Middle of Everywhere - Mary Bray Pipher [100]
Nessima often quoted sexist old sayings such as, "A woman in bed by night, by day a walking stick." She told me that when she and her husband fought, she taunted him, "If you're a real man, beat me." I responded carefully, "That isn't a good thing to say in America. It is against the law to hit women here. Your husband could go to jail. And, Nessima, you could be hurt."
Nessima's husband also worked at the dog food factory, first shift, so that he could watch the kids while she worked. He felt Americans were sinful and unfriendly. Nessima said of him, "Hello and sorry are the only English words my husband knows."
Nessima appeared to have mixed feelings about Nebraska. The world she believed in had grown murderous. In this new place, she was working and learning to drive. Her values remained conservative, but she enjoyed her freedom to shop, go to classes, and to drive her kids to Kmart and the parks.
She didn't enjoy her job—after eight hours on the killing floor, her bones ached and she stank from dried blood, but she liked making money for the first time in her life. Even though she handed her husband her check, they were both aware that she earned half their income. In Nebraska, power was more evenly divided between them; Nessima wasn't as humble as she used to be.
Ritu was a shy, pretty young woman. Looking at her in the support group, smiling and gentle, it was hard to believe she had witnessed the executions of all the men in her family. She'd escaped with her three children, traveling on foot to a refugee camp in Pakistan where they had survived a harsh winter with no tent. She had been raped in that camp, although no one spoke of this directly. Now she was pregnant with the baby of the rapist.
Generally in Afghanistan, rape is a great shame for the victim and her family. But this was America and the women were reacting in a new way. Ritu had no time for shame and the other women spoke of the upcoming birth with happy anticipation. They all did what they could to help. When Ritu worked double shifts, Zahra slept at her house. Nessima invited her home for meals, and Leda gave her used children's clothes.
Until the war came, Ritu had been a nurse, an educated woman with a husband she loved and healthy children. When the Taliban closed her clinic, she'd been forced to stay at home, knowing her patients desperately needed help. After her husband was killed, she and the children almost starved to death. Yet here in Nebraska, she never complained.
Ritu supported her family with a minimum-wage job. Her disposable income was probably about what I spent each month on café lattes. Still, she shared whatever she had with the rest of us. Today she kept passing me pistachios and encouraging me to eat. The only time I had seen her cry was when she told us about her baby's ultrasound and said the doctor believed the baby would be healthy. She'd asked me, "Why am I crying when I am happy? I never cried when I was sad."
In these women's stories, a lot of pain had gone under the bridge. But the women were clearly happy to be in America and in this group. They were delighted their children were well fed and learning to read. Ritu said, "We are grateful to Lincoln. It is a quiet, safe place."
Americans seemed lonely to them. Leda said in Iraq if a new family moved into a neighborhood, for a week they wouldn't lift a finger. Neighbors would bring them meals and do their chores. Fathers would help the men carry things and mothers would clean and cook for the wife to make her feel welcome. She sighed and said, "Everyone here is too busy." Ritu added, "In America everyone makes his own life, and that is a good thing and a bad thing."
As usual, the women discussed food and shopping. They all were amazed at the products in our stores. Nessima was surprised there were dolls that talked and that you could buy a mix to make a cake. The first time she went to Kmart she walked up and down the rows wondering what everything was for. Ritu told of seeing all the types of women's underwear at Kmart. At first she couldn't figure