A day In Habibi’s Life
I woke up hearing my grandmother, Humairah, yelling at me to
wake up. My grandmother, like many of the older women, use a raised voiced
rather than physically walk around to places they needed to go to. They just
loudly speak to everyone from the place they are at and tend to talk to them in
loudly. I am 10 years old but I am not
yet as fat as my mother and my grandmother hoped I will be soon. She always
teaches me how to be like her. Now I quickly finished up my morning rituals and
I am going to eat my breakfast with my grandmother. I rushed into the front
room and found my grandma sitting cross-legged, watching my younger brother and
sister eat their morning porridge.
She
looked exactly like the curvaceous pyramid every woman in Azawagh wanted to be
(Popenoe, 2004: 43). My grandmother chastened me, she told me not to walk too
fast. Now I slowed down, still unused to restricting my body to move as little
as possible. Then I sat next to my grandmother, adjusting my hawli (garment worn by Azawagh Arab
women) (209).
I
saw my brother and sister finished eating and skipping out of the room. I miss
those days when I was able to do the same thing. My first baby tooth had fallen
out when I was 6 and that’s when I got my first hair braiding. That is also
when le-bluh (process of fattening)
(40, 44) began. That means I was no longer a child, but I think I still am a
child. I lost all my freedom right then too. But they were preparing me to get
ready to become a proper women (44), sexually mature and desirable to men
(42). I watched as my grandmother talked
to our neighbors and my aunt, Bashira, and dreaded the awaiting meal. Finally, my
grandmother called our servants to bring me porridge.
The
servant set the giant bowl of milky porridge and accompanying bowl of water,
and left. The porridge was made of pounded millet grain and milk (47), this is
something I had become to detest. Day after day, I am expected to gulp down the
milky porridge which was to fatten me up. Soon, I would be able to switch to
eating couscous and water (42). My grandmother watched as I tentatively
swallowed a spoonful of porridge. Humairah, my grandma, sighed and instructed me
to eat more and eat faster. When one
reminder wasn't enough, she reached over and pinched me which hurts a lot. “Nothing
was more effective than bodily pain” she said once. It enhanced development and
learning, disciplining the body and hence the mind and soul (47).
As
I tried to eat faster, she sat back and looked at me, satisfied that I am
stuffing myself properly. Just like she did every day, Humairah began to
lecture me on the importance of fattening. To be fat, she explained, was to be
beautiful. It was zeyn
(good/beautiful). Men desired fat women, and the only way to be a women was to
be fat (48). For me to be able to find a good husband and have a good marriage,
I have to be sexually mature and desirable (49). I’m tired of hearing the same
lecture, so I slowed down my eating. Then she pinched me and slapped me on the
hand and glared at me to eat faster.
I
haven’t even made it through half bowl of porridge and I am already full. But I
am too scared for another punishment, so I began to eat at an intermediate
pace. Faster than I could have, but for my grandma it was slower than what she
expected. Continuing where she left off, she regarded me with some disdain. I
am fat, yes, but not fat enough. Men liked women with "pendulous upper
arms, rolls of fat around the waist, a protruding behind, and thighs that
together form one vast expanse" (43).
In
my grannys days, she was the most beautiful woman in the village. She started
fattening at the age of six, and was married by the age of twelve. She was
mature and beautiful beyond her physical age (45). Even after marriage, and
having children, she always continued to fatten and maintain her womanhood. As
a woman, it was her duty to be attractive to her husband (53). To be fat was to
be healthy (4). While her husband had worked, herding cows and goats, his
wealth and social status were only shown through his wife's body (6). A woman's
body, like milk that gives life to families, was valuable (27).
By
this time, I had almost finished my bowl of porridge and I am glad that my
grandmother was done with her story. I quickly finished the last bit of
porridge, struggling to swallow it down with water. It is not fun at all. Now
my grandmother called our servant back in to remove the bowls. Humairah
motioned to help me stand and together we slowly made our way to the room. It
was time for our midday nap. Lying on the mat, I am thought about the upcoming
marriage of my childhood friend and cousin, Jamila. It was the reason Aunt
Bashira had come over earlier, to ask grandmother to come visit and help with
the preparations. Jamila was indeed beautiful, like her name. Being two years
older than me, she had began fattening when she was five and was now seen as a
mature, beautiful and valuable woman (41).
This
made me realize, after Jamila's wedding, I will be next in line. I just hope I
would be beautiful like Jamila or grandmother to attract a good husband. Waking
up from her nap my grandma reached out to help me stand. We then started
walking slowly to Bashira's house. While the women sat together and discussed
preparations, I went and sat with Jamila
and started gossiping. We talked about Jamila's husband, who was well-off
enough for Jamila to continue fattening after the wedding (45). She teased me
about the type of the man I would eventually attract with my developing body.
As mid-afternoon approached, we anticipated the meal time and realized its
off-schedule from everyone else (48).
The
meal went fairly similar to the one I had mid-morning, except now there was
about eight or nine women telling me and Jamila the stories of their youth.
Jamila is now used to the porridge and stuffing, while I am struggling once
again. Following the meal, everyone retired to mats lying out and taking a
short nap. It was evening time when Jamila's father, my father and another
uncle arrived home. The women resumed their wedding preparations, making final
decisions and teasing Jamila about her good fortune. They could hear the men
laughing and discussing trade routes in the other room. Once it was close to
nightfall, me and Humairah bid goodbye to women, and slowly made our way back
home.
I
always see my grandmother admired her
own beauty. With her plump figure, wrapped in her indigo hawali, and slow, swaying walk, she really was majestic. Finally I
finished my night rituals and got to lay down on me mat. I hoped that soon
enough, the women would be sitting around making preparations for my wedding
too. That, however, would only happen if I can get as fat as Jamila and my grandmother.
I think I’m getting sleepier now, thinking about the monotonous day that I am
going repeat tomorrow, a repeat of the day I just had.
Works Cited
Popenoe, Rebecca.
2004. Feeding
desire. Fatness, beauty and sexuality among a Saharan people. London:
Routledge.
I did this for my university Anthropology (ANTA01) assignment.
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