Authors: Cathy Glass
‘My brothers and I spent the rest of the journey huddled together in the back of the car,’ Zeena continued, ‘and eventually we fell asleep. When I woke it was night and the car had stopped. Mum said we had arrived and told us to get out and smile at our relatives. It was so dark I couldn’t see a thing – you never get that sort of darkness in England – and it was still boiling hot, even though it was night. I held my brothers’ hands very tightly as we climbed out of the car. There were lots of strange, loud insect noises. They sounded close but I couldn’t see them in the dark. It was scary and I wanted to cry, but I knew I couldn’t as it would make my father angry again. So I pretended to be brave for the sake of my little brothers. Then suddenly we were surrounded by lots of lights and people. The whole village had come out to welcome us and they were very excited. Dad began introducing us – this is your aunty —, your cousin —, your uncle —, your cousin —, and so on. It went on and on and we were all kissing and hugging each other. They made such a fuss of us that I was pleased we’d come.
‘Then they led us into my grandparents’ hut, my father’s parents. My mother’s family lived in the next village. I could see better in their hut, there was a light, and there were big pots of food cooking on a fire. It was smoky and it made my eyes water, but it smelled good, and I felt safer there. We had to sit on the floor and we ate rice and curry on metal plates. The curry was very spicy, but I was so hungry I ate it all. The adults talked all the time in Bengali, very quickly and loudly. I could understand some of what they said from my parents speaking it at home. Then one of my aunts said the children should be in bed. I didn’t know what time it was – there weren’t any clocks.
‘I held my brothers’ hands and my aunt took us outside in the dark to another hut, while my parents stayed behind talking. I started to feel homesick and scared again, but I didn’t say anything. The hut we had to sleep in was dimly lit and had a mattress on the floor, but that was all. My aunt told us to go to sleep and then left us. We didn’t have our night things with us – they were in the suitcase – but I didn’t dare go back and ask. I told my brothers we’d sleep in our vest and pants, and I helped them undress. I made it into a game for them and we snuggled together on the mattress. There were no proper windows or doors, so we could hear everything: the insects, the adults talking in the other hut and even what sounded like a goat nearby. I was scared, but I stayed brave for my brothers, and we were so tired we fell asleep.
‘When I woke in the morning it was because my brothers were digging me in the ribs and whispering, “Zeena, Zeena, wake up. Look.”
‘I opened my eyes and saw we were surrounded by lots of children, of different ages. All staring at us. I guessed there were ten or more, from a baby in the arms of a girl about my age to some teenagers. They were just standing there looking at us, pointing and laughing. “Who are you?” I asked, first in English, and then in Bengali because they didn’t understand.
‘“Your cousins,” one of the older girls said.
‘Then one of my aunts came into the hut and they ran off, laughing and shouting. I think we were as strange to them as they were to us. My aunt was carrying a large bowl of water with a cloth and she set it on a mat on the floor. She told us to wash and dress and then come to eat. She said when we wanted to go to the toilet to ask and they’d show us where to go. After she’d gone we got off the mattress and, using the cloth, we washed our faces and hands. The water was cold but it didn’t matter as it was already hot in the hut. There was no sink or toilet, and our suitcase with our clothes in it still wasn’t there. So we dressed in the clothes we’d been wearing the day before.
‘We all needed the toilet so I held my brothers’ hands and took them outside. It was very bright and hot and some of my cousins were playing in the courtyard, kicking a ball. I asked them where the toilet was. They didn’t understand and I didn’t know what toilet was in Bengali so I pointed to my bottom. They laughed, but one of the girls came over and, smiling, took us to where we had to go. It wasn’t like any toilet I’d seen. It was a small hut outside the village with a hole in the ground. It was disgusting and smelled of pooh and was full of flies. But we were so desperate to go we had to use it. I told my brothers we were explorers on an adventure,’ Zeena added, and another smile briefly crossed her face.
‘After we’d finished we went outside and my cousin showed us how to work the pump to wash our hands. I asked her where my parents were – I knew the word for parents – and she said my mother was with the women and pointed to a hut. In the daylight I could see that there were a number of huts dotted under the trees, all with straw roofs. There was a dusty central courtyard where the children played, then beyond the village were trees and fields. I remember thinking how blue the sky was; it was like the ones you paint in pictures as a child. A real deep blue that seemed to go on for ever. I went to the hut where my mother was and as we went in I said a polite good morning in Bengali. The hut was full of women, all in saris and sitting crossed legged on the floor, talking. I knew immediately my mother was angry with me. She stood up and came over. “Why have you dressed in the same clothes?” she hissed at me in English so my relatives couldn’t understand. “Are you trying to shame me?” She grabbed my arm and pushed me outside the hut. “Do you want them to think you only have one set of clothes?” And she slapped me around the head.
‘I tried to explain that I didn’t know where our suitcase was but she wasn’t interested. She took my arm and pushed me into another hut where our cases were open on the floor. I think my parents had slept there. “Get changed,” she said, giving me another slap. “And don’t ever shame me again in front of your father’s family.”’
Zeena paused and looked at me thoughtfully. ‘It’s strange what you remember. When I think of all that happened there, I can still feel the hurt of my mother’s angry words. I’ve always tried to please my parents, right from a small child. But all I’ve done is bring shame on them.’ Her bottom lip trembled.
‘It wasn’t your fault, love,’ I said, patting her hand. ‘You were a small child. You weren’t to know where your case was. It was unfair of your mother. You’ve always had too much responsibility. Someone should have looked after you, especially as you were in a strange place.’
‘My family don’t see it that way,’ Zeena said sadly. ‘They believe that everything that happened there was my fault. That I brought it on myself. So do the rest of my family.’
It was a moment before Zeena was composed enough to continue. ‘The first few days there were very strange, but once we got used to their different ways we began to enjoy ourselves. In England I’d never had many friends. I’d always had to stay in and cook and clean and look after my brothers, but there it was different. The girls had to help, but once we’d done our chores we were free to play. There were more of us there to help, so the cooking, cleaning and washing the clothes in the stream was shared among many. I got to know my girl cousins, and my bothers played mainly with the boys. There was always someone to play with – you were never alone – and of course we were allowed outside. In fact, we spent most of our time outside and only went into the huts to eat or sleep. I didn’t see much of my parents. They were with the adults.
‘On our first visit to my mother’s family in the next village we all went together in the car. They made a big fuss of us. After that I was allowed to walk there with my older cousins. My brothers were too small to walk all the way there and back, so they stayed in my father’s village. Sometimes the girls were asked to go on errands while the boys worked in the fields. The villages seemed to share food, so we would take something and then bring something else back. It was a responsibility to do this and I felt proud I was able to help. For once I seemed to be doing something right and my parents weren’t always shouting at me as they did at home.’
Zeena paused again and took a deep breath as though steadying herself for what she had to tell me next. I waited in silence until she was ready to continue. I sensed this was the climax of her story and that it was very difficult for her. A small breeze came in through the window and quietly closed her bedroom door.
‘On the day it happened,’ Zeena continued, staring straight ahead, ‘I’d been with my cousin Sumi to my mother’s village. It was a very hot day. All the days there were hot, even when it rained. But that day was hotter than any of the others so far. We were about halfway back when Sumi remembered she had forgotten to give an important message to her aunt. I was tired and thirsty, so Sumi said I could continue home if I wanted, while she went back to mother’s village. I’d been in Bangladesh for about a month by then and I’d walked the path many times. It was a single track. You couldn’t go wrong or get lost; it only went between the two villages. As it was daylight and there were people working in the fields I wasn’t worried, so Sumi went back and I continued towards home – to my father’s village where we were staying.
‘My only worry was about the snakes,’ Zeena continued. ‘My aunts and cousins were always warning us to look out for snakes, as one bite could kill you. I’d only seen two snakes since I’d arrived, but I knew there were lots hiding in the fields. I was wearing sandals and shorts, so my legs weren’t protected. We always looked down as we walked and watched out for snakes. That was the only thing I was frightened of then – the snakes.
‘I had 300 steps to go before I arrived at my father’s village – that was about ten minutes. My cousin and I had counted the number of steps between the two villages, so we knew how far we had to go. No one there had watches. Three hundred steps wasn’t far, and I was looking forward to having a cold drink.
‘Suddenly I heard one of my teenage cousins, Hasan, call my name from behind the bushes. “Zeena, Zeena. I’m hiding. Can you find me?” He lived in my mother’s village and was supposed to be sick – that’s why he wasn’t working in the fields with the others. I really couldn’t be bothered to play with him. I was hot and thirsty and just wanted to get home. I told him I didn’t want to play and continued walking. He began playing hide and seek with me anyway, calling my name and darting from one bush to another. I could see him out of the corner of my eye. He was moving behind the bushes and keeping up with me. I’d lost count of the number of steps, but I guessed it was about two hundred to home. Then he called, “Zeena, Zeena, come here. I have water. Would you like a drink?”
‘Of course I wanted a drink. I was hot and thirsty, so I left the path and went over to the bush where he was hiding. But as soon as I got there he grabbed me and pushed me to the ground and got on top of me. At first I thought he was playing and I told him to stop it and get off me, but he held me even tighter. Then he began kissing me on my mouth, pushing his tongue down my throat. It was horrible and I cried out and tried to kick him and push him off, but he was much bigger and stronger than me. He became angry and told me I’d better shut up or I’d get in a lot of trouble. He said if the people in the fields heard me I’d be beaten and my parents would never speak to me again.’
Zeena paused. Tears glistened in her eyes. I took her hand in mine and held it. She took a breath and then, staring down, continued in the same flat voice.
‘He pulled off my shorts and knickers. I screamed, but he clamped his hand over my mouth as he lay on top of me. I was terrified. I didn’t know what he was going to do, but I knew it was wrong for him to take off my clothes. I was only nine. I didn’t know about sex. I knew boys and girls were different – I bathed my brothers – but that was all I knew. He pulled down his trousers and forced my legs apart. Then suddenly there was this dreadful pain inside me. The worst pain I’d ever felt. I thought I was being torn apart. I cried out – I couldn’t help it. I was in so much pain. He clamped his hand over my mouth again and started moving up and down on top of me, which made the pain worse. I struggled to get out from under him but it was impossible. He was too heavy. Then, just as I thought I couldn’t bear the pain any longer and that it would kill me, he gave a small cry and went very still. He got off me, stood and pulled up his trousers. “Cover yourself, you dirty whore,” he said, and then he spat on me.’
Zeena’s face crumpled and I put my arm around her. Despite the warmth of the day the air felt cold. We sat quietly for a few moments until she was able to go on. I knew I had to remain calm for Zeena’s sake.
‘I didn’t know what a whore was then,’ she said. ‘It was much later I found out what that word meant, and rape. He didn’t say anything else but ran off in the direction of his village. When he’d gone I slowly sat up. I was very scared. There was blood at the tops of my legs, and I was hurting. No one had heard my cries, or if they had they’d ignored them. I began tearing leaves from the nearby bushes, and wiped away as much of the blood as I could. Then I shook the dirt from my shorts and knickers and put them back on. When I stood I felt wobbly and my legs trembled. I didn’t know what he’d done to me, but I did know I mustn’t tell or let anyone find out, or I would be in a lot of trouble. That’s what he’d said.
‘I’d forgotten the number of steps home by then, so I decided it was 150. It felt safer to know how many steps were left, and as I walked I concentrated on counting them. It took my mind off the pain and helped reassure me that I didn’t have far to go. When I got to 137 I entered the village. Two of my little cousins were playing in the courtyard and they saw me and ran over and asked if I could play with them. I said I’d play with them later.
‘Fortunately all the women were inside the huts and the men and older boys were working in the fields, so I got to my hut without being seen. Inside, I took clean shorts and knickers, and also the bowl we used for washing, and I crept out of the hut, round the edge of the yard and to the water pump. I filled the bowl with water and went into the toilet. As it was disgusting and you only ever went in there to wee or pooh, I knew no one would come in. I quickly took off my shorts and knickers. There was fresh blood on them. I washed myself and put on the clean clothes. I washed my dirty clothes in the bowl and the water turned pink from all the blood. I tipped it down the hole in the ground that was our toilet. I went outside to our hut where I put the bowl back and put my clothes outside to dry. No one would think this strange as I did my brothers’ and my parents’ washing every day. It was only then I remembered how thirsty I was. I’d been so scared that I’d forgotten.