Child Brides of India

By C. Stanton Leman

Chapter 101

My conference with Dr. Clayborne was over a little after two. I made the rounds and spoke briefly with the kids and read a few of them a book then tentatively made my way to Hibbah’s room. I knocked lightly and poked my head in the door and announced myself. Aziza was on her feet and quickly motioned for me to come in. I slowly entered, not knowing what I’d see.

Hibbah’s bed was raised and she was sitting up eating a cup of ice cream. She looked at me with some trepidation and stopped eating. I said with a smile, “That ice cream looks delicious. Don’t stop eating on my account. Finish it before it melts.”

The interpreter translated my words and she gave a shy smile and resumed eating, although more daintily. Aziza and I spoke for a few minutes and when Hibbah had finished her treat, Aziza asked me to again pray with them. I agreed wholeheartedly and when Aziza moved to the bed and took Hibbah’s hand, she motioned for me to do the same. I knelt by the bed and took hold of the fingers on Hibbah’s casted hand.

I prayed fervently for Hibbah’s recovery and for strength to meet the challenges ahead. The translator was translating as fast as I spoke and Aziza cried as we finished up. Hibbah and I were still holding hands as Aziza introduced me to her daughter. I offered the child my salaams and she spoke softly and with some difficulty because of the bandages and I assumed from some facial pain.

She was very shy, but she had the warmest, doe-like brown eyes that were gentle, yet displayed her pain. She looked as if watching, waiting for me to notice her missing foot. When I smiled and commented that she had the loveliest brown eyes, she started to tear up.

I sat on the bed next to her, cognizant of the fact that I didn’t sit on her and she jumped and said I was sitting on her leg. I was sitting where her foot would have been, but was now gone. I jumped up and apologized saying, “I’m so sorry! Whenever I see a pretty girl, I lose my head and act like a clumsy fool!”

She halted a chuckle, mixed with a sob and replied through the interpreter, “You are too kind. I’ve never been pretty and now, I’m an ugly cripple.”

I gently sat next to her and wiped her tears away with my thumbs and softly replied, “Well, I don’t know how they judge beauty in Iraq, but here in America, you qualify as a very pretty girl! You have beautiful brown eyes, a lovely smile, and I just love your curly black hair. Yes, I’m sure of it now, you’re a pretty girl alright. There’s no doubt about it!”

According to custom, I shouldn’t have reached for her, but out of an instinctual desire to comfort her, I leaned forward and gave her a gentle hug. She emitted a small peep, as if in surprise and I pulled back and apologized saying, “I’m so sorry. I shouldn’t have done that, but you’re just so pretty, I had to give you a hug. See, I told you I act foolish whenever I’m around a pretty girl.”

This time she blushed.

I let her set the tone for the meeting and answered her questions about who I was, why I was here and why I wanted to sponsor her and her mother. She asked me point blank as we talked through the interpreter, “Why do you want to help me and my mother? Do you feel sorry for me or do you just want to say you did something good for the enemies of America?”

I sighed and realized that war certainly makes a child grow up fast. I pondered my answer for a moment then looking her right in the eye, I said, “First of all, you and your mother are not the enemy. Secondly, I am against this war. I feel that our president made a bad decision to invade your country, but that has no bearing on why I want to help you.

“I am a Muslim. As a Muslim, I feel it my duty to help a follower of Islam: that means you and your mother. Also, I have four daughters of my own. Allah has blessed me with wealth and the ability to help others that are in need. If one of my daughters was in your place and needed help, I’d pray that Allah would bring someone forward to help her like I want to help you. I don’t want to just write a check and pay for your treatment and say I did something good. I want to be a friend to you and your mother and help you start a new life. That life may be here in America or if you choose, back in Iraq.

“I want to be there for you and your mom for anything: money, food, clothing, a place to live — anything. I want to be someone you can count on to help you in any way I can. If I can’t help you, I’ll find someone that can. Do you understand?”

“Then why lie to me?” she asked with a hint of anger in her voice. She stared at me with a curled brow and some suspicion in her eyes. “Why lie and say I’m pretty when I’m not. I’m a deformed cripple now and will have scars on my face and body. Certainly no one would say a girl like that is pretty. I can see it in your eyes. You see one thing and say another.”

“Look,” I said as I took her tiny hand, “I will never lie to you, Hibbah. You may not like what I may say sometimes, but I’ll always tell you the truth. Can we do that? Always be honest with each other?”

Hibbah nodded and said, “I’d rather have your honestly than your pity.”

I huffed a chuckle and replied, “Well, I certainly won’t give you pity. What you see in my eyes is sorrow. I feel such intense sorrow that a small child like you has to pay such a terrible price in pain and suffering for the mistakes of my government. I feel such anguish that you are an innocent little girl in pain and will always live with the consequences of war. That’s what you see in my eyes.”

“Then I’ll let you help me and my mother.”

“Thank you, Hibbah. I’d like that very much.”

“What would you expect in return?”

“Oh, I don’t know,” I sighed as I looked upwards, “Maybe a hug once in a while, a cuddle or even a thank you every now and then. If I’m really lucky, a kiss or two on the cheek will do. Is that payment enough for you?”

“I like hugs. Daddy never hugged me, but Mama does.”

“Yeah, I like hugs too: lots of them.”

“But that will add up to a lot of hugs and kisses, won’t it?”

“Sweetie, you don’t have to do anything you don’t want to. If you want to hug me, hug me. If you don’t, then don’t. Whatever you choose to give from your heart is payment enough. It’s that simple. Understand?”

“I understand. You said you have daughters, how many?”

“Four. There’s Tina, she’s twelve; Cinny and Lizzy are five, and Malina: she’s one.”

“Wow. Your wife must be really fertile! How old are you? You don’t look so old to have a twelve year-old daughter.”

“Hibbah!” Aziza admonished, “That’s not polite to say!”

“That’s alright, Aziza,” I shushed. “I’m twenty-seven. Actually, I have four wives. Tina is adopted and Cinny and Lizzy are twins. Right now, three of my wives are going to have three more little girls. Miko, one of your nurses, is one of my wives and is expecting a little girl.”

“Oh,” the girl replied, “you must really be rich to have that many wives.”

“Yes, Sweetie,” I chuckled, “I’m very rich.”

“Well, thank you for wanting to help us.”

“It’s my pleasure and I consider it an honor to be your sponsor and your friend.”

Hibbah grimaced and started to squirm a bit and I asked her, “Are you in pain?”

She started to tear up and nodded. She said, “Everything is starting to hurt again. My leg hurts the most, but my arm and side hurt too. My head hurts and I have a headache. The medicine helps, but only for a little while.”

Hibbah started to cry and I pulled her to me and stroked the side of her face as she cried against my chest. She whimpered, “I feel so sad and mixed up inside. I can see my foot is gone, but why do I still feel it? Why does it hurt when it isn’t there?’

I swallowed hard and said as I kissed the top of her head, “That’s because your brain still thinks it’s there. The nerves and muscles going to your missing foot are very raw and stimulated. Your brain hasn’t adjusted to your body yet. It’s okay, Sweetie. It’s normal to feel like that.”

I gave her a gentle squeeze and said, “Let me call the nurse and get you some medicine, okay?”

She silently nodded against my chest. I pushed the call button and asked the nurse for some pain medication. When the nurse came in, she said she also wanted to check the drain on Hibbah’s stump. I excused myself for several reasons. First, I didn’t think that Hibbah would want me to see that part of her yet and secondly, I didn’t think I was ready. As the nurse was leaving, I stuck my head in the door and asked if it was alright to come back in. Aziza summoned me back in and Hibbah’s bed had been lowered and she was starting to feel the effects of the drugs. Evidently, the nurse had injected the medication directly into Hibbah’s IV.

I sat next to her and stroked the back of her hand as I held it. I asked her if I could visit tomorrow and she looked at me like I had dementia. She cocked her head to focus her eyes and said through the translator, “Of course. I thought you wanted to be my friend. You’re the only friend I have except for the nurses. They’re nice, but it’s still a job for them. You come because I’m beautiful, right?”

I pointed to her as I turned to her mother and said, “See? Even at eight, she’s got us men all figured out.” I turned back to her and tweaked her nose saying, “You bet. I’m a real sucker for a pretty girl with brown eyes.”

She gave a groggy giggle and pushed my hand away saying, “You make me feel better, even though I know you’re playing with me and lying.”

“Whoa there’,” I replied, “Remember I promised you, Hibbah, I won’t ever lie to you. You’re a pretty girl with big brown eyes: accept it. Deal with it kid, cause it’s the God’s honest truth.””

I took and kissed the back of her hand. She smiled with her eyes closed and fell off to sleep. I prayed with Aziza again before I left for the day. As I started to get on the elevator, I was stopped by Dr. Clayborne and a woman. Susan stopped cold in the elevator doorway, almost running into me. She exclaimed, “Oh! I’m sorry, I was hoping to run into you and I almost did just that! Sean, this is Aamira Akbar. She is one of the Middle Eastern regional representatives for Caring Arms, the relief organization that sponsored Hibbah and her mother. Do you have a few moments to go my office and discuss your sponsorship?”

“Sure,” I replied, ‘lead the way.”

We stepped back onto the elevator and went to Susan’s office. Once seated, Aamira said, “Mr. Michaels, it appears that Allah has blessed Hibbah and provided for her in one day what it would have taken us months to find: a sponsor.”

I sighed and chuckled as I shook my head. She asked me, “Did I say something funny?”

“No, Ms. Akbar, you didn’t. It seems that there’s a lot of speculation about God, Hibbah, my wife Miko and me.”

I then proceeded to give her the background of my finding her statement ironically funny. When I’d finished, she said, “It does seem that Allah is directing our paths, does it not? In any event, let’s discuss your sponsorship.

“Is it possible for you to come here a little earlier tomorrow and sign all the documents needed to finalize your sponsorship of Hibbah and her mother? It will only take about half an hour. I understand that you are willing to undertake total and complete responsibility for their living expenses along with the medical costs of Hibbah’s treatment. Am I to assume this means you’re willing to provide any clothing, housing, food or any other needs including a monetary expense account during their stay in the United States? If so, I will have to have other documents drawn up that state that fact. Why such a generous offer? Most sponsors only provide for the medical needs of their sponsored, some, maybe a little more.”

I smiled and answered, “I guess I can’t blame people for asking, but Hibbah asked me the same thing. She wanted to know if I was doing it because I felt sorry for her or was it to be kind to America’s enemies. I’ll tell you what I told her. My wife is a nurse here and she wants me to do something for the kids on the ward who don’t have proper families or are in foster care. I happen to love kids and am pretty good with them as long as I don’t have to see them suffering. My wife felt deeply moved to persuade me to try to help some of these kids with not only my financial resources, but also my time and effort. I happen to be in a position to make a difference and am more than willing to do so.

“Neither I nor my wife, ever in our lifetimes, expected to be confronted with a child victim of war with such injuries. When it became knowledge of Hibbah’s wounds and her circumstances, Miko, my wife, felt very strongly that God had brought a child that needed a sponsor and me, a person with the resources to help, together for some higher purpose.

“Now, my motivation is much simpler. I am Muslim and I have four daughters of my own. If my daughter was in financial need and suffering from the same serious injuries, I would hope and pray that some compassionate wealthy benefactor would be there to help my child. It’s that simple. I am wealthy: very wealthy. I’m here and willing to help financially. After discussing Hibbah’s case with both my family and Dr. Clayborne, I’ve also committed myself to be a friend, advisor and mentor or whatever else is needed for that little girl to recover. That’s it: plain and simple.

“I’m willing to take over support of Aziza and let her move into my home and bring Hibbah to live with me also when she’s discharged from the hospital. They will be free to practice their Islamic faith along with my family. My family and I will see to it that she has transportation and anything else she needs for therapy, prosthetic fittings and hospital and doctor visits. If you want to draw up the papers stating what I’ve just told you, fine. If you want me to, I’ll call my attorney in the morning and have the papers drawn up. I’ll even sign the INS Affidavit of Support for both of them. I told Hibbah today that I will help her and her mother begin a new life: whether it’s here in America or back in Iraq if that’s where they choose to live.”

“Well, Mr. Michaels, you have certainly made my job a lot easier. I was going to tell you what is involved and what your responsibilities are, but what you’ve offered to do for this family is truly a miracle.”

“Wrong, Ms. Akbar. A miracle would be that Hibbah will recover completely and become a strong, independent and confident woman despite having lost a foot — that’s the miracle I’m praying for. If that miracle costs a million dollars, then it’s worth every penny and I certainly couldn’t have made a better investment. Agreed, Dr. Clayborne?”

Susan had tears in her eyes and replied, “I could just kiss you!”

I jutted out my chin and pointing to my cheek quipped, “Lay it on me, Doc.”

She grabbed my cheeks and planted a solid closed mouth kiss on my lips. When she broke the kiss, she said, “Little Miko hit the jackpot when she married you — even if she does have to share you with three other wives!”

“Oh my!” Aamira gasped. “You have four wives?”

“Yes, I married all my wives, except Miko, in India where Islamic multiple marriages are recognized. Here in the States, the U.S. government only recognizes my first wife, Priya as my legal spouse. Now, about that paperwork: shall I take care of it or shall you?”

“I trust you and your attorney can handle this matter just fine. Why don’t you call me when everything is ready for signing and we can meet and have everything notarized?”

“Sounds like a plan to me. I’ll call Mark, my lawyer, at home tonight and we should have everything completed in a few days. Now, I beg your indulgence, but I have to leave and get home. Three of my four wives are pregnant with girls. Added to the four I already have, you can see I’m a literal slave to a house full of females from the age of one to thirty. I have feet to rub, cocoa butter to apply and even a back or two to rub along with a diaper change and tucking a couple of mischievous twins into bed. I asked my father for help time and time again, but he said I made my bed with four wives in it, I have to sleep in it.”

“Well,” Aamira replied with a wry smile, “with three of your four wives pregnant, you seem to have things well in hand… I mean in the bed you’ve made.”

“Wrong again, Ms. Akbar. It all started when my youngest wife wanted to get pregnant. From there, my four conniving wives hatched a plan whereby two of them would give their younger sister company in being fruitful. I didn’t have a say in the matter. As my father has said many a time, ‘It’s a bloomin conspiracy.’”

That elicited a chuckle from both women. Aamira commented, “You’re so different from most Muslim men. They generally rule their homes with finality, but you seem so unlike that. Why?”

“It’s simple, Aamira, it’s simply a matter of survival. One angry woman is trouble. Two angry women are partners in crime. Three is a conspiracy and four is an Islamic quorum capable of sentencing you to death. I have an IQ of 149, but I have a wife whose IQ is 152. It seems that no matter how smart a man is, there’s always a woman smarter. Besides, I’m a wimp. Even my one year-old daughter knows that and gets what she wants with a bat of an eyelash. I suspect that even Hibbah will have me wrapped around her little finger within the month.”

“How unique,” Aamira said, “a Muslim man that recognizes the power of a woman.”

“Ms. Akbar, even Mohammad had his challenges with females. I’m not going to touch that remark with a ten foot pole.”

Having ended our meeting with a joke, we rose to leave. Aamira gave me her card and I assured her I’d call her when all the necessary paperwork was ready for signing. Waiting for the elevator, I looked at my watch and realized that Miko was due to get off duty in fifteen minutes. I pushed the button for the pediatric ward and decided to leave with her.

Twenty-five minutes later, Miko collected her things and we left for home. On the elevator, I asked her how Hibbah was doing. She replied, “She woke up for a few minutes when I changed her dressing and we spoke for a few minutes.

“She likes you. When I gently probed her for more clarification, she said she likes the fact that you’re Muslim, rich and want to help her and her mother. She also likes the fact that you like to give hugs and you think she’s pretty. Sean, you melted that little girl’s heart today. She said that no one except her mother has ever called her pretty. She also said she likes your shining blue eyes and that you’re are very handsome.

“She’s very observant and remarked that you didn’t look at her missing foot once, but that you always looked into her eyes. She didn’t say too much else because the medication put her back out. When I left, she was sleeping.”

“Miko, this is the hardest thing I’ve ever done in my life! Every time I looked into her eyes, I could see her pain and it just tore my heart out.”

Miko stood on tiptoes and kissed my cheek and answered, “Don’t worry, Sean. It’ll get better. Once she starts to heal and your relationship with her gets stronger, she’ll look to you for strength and encouragement more and more. I’ve never been more proud to be your wife and I thank the Lord that I’m yours.”

_________________________

At dinner that night, Miko and I discussed the day’s events with the family. With the new addition to the west side of the house, we’d added another thirty-two hundred square feet to our home’s floor plan. We now had a bona fide classroom and four additional bedrooms and adjoining baths. The addition had an unfinished basement and rough-ins for two more bathrooms. If needed, we could finish it off with two more bedrooms: Four if they had “buddy baths.”

Mom and Dad were proud of the fact that I was grabbing the bull by the horns and took on the task of assuming complete responsibility for the welfare of a family in dire need. Dad and especially Mom were firm believers in giving back and the practice of “paying forward.”

My wives thought it funny when Miko told them that Hibbah liked my blue eyes and good looks. Tiya slipped in a quip by saying, “Well, since Mom is your concubine, Hibbah will have to wait in line. You promised me to make a brother or sister with me, remember?”

I paused putting a bite of food in my mouth and looked at Pita. She gave a hand-covered giggle and I turned to the budding lolita and replied, “Grow some boobies first.”

That cracked the whole table up. She looked down her blouse and sighed. She remarked, “I asked God for tits, but He only gave me bits.”

Mom slapped her arm and chided, “Hey girl, you’ve been spending way too much time with Leeya and not enough on the piano!”

Leeya sat back and rubbing her little baby pot retorted, “I resent that remark!”

The girls just snickered and continued eating. After the laughter died down, Priya got serious and asked, “When are you going to bring her mother, what’s her name again?”

“Aziza.”

“When are you going to bring Aziza here so she doesn’t have to stay in that lonely hotel room? She can pray with us and feel like she’s not all alone in this ordeal.”

Leeya put in, “Yeah, I’d like to meet Hibbah and her mom. I’ll make it my project to teach her English. By the way, what language does she speak: Farsi?”

“No,” I answered, “I think they speak Arabic. I’ll also have to hire a full time translator that will agree to live here and go back and forth to the hospital with Aziza. I’ll start looking tomorrow morning.”

Mom quipped pointing her finger at Leeya, “And you behave yourself, little mama. Don’t go putting sex Ed on her syllabus.”

Leeya just gave a smirk around her fork. Everyone else just chuckled.

“Dad, after dinner, can we call Mark and have him draw up the sponsorship papers with all the details? I’d also like to file an Affidavit of Support with INS and get that out of the way. I’ll have to check with Ms. Akbar about their visa status also. We may have to get that changed.”

“Sure, we’ll make the call right after dinner.”

Monaavi was quiet and emotional about the whole thing and Mom asked her why she was so quiet. Monaavi remarked, “I’m like Sean. Just the thought of the suffering and pain that little girl is going through simply breaks my heart. I thank Allah everyday that our children live in safety and are loved and sheltered from all this evil.”

She put her fork down and covered her face and cried, “Why is it always the children that suffer? Why do they have to pay for the sins of heartless governments?”

Dad swallowed hard and laid his hand on hers saying, “Monaavi, as long as there are differences in ideologies, there will always be those who want to settle those differences with war. What people don’t realize is that those wars are ultimately paid for with the lives of our children and the innocence of youth.”

“But it just isn’t right!” she countered, “Why do the children have to pay?”

“Because they can’t defend themselves, Sweetie,” Dad answered. “Our children expect us to protect them and they have no means of fighting back. Unfortunately, they become pawns, used by both sides; or like in Hibbah’s case, become innocent victims.”

“Well, it just isn’t right! In fact, it’s sinful, absolutely sinful!

Mom said soothingly, “Monaavi, we can only do what we can to change that part of our world that we have control over. We can do our part of making a piece of this war right by helping Hibbah and her mother. God expects all of us to do our parts and sometimes that means one life at a time. Let’s work together to give these two a chance at a new life; a life in which they feel safe and loved. If we can do that, we’ll have made a difference.”

“Amen, Mom,” Priya added.

“Amen,” everyone agreed.

After dinner, Dad called our attorney and he said he could have everything drawn up in a couple of days. I went online and started looking for a full time translator. After about fifteen frustrating minutes, I realized that finding someone that met our special needs, especially one that spoke Arabic, would be a daunting task. There were plenty of Spanish speaking translators, but none that spoke Arabic. I decided that there was only one way find one. In the morning, I’d call Johns Hopkins and find a female graduate student that spoke Arabic and offer to fund her education in return for one year of service with the additional incentive of a high salary.

It was Leeya’s night and because of the somberness of the evening, she wanted to be cuddled and loved. I gave her a soothing massage and paid special attention to her growing breast buds and stomach. After that, she asked me to pleasure her orally.

I ate her delicious little mommy quim to two soft orgasms and she seemed content with that. As she languidly basked in our closeness, I told her how much I loved her and just how special she was to me. She fell off to sleep as I continued to whisper endearments in her ear and rubbed little Emma.

I lay there in bed thinking of how our life would change. There will be hardship ahead for all of us. Language barriers, the emotional and physical trauma of helping a young amputee return to a somewhat normal life… and work. A lot of hard work: both by Hibbah, and me to help her through this. I finally took comfort in knowing that my family was in this with me. Together, we can certainly make a difference.