Just say no

By Fayza Hassan
My mother divides the people we know into two broad categories: those who are serviables (the best translation I can think of is "helpful") and those who are not. My late husband belonged to the latter category, my brother-in-law to the former. Her own children are in a class of their own: my sister deserves full marks and a golden star, my brother is... well, forgetful. As for me, I am a real sucker: always ready to let the wrong people walk all over me.
The point is that, growing up, I internalised the message that there was incredible merit in being considered helpful. I interpreted that in my own way, by never saying no when I was asked to do something. Whether the request was deeply unpleasant or absolutely impossible did not really matter. The important thing was to acquiesce with a radiant smile, implying that I was only too happy to be of help. The approving nod of the person who had saddled me with the task was reward enough. I felt that I had been chosen.
If I could list the number of things I did against my wishes, or my best judgment, I would fill volumes. Unfortunately I can't. It became such a part of my nature that after a while I wasn't sure if I was acting to help someone or just to please myself.
Did I like hiring and firing servants, or was I doing it to spare my husband the trouble of doing it himself? Did I enjoy returning items purchased by others and pointing out their defects? Did I relish looking for lost glasses, keys and notebooks, or was I simply trying to gain approval? Was I annoyed when at the office I offered to take over the switchboard during my lunch hour so that a colleague could have more time with her boyfriend? I don't really know. At least, I did not think about it at the time.
It was enough for someone not to want to do extra hours or a particularly menial or tedious task for me to volunteer to do it in his/her stead. As I remember it, I hardly needed prompting. Wherever I happened to be, fate seemed to have put me there for the sole purpose of accomplishing the unpleasant tasks no one else wanted to do. Invariably, I became immediately indispensable, not for my proficiency, wit, or creativity, but because I was so reliably compliant to the most absurd demands made on me.
My mother, who called for this quality in others, seemed to detest it in me. "Why can't you say no, like everybody else?" she would ask impatiently. "You should try it, it is marvelously liberating: just pucker up your lips and breathe 'no' through the little hole, then shut your mouth tightly. Practise in front of the mirror. It is only difficult the first time. After that it will come to you naturally. Before you even think the magic word will escape."
I would be lying if I claimed I did not want to heed her advice. My reputation as a troubleshooter was beginning to weigh on my shoulders. Maybe I could adopt another role; say, that of bystander who offered hearty encouragement. The more I thought of it, the more I realised how foolish I had been. It is easy, I only have to put my mind to it, I admonished myself, and tried variations on the theme in the secrecy of my room. I tried different formulas in the hope of coming up with the ones that would be least hurtful or offensive to those who expected me to be helpful. "I know that you need this article badly, but I have made it a rule to never lend anyone my books," I told myself in the mirror. Not good enough. "I would love to lend you the book, but our apartment has just been flooded, and guess what: my books were the only thing damaged beyond recognition." Not very credible. "My books are part of a trust fund, and the trustee would kill me if I removed the smallest item." Since I couldn't come up with a satisfactory excuse, I had to give up, and hope that no one would want to borrow my dearest possessions.
More successful was my search for a perfect answer to those who demanded that I interview them early in the morning, just because they happened to imagine that waking up at dawn was a virtue practised by those who earned a living: "No, I won't be able to make it before noon. I sleep in, you see," which would have been approved by my mother, did not sound right. Better say: "I am afraid I won't be able to make it before noon, I have to pay my condolences to a dear friend before I come to see you." That was much nicer.
For a while I tortured myself trying to guess all the demands that were going to be made on me in the following few days and devising "kind" ways of refusing. It was sheer torture, if only because I was always faced with the unexpected, a request that I had not foreseen and had therefore not practised rejecting.
Did I do better in time? I don't think so. "When do you want to go to the islands?" asked the photographer. "As you wish, I don't know, not too early, please," I babbled. "Is Thursday, 9.00am all right with you?" she suggested. Thursday is my weekend. I badly wanted to sleep in and then read in bed until lunch-time. "Fine," I said, "Thursday at dawn sounds lovely."
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