Becoming Ghaniyah- A Tale of Bondage and Submission Read online

  There was a brief conversation between the two women while Leslie was kept bent over, her hands glued behind her back. The second woman was dressed in a thin, dark green, shirtwaist dress that went down below her knees. It had half sleeves and the woman’s arms were thick and strong like she had worked in the fields for most of her life. There was an identity card with her picture on it pinned to her uniform, over her right breast. She too was heavyset. Her dirty brown hair was done up in a bun on the back of her head. Leslie was just able to stare up at her from her position. She looked even uglier and meaner than the woman who had been tormenting her. She trembled when she thought of what she might be in for.

  When the conversation was over, the first woman handed Leslie off to the second. She took a firm grasp of Leslie’s hair and pulled her away from the door while she closed it. She threw the bolt home just as it closed from the other side. It made a loud ‘clang!’ that echoed down the long hallway. When the echo ended, there was absolute silence.

  The new guard brought Leslie to the wall next to the door and gave her the same order that the first woman did, the one that Leslie thought was a curse. She knew what to do now and as the woman released her hair, she plopped up next to the wall and placed her hands on it. She scooted her feet back until she was leaning forward and then spread them. She was a bright girl who didn’t need to be told things twice.

  The new guard picked up the handset to a wall mounted telephone and punched in a number. A moment later, she barked something or other into it. She waited for a response and then gave out a sound of affirmation. She hung up the phone.

  The woman took a seat next to a large wooden desk by the door. She had apparently been reading a magazine. She went back to her task.

  Leslie stood there for a long, long time. Her toes and the arches of her feet had started hurting almost right away. Her calves began to ache soon afterwards. Her eyes were pinned to the wall in front of her. It was made of cement blocks that had been coated with a thin screen of plaster and then painted a pale yellow. The grey of the underlying blocks showed through in several places. There were cracks running up and down them here and there. Leslie counted them a number of times. There were seven blocks going up and down. Within her vision, there were five blocks across. That was all she could see, all she did see for almost an hour. She counted the cracks. She counted them again.

  Time passed slowly, time to fret about her future, to relive the torment the first guard had put her through, time to regret ever coming to this cruel land. The pain in her feet was becoming excruciating. It was hard to suppress the whine that kept wanting to come out, a whine of pain and misery. The sun outside was turning the inside of the prison into an oven and sweat was pouring off of her body. She was thirsty and tired and very, very scared.

  She felt so vulnerable, naked and alone amidst of this cold stone and steel. She heard no voices, although there certainly had to be other people in here. She had caught a glimpse of a long line of cells on one side of the hallway, the cold steel bars going all the way up to the twelve foot high ceiling. There had to be women in some of them. Were they condemned to perpetual silence?

  Only once did she hear any sound other than the turning of the pages of the guard’s magazine. Far away, there was the sound of heavy steel clanging against heavy steel. Then she heard a loud voice yell something. The voice was harsh and angry. It was a woman’s voice. There was a pause, and then she heard the unmistakable sound of a woman’s scream followed by a heart rendering series of desperate pleas. The angry voice rang out again. There was another scream and then sobbing. This was followed by the loud, harsh sound of steel on steel again, as if the door to a cell had been slammed closed. The sobbing continued for a while, getting fainter and fainter. A door slammed and then it went away.

  The sounds terrorized Leslie. It was clear that she was in a cruel, hard place. She tried not to imagine what the angry woman had done to the other to make her scream so loudly and frantically. It made her blood run cold. She tried not to envision where the angry woman had taken her and what she was going to do to her there. She just trembled and tried not to cry.

  When almost an hour had passed, Leslie heard the sound of heavy steps sounding on the shiny, tiled floor of the hallway. They were coming closer and closer. The footsteps stopped right behind her. She heard a new voice, a woman’s voice, somewhat lighter and less harsh than the first two guards. Guard number two answered her back. Then the new guard issued an order that Leslie hoped was meant for her. She turned her head slowly. The new guard was thinner than the other two. She was a little younger and her face seemed less cruel. She was dressed in the same thin green dress as the second guard. She issued the order again and Leslie moved herself off of the wall, still not sure if she was doing the right thing. She suppressed a sigh of relief as the pressure eased off of her feet and toes.

  The new guard didn’t react to what she had done so far. Leslie’s heart was thumping and her eyes flitted between the two women so she could prepare herself for a blow if one was coming. It was so strange and humiliating to be stark naked in front of the two conservatively dressed women. She remembered the first guard’s instructions to her and she quickly placed her hands behind her back. The new guard gave her a careful lookover. It seemed to Leslie that her gaze lingered on her plump breasts and the hairy bush between her legs. The guard then nodded at her, her expression deadpan, and she gave a jerk of the head as if telling Leslie to follow her.

  They strode quickly down the hallway. Leslie was able to glance in several of the cells and she saw women lying on cots in some of them, but the rest were empty. They were wearing plain, light brown dresses. When they reached the end of the hall, it turned right. They passed another long line of cells and reached a steel door. The guard had a circle of keys on a ring attached to her belt. She took it in hand, isolated a key, and then opened the door. They walked through it.

  This looked like part of the administrative wing. It had white plasterboard walls and a low ceiling. There were several brown wooden doors along the hallway. They stopped at one that was a half door with the top open. The bottom half had a shelf on it.

  A thin, elderly woman dressed in a light brown shirtwaist dress was sitting on a chair in a small stockroom. She had wispy, gray hair. Her face was heavily wrinkled. She was short, about 5’5” and slightly bent over. Her eyes were dull.

  The guard gave her an order. She smiled obsequiously and got up from her chair. She went back in the stockroom and returned with a thin, worn, brown blanket, some sheets, a small, dingy towel and a dirty old pillow. She put them on the shelf. She took a look at Leslie, letting her eyes wander over her body and then went away again. She came back with a folded up, brown, shirtwaist dress and a pair of dark brown, cloth slippers. She placed them on the pile. She walked away again and returned with a clear plastic bag that had a toothbrush, a small tube of toothpaste, a small bar of soap, a long, black, plastic comb and one tampon in it. With an air of finality, she placed them on the pile, smiling. Leslie noticed that she was missing a couple of teeth up front.

  The guard gave Leslie an order which she assumed meant that she should pick up the pile of stuff. She did as she was told and the followed the woman back down the hall. She opened the door they had come through and led Leslie off to the right, the opposite direction in which they had come. They went down another long line of cells. They stopped at one of them. The guard took another key and unlocked the cell door. She motioned with her head for Leslie to go in and she did. Without comment, she clanged the door shut, relocked it and walked away.

  There were two cots in the room, about three feet separating them. The one on the right was made up with the same type of blanket Leslie had been given. It was pulled tight in a military style and the pillow was placed neatly at the head of the bed. The top sheet was folded over the top of the blanket, showing about four inches.

  There was a toilet between the beds. The bowl and seat were made of steel. Next to it
was a small sink. It too was made of steel. There were two small tin cups on it. There was only one spigot. Cold, Leslie assumed.

  The cot on the left was unused. On it sat a thin, lumpy mattress. There were several large, dark stains on it that looked like blood. All of a sudden where she was and what had happened to her came down and punched Leslie right in the gut. She collapsed on the bed and started to cry. She had, at first, been thankful for getting the dress, but now she realized that the other things they gave her, the blanket and sheets, the pillow, the toothbrush, all bespoke the permanency of her status. They were going to keep her overnight, maybe indefinitely!

  Mr. Moussa was out of town. Even when he returned, there was no reason to believe that he would lift a finger to help her. She had disgraced him. She had only been working for him for a couple of weeks. She had been warned not to go out. He had no real obligation to her. He could probably get another secretary by picking up the phone. She was in a whole world of shit and there might not be any way out of it for a long, long time.

  When her sobs subsided, she tried to gather herself together. She picked up the dress from the pile of bedding and put it on. In was made from thin, coarse cotton and it scratched her skin as she drew it over her body. But at least it was something. It was too small though. The buttons on the front just barely closed. Her breasts pushed out the thin fabric tightly. Across her hips, the fabric strained. The hem was just above her knees, a tad longer than a miniskirt. She wondered if she was going to get any underwear.

  She tried on the slippers. They were too small and her toes jammed up inside them. She wondered if the old lady had given her things that were too small for her on purpose as some form of nasty joke or whether she was just senile. She wondered how long the woman had been in here and what she might have done. And how about the other inmates? Were they innocent victims of a tyrannical religious establishment like her or were they real criminals, thieves, drug dealers, murderers? Someone owned the bed across from hers. What would she be like? Would she be a hardened criminal or some girl like her, just a victim of circumstance? She had heard some pretty bad things that went on in women’s prisons, although she really didn’t believe half of them. But if even half of them were true, it would be terrible. The way the first guard had treated her was not comforting. Her ears still burned from humiliation at that thought of what the woman did to her.

  And when she thought of that, she thought too of the man who had raped her just a few hours ago. Were there any male guards? Would she be raped again?

  After a while, Leslie grew tired of all of her frantic speculation. She got up from the bed and put the sheets and blanket on it. She tried to make it as taut and as military looking as the other one. When that was done, she lay down on it and waited for something to happen.

  The cell block was absolutely silent. The cells were separated by concrete block walls and so she couldn’t see into the cells to the right or left of her. In front of her was just a blank wall. There were long, narrow windows at the top covered with iron bars that let in a little light. In the middle of the corridor outside her cell were long, fluorescent lights. Inside her cell was a single bulb behind a steel cage. It was not on.

  She had to wait a long time. All kinds of things ran through her head. She tried to stop worrying. Somehow things would work out, she knew that. She really hadn’t done anything that bad. All that talk of bribery and such was just ridiculous. She had been raped, for Christ’s sake!

  After a while, she had to pee. It was strange to sit on the toilet and see the open corridor in front of her through the bars. It felt like she was on stage. There was a small roll of coarse, brown toilet paper. She used it sparingly. She was thirsty after a while and she opened the faucet in the sink. A heavily clouded liquid poured out of it. She wasn’t that thirsty yet, she thought.

  But she was hungry. She didn’t know what time it was. She had been picked up around 9 o’clock. It had to be after 3 by now. And where were all the other inmates?

  Her answer came about an hour later. She heard a steel door opening and closing down the corridor. A minute later a single file line of women came walking down. They were all dressed like she was. She could see that they were all natives, with black or dark brown hair and tawny skin. They paraded by her cell. There were young ones and old ones, and ones in between. All the women had deadened, blank looks on their faces. They were utterly silent. Their uniform dresses were raggedy and sweat stained. A couple of guards came walking down next to the column, dressed in their green dresses, swaggering, their clubs held idly in their hands.

  The inmates all looked at her as they passed. Some were indifferent, some looked curious. Others leered at her hostilely. After about thirty or so of them passed, a whistle blew and they came to a halt. One woman had stopped just opposite the door to her cell. She was scrawny, about 5’6” tall, with dirty, black hair that came down to her shoulders in a ragged cut. The dirty brown dress she was wearing, unlike Leslie’s, came down below her knees. She looked to be in her late thirties, but her age was hard to tell because she looked so rough. She gave Leslie a malevolent look.

  The sound of cell doors being opened and closed rang out. It came closer and closer. The one of the guards came and unlocked the door to her cell. The mean looking woman came in. The door was shut and locked.

  Giving Leslie a dirty look, the woman went right to the toilet. Leslie tried not to look at her while she pissed. When she was done, she got up without wiping, went over to the sink and poured some water into one of the tin cups. She drank it down, poured another and drank that too. When she had finished her third cup, she put it down and stepped over to her bed. She sat down on it and looked at Leslie. She said something low in Arabic. It was slightly louder than a whisper and Leslie had a hard time understanding it.

  “I’m sorry, I don’t speak….” Leslie started to say.

  “Shhhhhhhhhh!” the woman hissed violently. She looked furtively out of the cell. Seeing no one, she turned back to Leslie.

  “British?” she asked in a whisper.

  “American,” Leslie whispered back.

  The woman laughed. “You in big trouble,” she said, smirking. “Drugs?”

  “N,no,” Leslie answered. “I was walking down the street. I was wearing a skirt. They arrested me.”

  The woman laughed again. “You in big trouble. Prostitute.”

  “No, no, I’m not a prostitute!” Leslie returned forcibly.

  “Shhhhhhhhh!” the woman hissed again. “No loud!” she whispered emphatically.

  Leslie nodded.

  “They say you prostitute, you prostitute,” the woman said definitively. “You have big trouble.”

  Tears welled up in Leslie’s eyes. “I’m not a prostitute,” she murmured sadly.

  The woman laughed. It was like sandpaper scraping along wood. Then her eyes lit up. “You get towel? Soap?” she asked.

  “Y,yes,” Leslie answered.

  “Me see,” the woman demanded.

  The towel was folded up on Leslie’s bed and the plastic bag with her toiletries was on top of it. She picked them up to show the woman.

  The woman moved quickly. She got up and snatched the towel and bag of toiletries from Leslie’s hand.

  “Hey!” Leslie said. “They’re mi….”

  The woman’s hand shot out like lightening and slapped Leslie viciously across the face.

  “Owwwwwwwwww!” Leslie shouted. Her voice echoed down the corridor. Within a second, one of the guards was at their cell. She banged on the bars with her club and shouted something in Arabic.

  “But she stole my towel!” Leslie exclaimed.

  The guard, her eyes flashing fire, banged even harder on the bars and shouted again. Leslie took a look at the heavy club, remembering her prior encounter with one and remained silent. Her eyes were filled with tears. The guard looked at the other woman in the cell with her and smirked. Then she walked away.

  The other woman had sat back down on her b
ed. She was smiling. “No make noise. Get beaten,” she said.

  She reached under her bed and drew out a long wooden box. It had no lid. She reached inside it and pulled out a grimy towel that looked like it hadn’t been washed in a year. She threw it at Leslie. “Yours,” she said. She took out a shopworn toothbrush and threw that at Leslie too. “Yours,” she repeated. Lastly, she drew out a dirty black comb with several teeth missing. She threw it at Leslie. “Yours,” she said.

  Leslie despondently gathered the things that the woman had thrown at her. She knew that there was nothing she could do. There as no way she was going to get into a fight with her. The woman looked as mean as a junk yard dog. She was obviously an old hand at prison life. Leslie knew that she wouldn’t stand a chance.

  The woman shoved the wooden box back down under her bed and then lay down on top of it. She folded her arms behind her head and closed her eyes.

  A half hour later, there was another whistle. Leslie’s cell mate got up and stood by the door. Leslie got up and stood behind her. She wasn’t sure she was supposed to, but she was hoping it was the dinner call and she didn’t want to miss that.

  A guard came down the line of cells opening them. Leslie’s cell mate just stood there waiting. After a few minutes, another whistle blew and she stepped out. Leslie stepped out behind her. They turned to the right. There was a whole line of women standing outside of their cells in front of them, their arms behind their backs. The whistle blew a third time and they began to walk.

  Leslie followed the column of women as they walked down the corridor. They went through an open steel door and down another corridor. At the end of the corridor was another steel door. When Leslie walked through it, she saw that she was in a cafeteria. She said a prayer of thanks.

  The line became all jammed up, women pushing anxiously from behind. They turned right when they entered and proceeded along the whitewashed, cement block wall. There were at least fifty women ahead of her. At the head of the line, she could see women picking up trays and moving along what looked like a chow line. Green garbed guards were patrolling between four long lines of old, wooden tables.