Ayesha rested her head on the doctor’s desk. She had removed her black veil, revealing a round face contorted in pain. She had married a 53-year-old man when she was 13. Now 15, she wanted her childhood back. She clutched her sides and groaned.
It was 3:30 pm in Arwa Elrabee’s office. The gynaecologist looked at Ayesha and shook her head. She knew Ayesha’s pain was as much psychological as it was physical. “I don’t want to be married,” Ayesha explained, her mother standing next to her.
“Why did you marry her off so early?” the doctor demanded. “Why didn’t you allow her to continue her education?”
“It wasn’t me. It was her father,” Ayesha’s mother replied. “He wanted to marry her off.”
Yemen has no minimum age for marriage, and girls as young as eight are often forced to wed. Many become mothers soon after they reach puberty. The country has one of the highest rates of maternal mortality in the world.
Child brides and young mothers are the most vivid manifestations of how tribal doctrines prevail over in the Middle East’s poorest country.
The only place many young women here can vent their frustrations is among other sympathetic women, such as Elrabee, a former deputy health minister who has tried to alter perceptions about early marriages.
“Hopefully, my life will get better, God willing,” Ayesha said.
“Life. This is the life,” said Elrabee, as she watched Ayesha and her mother leave, dark blurs floating through a tangle of other black-clad women.
Fathia Ahmed, 18, wore a black abaya and high heels. She got married two years ago and immediately dropped out of school to have babies. But she couldn’t get pregnant. Her in-laws were furious — and impatient, she said. They wanted her to have a child at 16 — and two more by now.
“They start to count since the day their women get married when they will have kids,” Ahmed said. “Even when they are eight or 10 or 12-years-old.”
Her husband threatened to divorce her. So Ahmed came to Elrabee for help. The doctor prescribed fertility drugs, even though she hadn’t found any problems with Ahmed. But on this day, Ahmed’s eyes twinkled. She was pregnant. “Mabruk! Mabruk!” the doctor shouted.
Three generations of women arrived — Maha Shamsadan, her daughter Kareema al-Barati and granddaughter Sarah. Shamsadan married at 12. Now 43, she has seven daughters and four sons. All of them live in New York and Michigan. Barati married at 11. She’s now 33 and has six children.
Will they marry Sarah off at 11? “No, no,” said Barati, her voice turning firm. “She will go to university and finish her studies. And then she will marry,” she said. “My husband promised me this, God willing,” said Barati, looking at Sarah.