Shame on me - 7shouma 3liya

When I was six or seven years old, when guests were over my father told me and my sister to always make sure we were holding a pillow on our laps when wearing a skirt or dress. Naturally I didn't understand at the time why we were told to do this. At the time, I thought that he said this so we could prevent guests from hogging the pillows; maybe he wanted a pillow but was worried someone might take his if he were to leave the sofa. Years later, I had finally realized that the real reason for this was to make sure guests wouldn't be able to see our underwear when sitting down. This comes with plenty of questions with "Why would it be such a big deal if a child accidentally showed their underwear?" being the biggest one. Again, a couple years later, I finally understood that hshouma (English lit.: shame, Darija: 7shouma) was the main cause of this event and many more like it naturally followed after. It’s a phenomenon that influenced most of my life growing up and it might be the root cause of my perfectionism. It is something I’ve had to come to terms with recently which was really hard to confront.

"This is my heart, this is fully me" by Zainab Fasiki (2019)

Hshouma is a word that North-Africans, or those with North-African roots like me, unfortunately know a little too well. It is used when someone has done something that might be considered shameful. However, the definition of what is considered shameful is very vague because naturally a list with everything that could be hshouma just does not exist. Growing up North-African children will hear the word plenty often, usually accompanied by a - non-bombastic - side-eye from their parents. This side-eye could sometimes be replaced by a mother hiding her face behind her veil to show her disproval of the behavior. For me this culture of shame has caused me a lot of trauma and I'm certain that I'm not the only one. Zainab Fasiki also admitted in her 2019 graphic novel, aptly named Hshouma, that the word had traumatized her as well, calling it "a reign of hatred." I definitely agree with her as most hshouma things are related to women and their behavior. When I was eleven years old, my 14-year-old brother told me to go change immediately because my sweater had a V-neck showing a bit too much of my collarbone. A couple years later, the same thing happened when I tried leaving the house wearing skinny jeans. Luckily, my mother reprimanded him for this: "Why would that be seen as sexy on a 13-year-old?"

Zainab Fasiki in front of a mural of Super Khadija for her exhibition in Beirut (2018)

Over the years I've learned that anything related to the female body is to be kept between women. I had to learn this the hard way: my mother asked us to refrain from using the bathroom bin to dispose our period pads after our father had seen one when he tried to throw away a cotton swab. I still remember how my dad refused to look at me or my sister because one of us might be on her period. Since then, I have been told that your also no allowed to talk about your pregnancy with men, with doctors being the one exception. Unfortunately, this idea of "women talk" goes beyond these topics men supposedly have nothing to do with (why wouldn't you want to know about your daughter's pregnancy?). For instance, until recently a rapist could dodge charges if he were to marry his victim, even if she was underaged. This is because a woman having sexual relations outside of wedlock is considered more hshouma than a man sexually assaulting a woman or a young girl. When I learned this a decade ago, I was very angry and upset as it meant that no matter what, a woman would have to suffer this trauma in silence and solitary.

Asma as photographed by Hamza Abouelouafaa in 2020 (courtesy of Goodee)

Even though I'm no longer a part of the Moroccan community, I do notice that it still influences my behavior plenty of time. I guess it shows the strength of nurture. It pops up in the smallest of things: at home, I still take off my slippers when I want to step on the rug of our living room. Although I’m still trying to live with this and still not ready to fully talk about it, I should at least share that ten years ago I was raped twice by an acquaintance, otherwise I wouldn’t be able to make my point. And because my mother had explained the "rape law" to me after us having watched a movie about it, I felt like I couldn't turn to anyone after the fact. Nearly a decade later, I still struggle opening up about what happened back then and I often blame myself for it. Even writing this is actually pretty nerve-racking but I think it will help me heal from it even more. I understand that I should try shedding the way I was raised but it's harder than some people make it out to be. However, I will keep trying to heal from my trauma nonetheless.

Thank you, and take care.