 | Jane Dolinger |
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This sample is taken from Jane's fifth book, Behind Harem Walls (1960). In it, Jane describes the time she spent in the harem of a wealthy Moroccan. Even in the 1950s true harems were rare in Islam, and her account still stands as one of the few firsthand descriptions from a Western perspective.
The book provides a wealth of description of the home lives of women in traditonal Islamic households. Jane captures the atmosphere vividly and sketches the personalities of all the various wives. In the following passage, Jane discusses love and marriage with the first wife, Raria, and in doing so gives us a deeply insightful view of the clash of cultures.
Even today in most Christian wedding ceremonies the wife promises to love, honour and obey. So, basically the average Christian woman is not too different from her Moslem sister.
Men, of course, have the advantage in that under the Koran they are allowed to take four wives providing they “do not love one to distraction in prejudice of another.”
It has been claimed that it is humanly impossible to love four women equally, but as Raria pointed out:
“Is it not possible to love four beautiful flowers with all one’s heart? Who is to say that the fragrant rose is less attractive than the modest violet, or that the violet is less enchanting than the sweet-smelling lilac, nor still, the lilac more regal than the golden daffodil? No, Jane,” she concluded. “Not only can one love four flowers, or four wives equally well, but for that matter, a dozen or a hundred.”
“I feel certain that a great many American men will agree with you Raria,” I said smiling, “but I’m afraid the women would object most violently.”
She nodded in agreement. “It is the age-old question of polygamy versus monogamy,” she remarked, looking out across the garden. “But rest assured, we Moslem women feel just as strongly about it as the Christians. We think that we are right, and you are convinced that you are right, so we reach an impasse.”
It was a delicate subject and one that I knew I had to handle carefully in order that Raria would not be offended.
“I think everyone is entitled to their own opinion,” I said, “and I suppose it all depends on how a person has been brought up. As a matter of fact, I know that polygamy exists in South America, especially in the jungle. There a man can have as many wives as he wishes, perhaps not legally, but in those remote areas, men make their own laws.”
I explained too, how one tribe in Peru, called the Cashibos, practiced polyandry.
“Among these people, a girl can have as many husbands as she wishes and marriage consists of her stealing a man’s mosquito net and bringing it to her family hut.”
“And do the men object to this?” Raria asked curiously.
“Not at all,” I answered. “Even though they demean themselves by taking their wife’s name and working for her family until such time as the woman tires of the husband, and throws his mosquito net out of her hut."
We laughed over the peculiarities of different marriage customs.
“But getting back to the practice of polygamy,” I began, “How do you, personally, feel about it, especially since you are the first wife and head of the household?”
Raria shrugged her shoulders. “I cannot speak for all Moslem women, naturally, but I do not believe that a man can ever be fully satisfied or completely happy loving only one woman,” she remarked emphatically. “If a man sees too much of one woman, he will tire of her quickly. If he has several wives, one for each of his moods, he will never tire of any of them. All that a Moslem woman asks is that her husband be good to her and show no favouritism, sharing his love equally.”
“But when Ahmad is with another wife or one of his concubines, don’t you ever feel a little pang of jealousy?” I asked.
Raria laughed softly. “Not the slightest,” she answered. “Every girl in this harem has something different to offer.”
She likened it to a sumptuous banquet, with many delectably courses of food, each of which was unusual and delightful.
“Now, then,” she continued, “suppose that one had nothing to eat but soup, day after day. What do you think would happen?”
I had to admit that Raria was right--man does not live on soup alone. But it was my personal belief that as Ahmad’s first wife, Raria had a feeling of security and superiority which possibly some of the other girls did not share, but her logic from a male point of view, certainly offered no room for serious rebuttal.
When I explained that in America men and women had social, economical and political freedom, and that women could engage in business, making them completely free and independent, Raria exclaimed, “There! You have put your finger on the basic faults of what you so proudly call ‘equality of the sexes.’ But actually, we are not equal at all. We are not born to be equal, and furthermore, have no desire to compete. Men have always dominated women from the beginning of Time and, in reality, I think they still do.”
“At least,” I remarked, “in the United States we women let them think they do. But actually, Raria, it’s just the opposite. Woman control not only the home, but even our national wealth.”
Raria shook her head dejectedly. “Isn’t it a pity,” she said. “But I think you are making a big mistake. Is it not possible that the American women have the wrong attitude about life?”
Now successfully launched on her favourite topic, Raria went on to explain that in her opinion, the American women were entirely too possessive, that by being possessive they also become jealous and suspicious of the husband’s every action.
“You will not share him knowingly,” Raria continued, “but in your heart you must know that he has other women. We Moslems accept it as an integral part of our lives, while you reject it as something immoral. It is part of our philosophy that men should never be possessed or dominated, for once they have been, they are no better than the lowliest servants working here in the palace. They lose their souls and spirits, as well as the urge which drives men forward.”
Raria stopped to pick a beautiful pink zinnia.
“Do you have these in your country?” she asked.
“Oh yes, dozens of varieties,” I told her.
She placed the flower tenderly among the others which she had been gathering as we walked through the garden.
“You know, it is a disgrace for Moslem women to work,” she remarked. “Only the very poor do so.”
“Well in the States, we regard it as a privilege,” I said. “By working we at least think we are independent.”
“There again our two cultures are entirely different. In the Arab countries a father finds a suitable husband for his daughters. Generally, they marry at a very early age. But to the Arabian father, it is not only a duty but a pleasure to support his family.”
“But Raria,” I exclaimed, “how can you just marry a man whom you don’t love and possibly don’t even know?”
“Oh, it is not as difficult as you think,” she replied smiling. “Love is not to us a consuming passion that has its fulfillment on a couch. Rather, it is composed of many things--respect, loyalty, companionship and honour--love is a tree that has many branches.”
Whether or not I agreed with her theories was relatively unimportant. But I certainly admired anyone who spoke with such great and sincere convictions. Naturally, there was plenty of room for argument, but because of my travels to many parts of the world, I had learned to respect other peoples’ customs and traditions. If everyone followed a similar broad-minded view no doubt world tensions might be lessened to the point where peoples of the earth could become one large happy family.
I walked with Raria as far as the steps which led to the first floor of the harim.
“By the way,” she remarked, just before departing, “a week on Friday I am going to attend a wedding, a Moslem wedding, near the village. The bride is a distant cousin of mine, and if you like I would be very happy to take you along.”
I accepted and thanked her for the invitation, realizing that in extending it, she had broken the last barrier between our two worlds.
From Behind Harem Walls, London: Alvin Redman, pp. 119-123. |
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