WAHEUP MUSLIMS, IS THIS ISLAM? THE BIBLICAL JEWISH PRACTICES STOPPED EVEN
BY JEWS ARE BEING CARRIED AWAY BY MUSLIMS STILL TODAY! AND THAT TOO IN A MOST
MODERN ISLAMIC COUNTRY? SHAME ! SHAME! ON YOU O HADITH BELIEVERS, SHAME!
SHARIQ.
Sunlike <[EMAIL PROTECTED]> wrote: April 01, 2006 An Untold Love
Story "women are like cattle or slaves. If husband tells you to do something,
you have to obey" An Untold Love Story
By Yagmur Dursun
2005/03/13
My name is Yagmur (it means "rain"). I was born in rural Turkey, in a
village. Generally Turkish women enjoy many freedoms, which our Arab sisters
canât even think of. Rural Turkey is a different story. Honour killings take
place every day, women donât have much say (if any) in household matters and
female employment is out of question. However, much hard work is done by women
because men donât want to strain themselves; women are like cattle or slaves.
If husband tells you to do something, you have to obey.
My mother was a fairly educated woman, she taught me at home and I even went
to school. My hobby was reading books. Through them I learnt different
languages and acquired a lot of knowledge.
I was a disciplined and obedient girl, unlike my sister who was somewhat
uppity. When she was 18, she fell in love with a young man. They both loved
each other but he was meant for another girl, thus his parents had decided.
Dating is utterly forbidden in Islam, marriages are arranged and often young
people meet on their wedding day.
My sister was rebellious. She âdatedâ that young man. Every night she
would go to see him. They even kissed and actually their relationship went too
far. She got pregnant. At first they planned to run away to a big city where
they would be safe. They knew in villages, religion rules and they could be in
trouble. Authorities donât care whatâs going on in rural Turkey. Sometimes
imams, mullahs and elders who try to practice Sharia and break the secular
state law are punished but usually authorities are more interested in big
cities full of tourists and turn a blind eye to what happens in villages.
I remember their young faces. I didnât understand the whole situation; I
was a little girl. But when I looked at them I could see they were happy. Their
happiness made me happy too and I wanted to smile.
Instead of eloping, they decided to speak to my father. "Pregnancy is a very
good reason to get permission for marriage", or so they thought.
Alas, my sister had miscalculated my fatherâs love for her and his
obsession with his religion. He became furious. Instead of letting the two
young lovers marry and build their nest of love, he took her to the religious
elders and they ruled that she had committed adultery. She was sentenced to
death by stoning. They showed no mercy even for her unborn child. She had
stained the âhonourâ of the family and the only way to remove that stain
was to nip her life in the bud. Her unborn baby was a stain too and that little
creature had to be destroyed as well, so my family could live honorably.
In the evening before her execution, she came to my room and told me that she
would miss me. She was crying and hugged me to her bosom. Then she smiled and
said that soon she would see her unborn baby. I was blissfully unaware of her
fate, but I felt that something bad was about to happen. I was so scared!
I still remember her black eyes; she stared at the sky while she was dug into
the ground. She was wrapped in white sheets and her hands were tide to her
body. She was buried up to her waist. The rabid mob circled her with stones in
their hands and started throwing them at her while the roars of Allah-u-Akbar
Allah-u-Akbar added to their frenzy. She twitched with pain as the stones hit
her tender body and smashed her head. Blood gushed out from her face, cheeks,
mouth, nose and eyes. All she could do was to bend to the left and to the
right. Gradually the movements slowed down and finally she stopped moving even
though the shower of the stones did not stop. Her head fell on her chest. Her
bloodied face remained serene. All the pain had gone. The hysteric mob relented
and the chant of Allah-uâAkbar stopped.
Someone approached and with a big boulder in his hand smashed the scull of my
sister to finish her off. There was no need for that; she was already dead. Her
bright black eyes that beamed with life were shut. Her jovial laughter that
filled the world around her was silenced. Her heart that beat with such a
heavenly love for only a short time had stopped. Her unborn baby was not given
a chance to breathe one breath of air. He (or she) accompanied his young mother
in her solitary and cold tomb, or who knows, maybe to a better place where love
reigns and pain and ignorance are not known. These two budding lives had to be
nipped so my father could keep his honour.
Woman being prepared for stoning- Iran
She wanted to marry a man whom she loved. She dreamt wearing a white wedding
dress, that there would be a big ceremony, lots of people would be invited and
they all would congratulate her, chant merry songs and throw flowers and
confetti at her. Yes there was a ceremony, but it was not her wedding. She was
dressed in white but that was not her wedding gown. Lots of people came to the
party but they came to curse her and to throw stones at her. No music was
played and no merry songs were sang; only screams of Allah-u-Akbar filled the
air. The only hug she got was from the cold earth in which she was half buried.
The only kisses that she received were from the rocks thrown at her that tore
her flesh and broke her bones. They were the kisses of death. She was not
united with the man whom she loved but was wed to death.
This was a tragedy for my sisterâs young lover. His life lost its meaning.
He got lashes but nothing more. He could well forget about the whole affair and
get along with his life, but he didn't. I recall seeing him standing in front
of our house every day, as if waiting for my sister to come out and meet him. I
could see him crying. I can only imagine that when he was not crying in front
of our house he was in the cemetery, crying over the grave of his love and his
baby. One day he could no more bear his pain and hanged himself.
His death was hushed and no one talked about it. Maybe no one cared. He was
reunited with his love and his baby. No one can hurt them anymore. No one can
separate them from one another again.
It is a sad story. But unlike the story of Romeo and Juliet it is a story
that is never told. No one talks about those young lovers. No one sheds tears
for them. Not only they were buried, their memories were also buried as if they
never existed - their tender love was a shame to others - a shame that had to
be washed with blood.
But the saddest part is that according to Islam my sister deserved that
death. The elders were sure she would be burning in Hell for eternity. No, I
can't imagine that God can send someone to Hell for loving and for being happy.
I can't accept a cruel God.
____----****O****----____
Now back to my life. When I turned 18, I was married off to a Turkish
businessman from Germany. When I came to Germany I found out that he had
another wife.
He is not a bad man at all. He is very kind, but he is a Muslim. He doesnât
understand why Europeans donât like polygamy, for instance. He doesnât
allow us to leave the home. He protects our honour in this strange way.
Then we moved to the UK. Here we are even more isolated than in Germany
because there are fewer Turks. In Germany we at least could meet our fellow
expats.
As for my relationship with my husband's first wife, we are friends. There is
some rivalry between us, thatâs for sure. But I am alone and canât meet
anyone or leave home. Her life is just as dull and empty as mine. We canât
hate each other; we should be friends to overcome our troubles. My co-wife and
I are like two cellmates. We only have each other. There is not much room for
antagonism or hard feelings.
I have 5 children, she has 4. She occupies a more privileged position within
our family because she has a son. I have given birth only to daughters so far.
We are both educated, but she is so obsessed with kids that she has given
herself up. I am still trying to grasp at non-existent straws; probably one day
I will be freed⦠I read books, keep myself informed and like to think. She is
not remotely interested in reading books or thinking. I am alone.
Sometimes I think of running away, but I have 5 daughters. I can neither
leave them, nor run away with them. Actually, I am stuck.
Even though I left Islam a long time ago, I cannot stop praying or fasting.
My husband keeps a rod for the disobedientâ¦
When I try to protest, my mouth is shut up with quotes from the Quran. Islam
defines our lives. Isnât it stupid that people live according to a book
written a long time ago?
I am not whining about my life but I do hate Islam. At least I could object
to certain traditions but Islam preserved the worst in our culture, reducing
women into slavery and keeping them ignorant. What can you expect from an
uneducated woman?
When I look at my daughters, I pray that they may live in a free world, free
from Islam and this slavery.
Ali, you promised to defeat Islam very soon, so please do it.
I know sometimes you must feel like giving up. It seems to me youâve
devoted yourself fully to the good cause of yours. You may feel at times that
you will never succeed. I just want to say that you are fighting for women like
me. When you despair, think of me and millions of women with similar tragic
experiences. Never give up. You are my knight in shining armour. I just want
you to know that I am your keen supporter.
Please sent this story to your friends and publish it in your site.
Yagmur Dursun is a pen name. Some details of this story have been changed to
hide the identity of the author
---------------------------------
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