Her Freedom, Our Connection

In 2012, I met a young woman that would forever add new depth to the meaning of the word "Freedom" for me. I'll start by telling you how she wound in Asbury Park, NJ, from halfway across the world, getting a tattoo with me. I have changed her name in this story for her safety.

Imani, who is younger than me by just a few years, had become very close with my mother via Facebook for some time. You see, Imani lives in Saudi Arabia, and one of the only "freedoms" she had at the time was granted by an unusually lenient male guardian, her Father. Anything a female does must first be approved by a male. This could be a father, uncle, husband, brother - even if he is younger. Imani was extremely lucky by their society's standards to be allowed a couple of hours a night of unrestricted use on a family laptop while she was in school. Her father was unaware that she was not only using it for homework, as were her explicit instructions, but that she was also seeking connection out there in the vast world, beyond her small hometown in an incredibly religious and oppressive country. She was on Facebook, meeting like-minded individuals across the world, like my mother. They became fast friends through a common interest group. Imani was still only in high school at the time, and she found solace in having a mother figure with whom she could speak freely, and who understood her better than her own family ever could. For if she were to be found out for having the particular philosophical viewpoints she was able to discuss with my mother, the punishment would be death.

Imani went on to study nursing at a University that was very close to the sovereign state of Bahrain. She would take the bus at night into Bahrain, which was much more liberal than Saudi Arabia (but still far more conservative than the Western world), and enjoy going to nightclubs and meeting other young people. While there, she met a man who took interest in her and promised he would marry her and become her new guardian, to help on her journey towards freedom. This may sound like a knight in shining armor story, her Prince coming to rescue her, but it was barely that. He already had other wives, and it took a huge dowry from her family and every cent that she had ever saved to be able to marry him. They were not in it for the love. He was abusive - both emotionally and physically - but that wasn't out of the ordinary for women like her at all. What he could, and did offer her though, was a passport. A golden ticket for women in that part of the world. Travel must also be approved by a male guardian, and "lenient" as her Father was, he would have never allowed her quite that much freedom.

So, 7 years into the blossoming relationship with my mother, Imani was granted permission by her husband to come and stay with us for a summer. I wasn't living at home at the time, but still nearby, and when Imani and my mother weren't out shopping for her husband's massive list of American goods to bring back, I brought Imani out and about town with me.

I immediately was so impressed by her perfect English, which she learned all on her own while growing up. She not only knew English, but she could communicate with great depth and elegance about ideas, philosophy, love, and the world. She brought a lightness to the air around her, with a warm smile and bubbling curiosity for all things related to how to live like a young person in the "free world". I was no shining example - believe me. I was always in despair about one thing or another and pacified it by partying every night. To my surprise, she wanted to know all of it. To feel all of it.

I brought her to all of my favorite watering holes, and then the after-parties, where she delighted in the buzz of music and alcohol and drugs and boys. She never took it too far; she was always in control, but her eyes were glassy with joy and her laughter rang out, and I did my best to look out for her and make sure she was having fun while she could. It was like a Kerouac-ian pilgrimage; smoke in the air while jive-talking freely with artists and other thinking minds. We had deep late-night conversations and she began to feel like a sister to me. I am an only child - and mine certainly was not the "cool" house where all the kids came over and made best friends with mom - so this relationship between the three of us is still to this day, the only one ever of its sort.

On her second to last day with us, Imani expressed that she wanted a tattoo. (I already had several.) I was quite shocked - and scared for her. Tattoos aren't necessarily illegal in her country, but generally frowned upon at the very least, and at the most, might raise suspicions about where and how she got the permission to get one. It was a real risk. Punishments in Saudi Arabia range from a few nights in jail, (where women are often beaten and raped) to public execution by stoning, or many other horrific forms of permanent disfigurement or losses of the already too few basic freedoms.

She insisted that henna body art was relatively common for women in her country and that she would be very careful to keep the tattoo concealed, but her mind was made up. She had an image already picked out; just a very simple line drawing of a dove. I asked her what it meant to her. She told me, "It reminds me that I can be strong and independent, and I won't put up with any situation that will restrict me. I can fly. I can be free. And if they try to take my life away, I will look at the dove in my last moments and find peace in remembering there was a time I felt true freedom."

Of course, I wasn't going to take that from her. I admired her strength and her resolve in not only that moment, but in doing what she needed to do throughout the course of her life to arrive at that moment. Taking part in that time in space with her was very moving for me. How we so take for granted each step we take on our own free will path. Her life is a true testament to the astonishingly beautiful gift the universe has bestowed upon us - the will to live. And not to just live, but to search far beyond our sphere of influence for the true meaning of our own existence. To not stand down and accept oppression - even if it's one very small step at a time. Somehow, amidst all of the darkness, we find the fight within ourselves and persevere.

She was nervous about going under the needle, though, and I offered to get the tattoo first so she could watch and then decide for sure she wanted to go through with it. I did, and she did, and here we are 8 years later, both able to look down at this tiny symbol on our arms that means so very much.

I know it has a different meaning for her than for me. There is so much weight in the meaning of freedom for her. I am not one of those people that feels slightly uplifted, dare I say "grateful" when I see how small my misfortunes are compared to so many others. It shatters my heart into pieces to think of anyone suffering so much. However, it does help me remember my own strength when faced with the many challenges I've trudged through. It reminds me of my own humanity and empathy for others, which no doubt has shaped the way I respond to not only the abuses I've endured, but more importantly, the unwavering love and affection I have for a life lived on one's own terms. "A bird sitting on a tree is never afraid of the branch breaking, because its trust is not on the branch, but on its own wings."

I also think of her when I catch a glimpse of the dove on my arm, and the endurance of her dreams that she holds so dear while navigating an oppressed life. I am humbled and inspired. I look at it and it whispers to me, as if an echo of her own voice, "Don't give up."

My mother and I begged her to stay with us permanently, but she was not ready to leave her family behind forever. If she were to disobey her husband's time allowance for a visit with us, she would likely never be able to return home, for the punishment would be severe. She went back, and we have all remained in touch. Since our visit, Imani has been divorced and re-married, and works in a hospital. We are still hoping she can escape for good as soon as possible.

So, Imani, you may be far far away in what seems like a completely different world, but you are always near my heart. I fight for you, and others like you, every day of my life. That is a promise, my dove.