A life of plenty

By Fayza Hassan
A few days after Al-Ahram Weekly published the results of its poll on personal status, I was returning from an assignment in a private microbus, accompanied by a few female colleagues. The conversation centred on some of the surprising statistics, and I commented that few married women had listed wife beating as a non-negotiable cause for divorce. A heated debate ensued, with everyone offering a reason why women tolerated physical abuse. The general consensus reached was that they only did so when deprived of other viable alternatives for them and their children.
"Wrong," growled a male voice suddenly. "Ladies, forgive my bluntness, but you don't understand anything. There are women who just like a good beating." The driver had spoken. The young women shook their heads indignantly but kept silent, reluctant to enter into an argument with a man who had our lives in his hands, and whose driving skills, furthermore, did not indicate any passionate dedication to safety. Still, I wanted to know more. Maher was not at all reluctant to elaborate. "Two of my wives," he said, "need frequent beatings to stay in line. One in particular does everything she can to make me lose my temper. Once I have, I can count on a week of peace and quiet. The two others don't give me half as much trouble."
I looked at my colleagues, aghast. This man had four wives. In his early 50s, neatly dressed, he chain-smoked, wore an expensive wristwatch and sunglasses, and had a mobile phone protruding from his back pocket. How much did he make driving a microbus? I was becoming quite curious, and, oblivious of the most elementary safety precautions, sought to draw his attention away from the wheel and into the conversation. How was it that he was married to all these women?
As it turned out, he barely needed the encouragement. "You see, young people today are cowards. They are afraid of responsibility and they have little initiative. They don't work, don't marry and prefer to moan about the economic situation. What is wrong with the economic situation? I work hard, I earn plenty of money and I please myself. This is what life is about and this is why God created me." He swerved at the last minute to avoid an oncoming car, and, as we were catching our breath, added: "I have nine children..." He paused for a second, counting... "Yeah, nine: two of them at university, five at school and the last two still nursing."
He grew up in a small village of the Delta. His father died when Maher was still a baby. When he was 15, his mother felt that she was dying and begged him to get married. She had dedicated her life to him and now that she was going, he would be all alone, she kept telling him. In the end he consented, and she chose him an older wife, someone from her family who could care for him properly. There was little work for him in the village, so with a family on the way, he decided to head for the city, first Tanta and then Cairo.
He had the address of relatives from his village and they helped him find a place to stay and showed him the ways of the city. "I started to change," he recounts. "I learned how to get by, and soon I began to make more than enough money for us -- enough to send something to my mother in the village every month. My wife refused to adopt a different lifestyle from the one she had become accustomed to in the village. She would wake up at the crack of dawn, bake our bread, cook our food and look after the children, who were born soon after we came to Cairo. At sunset, she would go to sleep. I would come home late from work and find her barely awake. She would serve my dinner, but she had little to say. She did the washing but refused to learn how to iron my clothes. I was ashamed of my wrinkled shirts when I met the other men at the café. Something was sorely missing from my life."
He went to visit his mother and complained to her. She promised to look for another wife who could help the first make his life more comfortable. "You see," he said proudly, "I am the apple of my mother's eye; she would never refuse to help me." A new bride was found, one who had some schooling and was versed in the art of ironing clothes. "Why didn't you divorce the first one?" I queried. He turned around abruptly, indifferent to the road ahead. "Forget it," I screamed, "don't look at me, just carry on."
But he had been shocked by my question. Why should he divorce his first wife? She had not offended him. That was how she was; God had created her with limited faculties. And she was family; he would never get rid of her. What, throw a relative out on the street? What man would be unfeeling enough to do that? Besides, she did her best. It was not her fault if she was a fellaha who felt estranged in the city. She had not been able to leave her village, so she had brought it to Cairo with her. How could he blame her for that? Anyway, she had been very happy to have another woman with whom to share the chores. Until he had remarried, she had been very lonely. Now he could hear the women chattering and laughing together at the crack of dawn.
With two wives, two children, one on the way and the assumption that he would have many more, he had to work harder. He worked at different jobs, which brought him into contact with new people. One evening, he went to visit a friend for dinner. The food was brought to the table by his friend's wife, who sat with them instead of hiding in the kitchen, and joined in the conversation. She served delicious dishes that he had never tasted before and for dessert they shared a cake that she had baked herself. That was a wife to be proud of, who could help her husband rise to a higher position, and teach his children good manners, he reflected. And, to be perfectly candid, he had liked the cake very much. In his house, sweets after a meal were unknown. He began hinting at his friend's good fortune and suddenly they were talking about a young woman who worked at a hairdresser's, and who would make a perfectly suitable wife -- not to mention a scrumptious mahallabiya with fresh cream and nuts, the secret of which she held from her mother. "To cut a long story short," continued Maher, "I rented the apartment next to mine, because she insisted that she wanted her own place. I married her and it is God's truth that she is a real chef where pastries are concerned. She entertains my friends as if they were royalty and does not cost me much, since she still works."
Once her first child was born, however she was no longer prepared to go out in the evening with him as they had at first, to the movies (he loves American films) or to a casino by the Nile. "I was proud of her because she dressed well and I was proud to show her off, although she always refused to wear a bathing suit when I took her to Alexandria." This one, according to Maher, had too much character and a will of her own. Soon he began feeling that she did not care enough for him. She liked being a housewife, a mother and a working woman, but refused to acknowledge that she had a master as had been ordained by God and that she owed him complete respect and submission. "I have to beat her every now and then to remind her who's boss," he explained. But the beatings were not as effective as they should have been, and wife number three became less and less subservient. He was reduced to seeking solace with the two less headstrong women next door.
For a while, he did not feel as content with his life as he ought to have been, and for Maher his own happiness was paramount. "It is a man's duty to make himself happy," he said forcefully, and I acquiesced in a hurry lest he turn his head to glare at me. Why else would his mother have sacrificed everything for him? Anyway, his rebellious wife had to be taught a lesson. These were his conditions: she had to make time for him, be ready to go out when he felt like it and make up her mind to wear a bathing suit. Her refusal to do so was a thorn in his side. First of all, he couldn't stand being denied and second, he would have been proud to have a wife who could display her body like any Westerner. What was she afraid of? He was with her; no man would dare make an embarrassing comment.
Still, she persevered in her refusal to please him and one day he decided that a radical remedy was in order. He looked for a wife who would be a real companion. It was not as easy to find what he wanted this time, but eventually he was introduced to a young childless divorcée who was reputed to enjoy the good life. She needed a protector and did not mind his three other wives. She had made demands, of course, and the third apartment in the neighbourhood for which he paid key money had taken care of almost all his savings. His new wife liked to go out very much, so much in fact that she barely stayed home. She was visiting her friends all day long. She was lazy, refused to do housework and ordered take-out meals whenever he was too tired to dine out. This one was really difficult to handle and he had to give her a daily beating to keep her from straying from the straight and narrow.
"You see, then: what I am telling you is true, some women like to be roughed up. Otherwise, why not obey at once and spare themselves the pain? And don't believe that I am a demanding man. I wish I could have found one woman with the qualities of the four combined. I would never have looked back. A woman like my mother. But they don't make them like that any more. Today, I would have been a millionaire instead of having to keep three houses."
We had almost arrived. I looked at my companions, who had been listening in disbelief. "Which one do you love?" I asked Maher in the heavy silence that followed. "I love my mother," he said.
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