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"The Sin of Existence: A Girl Born into the Guillotine of Tradition"
My birth was no ordinary event; it was an earthquake that shook the foundations of a house that recognized only the supremacy of men. I was born a nightmare in the minds of parents who never expected their lives to blossom with a "female." My father traced the path of pride only in the features of his sons, but destiny chose to thrust me into this desolate world, as if I had come to challenge the village's silence and the cruelty of its norms.
My tragedy began in the year 2000, when my parents decided to add a new child to their small kingdom, where my brothers, Anas and Haroun, reigned like young gods, showered with love and reverence. In our village, the birth of a male is a "manifest victory" celebrated with drums, but a female? She is the hidden shame, the scar everyone wishes to conceal. Did I choose this cursed society? Did the fates ask my permission before casting me into the depths of this pit?
My mother carried me, enduring a hardship that could make mountains crumble, until the moment of deliverance arrived. I entered the world in peace, unaware that my first cry was a declaration of a fierce war. From that moment, joy turned into a funeral. Instead of the ululations that should welcome a new soul, the house drowned in a sea of wailing and blame, as if my mother had crafted my destiny within her womb.
My mother wept for her ill-fortune, mourning my femininity as if it were an unpardonable crime. "Why a girl?" was the question that tore through the stifling silence of the room. Suddenly, there was a knock at the door—a knock that shook my mother's very being and froze the blood in her veins. It was "him"... my father.
He entered the room with the arrogance of one expecting a third "knight," asking eagerly, "Congratulations to us? Is he well?" A haunting silence prevailed—a silence akin to a funeral where no one had died but the "wounded dignity" in the mind of a man who saw a female as a strike against his status. Not a soul dared to speak, until my grandmother's frail voice rose to say: "My son, what God gives is a blessing; there is no difference between male and female."
Then, the volcano erupted. "A girl?!" my father screamed in disbelief, as if he had received a stab to his pride. "I will become the laughingstock of the tribe! Mr. Mohammed is gifted a girl? What a disgrace!" He didn't stop at shouting; he lunged at my fragile mother, venting his rage on her body, which was already exhausted from childbirth, asking in sheer ignorance: "Why did you bear me a girl?"
My maternal grandmother stepped in to curb this tyranny, pushing him away while reminding him that creation belongs to God alone. My father left, dragging the tails of his imagined "disappointment," and my mother collapsed in a sea of tears. Little did she know then, in the peak of her brokenness, that this child whom everyone rejected would one day be the true pillar of support—a blessing that would surpass the grace of a thousand sons.
To be continued...