little legs and make fun of them but what they—well, most of them—failed to notice was what hanged between the legs. In fact, I was bestowed with one of the largest. That thing had its own desires. Those desires were stronger than the desire to walk or not be called a cripple. Soon I learned how to please it with my own hands but it wanted more than that. It wanted that for which it was made in the first place. You know exactly what I am talking about. Don’t you? No women believed I had one let alone desiring it for I had achieved the untouchable status. At least in the sight of girls who were constantly reminded of my rude behavior and cautioned against maintaining any relationship with me. As far as I remember I haven’t been rude to any woman in my entire life or to a man for that matter. I never cared about why things were the way they were. What I really cared about was to please that monster of a thing of which and of whose desires no one else knew or even cared to know. After a while and after numerous failed attempts I found, thanks to a few villagers, an alternative to that which women had. I learned to my surprise that donkeys also have sexual organs and that they can be trained to remain silent. Actually, I saw a few notable men of the village having sex with donkeys and sometimes with female dogs too. It was very pleasurable in the beginning but I thought it would be way more pleasurable with a woman even though I lacked the experience. Life went on and I got used to my limitations.

I turned 18 when the civil war broke out. Ours was a very conservative society where men always dominated women. Girls didn’t go out of their houses for it was considered inappropriate. I, on the other hand, had access to almost every neighbor’s house because I was a cripple. And off course, they didn’t know I had a weapon that could pose serious threats to the chastity of their girls. We had a neighbor whose daughter secretly indulged boys of my age. She was called Naghma. Naghma had secret affairs with five boys or maybe I knew only five of them. Having affairs with boys for a girl in a society such as the one we lived in almost equaled a certain death both for the boy and the girl. I knew that and I took advantage of that. I threatened her that I will blow the whistle knowing that no one would believe me but I also knew that she will fear the consequences. She did and I finally reserved a moment of intimacy with a girl. It felt so good. In fact, she stopped allowing those five boys that I knew of after experiencing me. Those boys were as smart as me and soon they started threatening her too for blowing the whistle. So, we all got to enjoy her separately. Naghma had admitted to me on a number of occasions that she enjoyed me the most and allowed the other boys just to please them so that they will not expose her. The enjoyment I received was almost as short as my legs. Soon she got married and I returned back to the donkeys who after experiencing Naghma looked less than a xerox copy of the original.

After Naghma left the village, most of the boys who shared her with me got married. One day, I gathered all the courage I had to address my father who was channeling water to the field he leased from one of his old friends.

“Father! All boys of my age got married. I, too, want to get married.” I spoke.

“Are you out of your mind?” Said Father, releasing the water in to the field from a shared gutter.

I wasn’t out of my mind. I was a man and I wanted a permanent woman. Why did he say so? I thought about it for a while but felt insulted. I crawled forward towards him but far enough from the shovel he held.

“Why do you think I am out of my mind?” I asked, looking up in to his eyes.

“You are a cripple and unless you find a cripple like you no one would want their sound daughters to be married to you. Is that so difficult to understand?” Said Father, returning the gaze down at me.

I crawled out of the field as soon as he got back to what he was doing. The word cripple didn’t bother me at all because I was used to it but the fact that no one wanted their sound daughters to be married to me was logical but immensely disturbing. Also, the fact that almost everyone knew I was having affairs with donkeys made the “are you out of your mind” statement more appealing. But I badly needed a wife. How could I have a wife nonetheless seemed the biggest riddle which I couldn’t solve by my own. Later that day, my sister received a marriage proposal for the third time from the same family. Father, mother and everyone else were ready to say yes, this time over. They have even prepared the customary flower offering which not only meant consent but also a pledge for marriage. Father talked with the men in the guestroom to announce his approval of the marriage. He asked me to fetch the flower from the house where my mother and sisters attended to the female members of the groom’s family. I crawled in to the room to pick the flower that was glued to a metallic plate with candies scattered around it. On my way back to the guestroom, I saw the sister of the groom who was the most beautiful girl I have ever dreamed of. One glance was all that I could manage at the moment. I had to deliver the flower although I wanted to stay for longer. The flower ceremony ended with the groom’s sisters dancing and singing out of our house.

After my sister got married, I frequently visited her house to check on her and by her, I mean her sister-in-law. The one who I wanted to marry. She was very famous. Her name was Iman. The entire district knew how beautiful she was. She received marriage proposals from every village but her family waited for the best one. She was not allowed to step one foot out of the house without a male guardian. I always hated the fact that I was a cripple but not when I visited her home because no one saw me as a threat. Besides, I always had the excuse of visiting my sister. Several months later, Iman finally felt comfortable talking to me. She always bragged about the multitude of marriage proposals she received. Even though that part of the conversation reduced my chances of marrying her but I liked the subject matter for it provided the opportunity to talk about her beauty.

One day, we found ourselves alone in my sister’s room. I started patronizing her.

“Do you know why everyone wants you?” I asked her.

“Off course I do. I am beautiful.” Iman replied, followed with a loud laughter as if mocking the stupidity of the question.

She didn’t know the strategic importance of that question in my quest to get married. I joined the laughter too admitting it was a silly question. I had to throw the follow up questions.

“I think the most striking feature of your beauty is your big blue eyes.” I commented.

“I know that too. In fact, all my features are striking.” Said Iman, laughing again.

“Are you sure” I asked, crawling closer to her.

“Why? Which part do you think is not striking? Asked Iman, looking curious but still making fun of the questions.

“Men are not always interested in big eyes or red lips or rosy cheeks. They like other things too which you probably lack.” I said, crawling even closer until her knee touched my little knee, ever so slightly.

She immediately stood up and left the room, giving me an angry stare. Those comments and the touch of the knee served two purposes. First, I sowed a seed of doubt in her rather arrogant pasture. Second, she started to know that I was not just a cripple but that I desired her. Iman stopped talking to me. I visited her house numerous times but she never came to see me. I started doubting the fruitfulness of my strategy but I had to be patient. She stopped talking to me which meant she knew I am a capable man which delivered the message that I too am a contender, albeit an underdog. In order for me to have even an outside chance I had to make her talk to me like before. Well, not exactly like before but talk nonetheless. I saw her going in to the kitchen. So, I followed her until she saw me sitting in front of the door.

“What do you want?” Asked Iman, looking uncomfortable.

“I just want to say a few words and then I promise I will never come here.” I replied.

“Say it quickly because I have to cook.” Said Iman, turning her back on me.

“I understand why men look down at me as a cripple but you are a woman. You must have a soft heart. You must understand that I am a human albeit unequal but a human after all.” I said, with lowered voice as if I was about to cry.

She continued the kitchen work but I knew deep in my heart that those words were effective. I left her there without saying anything. Two weeks later, she and my sister came to our house. She greeted me with a beautiful smile as if nothing ever happened between us. Later in that summer afternoon when everyone was sleeping, she knocked the door to my room. I asked her to come in. She entered, lowering her head to avoid crushing with the top of the door. Her black dress wrapped around her snow-white body sang a thousand songs in its own language and sparked a million desires in a heart of mine that only knew desires. She sat close to me but far enough to avoid any bodily contact. I knew she wanted to say something but I couldn’t figure out what she was trying to say except that she was uncomfortable to start. I tried to ease the process.

“This black outfit looks so nice on you.” I spoke, smiling.

“No! You said I have a problem; so, I am not going to take that as a compliment.” Said Iman, quick and soft.

There it was! The seed I sowed which almost ended my relationship with her had finally sprouted and presented a golden opportunity to press forward. I couldn’t think of any aesthetic flaw in her well-crafted body but I had to say something. Something that should have looked like a flaw but a flaw that only I could repair.

“Common! There is nothing wrong with you.” I said and continued “You know you are the most sought-after women of this district.”

“Was it a joke then?” She asked, curiously.

“Not entirely a joke but the problem I mentioned is not related with your body.” I said, softly. “It is a problem located in how your family are dealing with you.”

“What do you mean?” Asked Iman, investigating.

“See! You have a lot of marriage proposals and your family is going to demand higher dowry. But you know people here in these villages cannot afford that. Once you are married, your in-laws are going to hate you for that.” I replied, crawling closer to her until our knees touched again but this time, she didn’t move an inch.

I got encouraged. During the next thirty minutes or so, we talked about all kinds of matters. I, however, started touching her here and there and she kind of liked it. She wouldn’t say anything. I knew she is liking it. From that moment onward, my relationship with Iman turned intimate. We would visit each other either in my house or in hers. We promised each other that this relationship will remain a secret. These were the three months of my life that I will never forget. She was in love with me. She was the only one, save my parents, who called me with my real name. With her, I was no longer the little cripple. But every good story has an end and mine was no exception.

A few months in to our relationship, I went to my sister’s house to visit her and Iman. Iman’s brothers went out to attend to some work outside. I stayed in the guesthouse waiting for Iman to come. She took her time, scouted the inner and outer house, checked on the ladies and stealthily entered the guestroom. We started making out as soon as she entered. Five minutes later, someone opened the door and there she was Iman’s mother. We immediately disengaged in opposite directions but it was too late. Iman’s mother started yelling at her.

“Shame on you! You are having an affair with this cripple while you could marry the best of men.” Said Bibi, throwing everything at her.

She had no intention of concealing this affair and I had to run. I quickly crawled out of the room, conceding a few punches from Bibi on my upper shoulders and a few kicks on the groin area. Her sons were not around, hence enough time for me to run to my own house to seek protection. I rode my donkey and started beating her as hard as I could. When I reached home, father was not there and there was no one else to protect me. I asked mother and she told me that he is in the field. I rode the donkey again and quickly reached him at the field. He immediately knew that something was terribly wrong with me. Maybe the whole story was written on my face. I told him the story, nevertheless. He was an old man. I knew it will be very difficult for him to protect me against Iman’s brothers because they were very powerful. However, father had a lot of connections with noble families around us. I hoped he would ask for help.

“Why do you always embarrass me?” Said father, after verbally abusing me since I arrived. “I cannot do anything for you. You are on your own.” He continued, sitting on a rock beating the shovel on the ground.

“You have to protect me. Everyone knows about our affair now and no one will want to marry her now. It is the best opportunity for me to marry someone.” I spoke, quickly and harshly.

He didn’t talk to me again. An hour later, a car pulled over and out came the brothers of Iman, each carrying a gun. I thought father will threaten them but he said something which I will never forget. He told them to do whatever they wanted to do with me and that he never wanted a son like me. They grabbed me by my shoulders after beating me mercilessly and threw me in to the trunk of the car. I knew I was bleeding but it was too dark to see the color. Death was right in front of me but somehow, I still believed that I would survive. The means for survival was not known to me because everyone in our culture had the right to kill the person who was having an affair with their women. The government too allowed honor killings. In the midst of all this fear and pain, I was still thinking about what would have happened to Iman because I left her there without any protection. I knew she wouldn’t expect me to protect her but I felt guilty. After a while, the car pulled over. They picked me out of the trunk, carried me to a room in the corner of their house where they kept the animals, threw me inside, beat me until they got tired and locked the door on their way out. I don’t remember what happened next. When I woke up, it was dark and I heard loud noises from the outside. I haven’t eaten anything or drunk any water for hours and I didn’t expect anyone to provide some except my sister who herself couldn’t do anything.

That same night, the brothers of Iman had arranged a meeting of the elders in their guestroom to decide on my fate. The elders were the close relatives who usually passed verdicts on such matters. Around the dinner time, two of Iman’s brothers came to deliver me to the guesthouse. In the guesthouse, everyone stared at me angrily except for the younger ones whose stares were rather filled with jealousy. They looked angry too but more jealous than angry. The elders were contemplating different punishments for me. The majority of the elders proposed death penalty. No hope was left for me until one of the elders sitting at the far end silenced everyone else and shouted.

“Did he have sex with her? If yes then let him marry her and get over with this shameful incidence.”

I was shocked. Is that even possible? I was hoping for life and this old man proposed a life of happiness with a wife the like of Iman. No one entertained what he said. They ignored him. I was worried again. They have decided to kill me. One of Iman’s brothers was given the task to kill me tonight and deliver my body to my father. There was one guy who was silent during the entire verdict but spoke at the very last minute.

“What are you going to do with your sister?” Said the old man with a turban. “If he is going to die then customs and honor demand that you have to kill her too.” He added.

Silence overtook the proceedings for a while. Although I wanted to live but I never wanted to die with Iman. I was the one who lured her in to this affair. I was the guilty one. She had to be sparred. Iman’s elder brother was the first to respond.

“No! we are not going to kill her.” Said Wasim. “Only he is going to die and I don’t care about the customs and there is no honor left.”

“If she is not going to die then no one can kill him.” Said the old man with the turban, angrily.

The old man waved at his sons and they all stood at once. The sons of the old man started pointing their guns at Iman’s brothers after one of them cursed the old man. He looked like a very influential man. That cursing proved very useful. He asked his sons to deliver me to my father, alive. As magical as it sounds, I was saved. I stopped talking to my father who didn’t even try to protect me. As for Iman, she was the one who suffered the most. She had a cousin who everyone made fun of. That guy had mental issues. She was forced to marry him. The lady who every one of the noble men desired finally went to the least desired man. I am sure that poor guy didn’t even know the meaning of marriage or of the difference between men and women. But he was now the husband of Iman. I stopped visiting my sister’s house and she stopped talking to me when she came home. The lunatic who was now Iman’s husband, I heard, physically abused her. She was no longer beautiful or sound. Had my father shown a little courage the story would have been different. Iman would have been my wife. But she was not meant to be my wife.

This incident affected me for several months. By now, I knew I will never have a proper wife. My needs, sexual ones, didn’t know about anything; so, they kept urging me. I was an outgoing person. I enjoyed going out and talking to people. I found a friend who was the son of a famous commander. Ajmal was a very brave person. We got along well. We had one thing in common: an unquenchable desire for women. With him, it was very easy to find women. He had money and above all, he had the power to defend both himself and me. I also taught him how to have an affair with the donkeys. Ajmal found me a job too. The job was very simple. Every truck that entered the area of his father had to be taxed. I collected the tax. There was no proper monitoring and no fixed tax rate which is why we enjoyed collecting them because no one knew how much was collected. Now I had enough money to hunt whores in the big cities. Me and Ajmal used to drive to several provinces for this one purpose. No one talked about Ajmal out of fear but I soon became the most notorious person in the village. Everyone abhorred me. I was the whoremonger who no one liked except my close friends who somehow understood me.

The priest in the mosque, every Friday, condemns those who fornicate but he would never allow her daughter to marry me. The landlord of my father talks about how I fornicate but when it comes to his daughters he will never allow them to marry a poor cripple. Maybe I am wrong. Maybe what I do is against the norms. But as the saying goes: “The sound looks at the lunatic and sees a lunatic while the lunatic looks back at the sound and sees a lunatic too.” Who is wrong and who is right? Should I be patient and stop having illegal sex or should the society take responsibility and let people like me marry? Or should I become the victim of their double standards? I am confused.