Black Book of Arabia by Hend Al Qassemi

Author:Hend Al Qassemi
Language: eng
Format: epub
ISBN: 9789927118104
Publisher: Bloomsbury Qatar Foundation Publishing
Published: 2015-10-10T16:00:00+00:00

I Sold My Kidney for Love

I like men who make me laugh. Adnan was hilarious and quick-witted when we met our junior year in university in Yemen. He expressed a keen interest in me, which I reciprocated. I just wanted him to know that I was looking for a serious relationship, one that would end in marriage.

Born into a working-class family, I was of average build, with shoulder-length, curly brown hair, almond eyes, and an aquiline nose. I always dressed in pastel colors because I felt that even if I were to have a bad day, the colors would subdue any negativity and bring out the peace within me. I excelled in university and would assist students in help session classes where my feelings toward Adnan, my fellow student, blossomed. His magnetism and kindness were visible and unforgettable. I enjoyed sitting next to him as much as I enjoyed his discussions in class amongst his peers. We both created reasons to speak or work together, and, surely enough, a love was kindled.

I insisted to this fellow Yemeni who understood our traditions that the marriage would have to be formally arranged if he insisted on controlling my life, my friends, my attire, and my lifestyle. He was as attentive as he was funny. His uncle came to our house to propose and formally take permission to get us engaged. It was agreed that we were to be married after university, hopefully. Money is always everyone’s problem when considering tying the knot. Circumstances are always complicated, especially for two young adults who are each trying to create their own destiny. Yet I believed in Adnan, and a future with him was my ultimate dream. He would be my happy ending, and I would do my utmost to make it work.

One day, I was out shopping with my cousin for her engagement and we bumped into a relative of her fiancé. Surprisingly, it was Adnan’s uncle—the same one I had met! I was shocked and asked to understand the relation. Since Adnan was of a Southern tribe and I was of a Northern tribe, I was astonished that both my and my friend’s fiancés were related, and both from this Southern tribe. The uncle’s first name was the same as it had been introduced to me, but his second name was not. Questions were raised, and I demanded answers. The air was tense, and I was confused. I did not want to wait, and I was getting angry. Feeling cheated is a rage that escalates like an erupting volcano. The stories of staged proposals and men who get away with breaking girls’ hearts raced through my mind. I was drowning in doubt as I recalled long conversations where Adnan would complain bitterly of how poor he was and how difficult it would be to afford the wedding, let alone the marriage and children that, God willing, would follow.

I confronted Adnan on the university campus and demanded a formal explanation. Why did he bring

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