The Secret of the Torbouch

Uncle Abdullah and His Torbouch

Important Note: I advise sensitive souls to avoid this note, which can be qualified as absolutely Lesbian. For those who suffer the symptoms of despotism, fanaticism, narrow-mindedness, and homophobia, this note may be infuriating and lethal. Uncle Abdullah stands for the Tunisian mentality, which I qualify as conservative and conformist despite the legislative progress and reforms the country has witnessed ever since its independence.

A Cup of Tea with Uncle Abdullah

Everyday, we meet each other, Uncle Abdullah and Me; we meet in different places, at home, in the street, in the cafés, in my office, in the restaurant; and, sometimes, it seems to me that Uncle Abdullah is everywhere watching and guarding the outstanding cultural creation of his own. I like sitting with Uncle Abdullah to sip of a cup of minted tea and annoy him with my exasperating presence, which he denies and conceals.

Ah, Uncle Abdullah, tell them what you are hiding under you torbouch; tell them how you parade in the streets, at airports, hotels, and on TV screens to speak of equality, tolerance and openness, tell of peace and coexistence, and describe yourself as a reformist and liberator. Tell them of me, lying in the darkness, denied liberty, and discriminated; tell them this, if you dare, as you offer jasmine bouquets to your visitors. Tell them how you have always preached my persecution; tell them how you (tolerate) hatred towards my fellow-sisters and me, and (put up with) our negation and discrimination; tell them (open and tolerant as you are), and do not ashamed.

Ah, Uncle Abdullah, tell them that there is no feminine version of your name; I have never heard of Aunty Amatullah; such a name is out of use in your world as you refer to all the members of the society as Abdullahs. I think you are absolutely aware that you are negating the feminine in your discourse as in your doings. Terrible Uncle Abdullah! Tell them the reason why you are so afraid of recognising the presence of the feminine and the lesbian; tell them for that will not hurt you as much as it is hurting me; tell them for that will not cut down your long moustaches or steal your phallus; so tell them.

Uncle Abdullah in the Kutab and Hammam

Ah Uncle Abdullah, you remember how you took me to the Kutab (Koranic Madrassa) when I was three; you advised me to learn by heart all the Surahs and never ask questions; I was the most brilliant student, even better than boys, and that ignited in you an incomparable frustration. You were all the time blaming the whole new generation and the progress; you were blaming reforms for they allowed a girl like me to come out of home and attend the courses, and consequently show to be better than boys. I remember Uncle Abdullah the day you told me, to belittle the three years old girl, that whether I learned by heart or not, I would never be allowed to recite publicly like boys. Poor Uncle Abdullah, I have always been stubborn; I ended up memorising the holy book and questioning its teachings.

I left the Kutab when I was five to your relief my Uncle; I left to go to school and I have always been brilliant; I left and had been adopted by Uncle Sam; he taught his language and introduced to me his civilisation. I am a hybrid in a way; I speak three languages; I have absorbed what they call the global culture; I sway between the East and the West. I do not approve all your thoughts and deeds, Uncle Abdullah, like I do not approve all the thoughts and deeds of Uncle Sam; I have reservations; both of you have been so cruel to me. I respect Islam, not that of suicide bombers and extremists; I respect Christianity, not that of Bushism and missiles; I respect Judaism, not that of Zionists and lobbyists; and, despite my respect, none has shown me respect in return. To respect a religion means, in no way, embracing it.

To be a hybrid, Uncle Abdullah, to be a woman and to be a lesbian are three curses, according to your logic, which cannot be tolerated. I am all these and I am here bearing your insults and hiding in the cold and darkness of the empty streets to steal a kiss from the lips of my sweetheart. Believe me, Uncle Abdullah, I do not want to turn your world into a Lesbian World; all I want is freedom and respect; all I want is your understanding; it is a question of love for me, nothing more, nothing less.

My first encounter with the bitter reality took place at the Hammam; so few people know that you, Uncle Abdullah, go with women to the Hammam as you have always preached the separation between sexes in intimate places. You are everywhere, in our brains and in our intimacies; you slip everywhere and in every place. I remember how a woman approached me in the Hammam and told me: “You are no better than my boy, little girl, even though you have better marks than him; he is a man; you are a girl doomed to serve a man”. I remember that day, a day that hurts, words that hurt; I remember the face of the woman; today, I know that her boy is the caretaker of the neighbourhood who is washing my car twice a week.

Uncle Abdullah and the Secret of the Torbouch

Tell them Uncle Abdullah that I am a rebel girl; tell them I am the different roaming in the streets of our country and hiding from gazes to steal a moment of delight with my girlfriend. Tell them that legislations are legislations, and that we are the people of no legislations; we write on papers, we sign conventions, we preach reforms and we forget. Tell them of your logic which tells that a woman is a woman and that a man is a man, and that a woman has no role but that of serving her husband; tell them that I risk imprisonment for the sole crime of love; tell them; do not be ashamed.

Uncle Abdullah; I have no right to disobey your thoughts; Tahar Haddad did a lot but a lot remains to be done; you need to change, Uncle Abdullah, like the legislation has changed, like the legislation will change to spare me the imprisonment for the crime of love. You need to keep pace with the world, which is moving around you, and aware of your backwardness; the masquerade is over and you need to choose between tolerance and authoritarianism. Uncle Abdullah, the only difference between a man and woman is the difference between a penis and a vagina; nonsense, claptrap, baloney… You think a man is superior to a woman because he has that organ? Foolishness, idiocy…

Uncle Abdullah, you have tortured me a lot; despite that, I will never give up my rebellion; I am a rebel and will always be, for me, for my sweetheart, and for my sisters. You have always been torturing me as you have always been slipping in the brains of everybody; my dad and mom wanted a son; my grand-pa wanted a grandson; my aunties wanted a nephew; I have never wanted to be a man. I am proud of my femininity and my lesbianism; I am proud of being who I am; I am proud of being here and speaking out.

So, tell them Uncle Abdullah and do not be ashamed; tell them what you are hiding under your torbouch; they know that you are no magician and that you are hiding no dove to surprise the audience. Tell them the truths you are hiding under your torbouch; tell them about the lesbian Tunisian girl you are concealing under your torbouch; tell them I am not that bad and naughty; tell them of all the wrong you caused; it is never late to confess your mistakes Uncle Abdullah. I am not ready to stay eternally under your torbouch; your hair is foul-smelling; you need to have a shower and release the little girl, the little girls, and the truth.

-Faithinlove-