By Hassiba Kheyar Makour
You know, back in the 90s, when I was just a nineteen-year-old girl, I embarked on an incredible journey by starting my engineering studies at the prestigious University of Science and Technology in Algeria. It was a time filled with hope and ambition, despite the dark cloud of violence that loomed over our country. Algeria was going through one of its toughest periods, with bombs detonating in public transportation and villages being attacked. The worst part was that we didn’t even know who was behind all this chaos. Every time I stepped out of my house, I couldn’t help but wonder if I would return alive.
As a young woman in her 20s, my life was far from typical. The situation in the country had become so dangerous that many women, and even some young men, chose to stay home and avoid traveling. But I had no choice. I was determined to pursue my education, even if it meant risking my life. Every day, I would take two or sometimes three forms of transportation just to reach the university. The journey was arduous, but I had a burning desire to succeed.
In my engineering program, I was well-liked among my classmates. Education was free, but the competition was fierce. We started with around 300 students in the engineering major, but by our third year, only 25 of us remained. And when it came to time for graduation, less than 20 of us became engineers. It was an intense and demanding academic journey, but it forged strong bonds among us. Many of the friends I made during those years are still dear to me today.
During my time at the university, I also met a remarkable young man at the engineering club. He was exceptionally intelligent, and what amazed me was that he never seemed to bring any notebooks or pens to class. He was an auditory learner, absorbing knowledge just by listening. Despite his relaxed approach, he always achieved excellent grades without putting in much effort. In contrast, I was more of a visual learner, diligently taking notes and studying hard for exams.
This young man was two years older than me, and he graduated earlier than I did. However, just after graduation, he couldn’t find a job right away. He needed clearance from the selective service, which meant he had to complete his two-year military service first. Without me even knowing where he went, he disappeared from my life. I had developed feelings for him and thought there might be something between us, but after his departure, I realized it was all in my imagination.
During the year of my graduation, I became engaged to a young man. The engagement and subsequent marriage were arranged, and his family assured me that we would live in a house that his father had built for us. However, when I moved in with my husband, his entire family, including his parents and five sisters-in-law, came to live with us. It wasn’t what I had anticipated, but I tried to remain optimistic, thinking it would be temporary. However, two months passed, and we were still all living under one roof.
I had one bedroom for myself, and we all shared one bathroom and one kitchen. The situation quickly turned from uncomfortable to unbearable. They constantly criticized everything I did, putting me down at every opportunity. I lost my freedom and wasn’t allowed to visit my own parents or talk to my friends. Even if I had just a few minutes to use the landline (back then, there were no cell phones), it was strictly monitored. It was suffocating.
After enduring this for four months, I finally mustered the courage to confront them. I asked them to leave as I couldn’t bear the situation any longer.
They responded by asserting that it was their house, and they had every right to stay. I turned to my husband for support, pleading with him to find another place for us to live. However, he refused, citing his obligation to obey his parents as the eldest son according to tradition. It was a heartbreaking realization for me that my husband prioritized tradition over my well-being and happiness.
Feeling trapped and suffocated, I decided to put pressure on my husband by requesting to visit my parents’ house temporarily. I hoped that some time away would give me the space I needed to think clearly about my situation. Thankfully, my husband agreed, and I made my way to my parent’s home, seeking solace and a chance to reflect.
At my parents’ house, I found the comfort and support I desperately needed. They encouraged me to be patient and advised me against seeking a divorce, as it went against traditional norms. It was a difficult predicament. The country was still engulfed in instability and violence, making it even harder to navigate my personal struggles.
Shortly after my return from my parent’s house, I received devastating news. I realized that I was pregnant. Amidst the chaos of my life, the news brought a glimmer of hope and a renewed sense of purpose. I embraced the idea of becoming a mother, finding strength in the life growing inside me.
However, my pregnancy journey was far from smooth. I found myself shouldering all the responsibilities of the household—cleaning, cooking, and catering to the needs of my husband’s family. I transformed into someone unrecognizable, a far cry from the educated, independent-minded woman I once was. The burden took its toll on me, and I reached a breaking point.
Recognizing the toll it was taking on my mental and physical well-being, my family took me to see a doctor. The doctor expressed concern for my fragile state and advised them to take me somewhere calm and peaceful, away from the stressful environment. He warned that if I didn’t find respite soon, I could risk losing the baby.
Listening to the doctor’s advice, I implored my husband and his family to allow me to return to my parent’s house once again. This time, they agreed, but it wasn’t without resistance. I left, carrying the weight of disappointment and shattered dreams, desperate to find a sense of peace.
As the due date drew near, I became increasingly anxious. Something didn’t feel right. I noticed a lack of movement from the baby. The following day, as contractions began, I rushed to the clinic, hoping for the best. To my devastation, the doctors discovered that the baby’s heart had stopped beating. The room that had once been filled with anticipation and hope now fell silent.
The clinic hesitated to proceed with the delivery, as it carried risks. They advised my parents to take me to a larger hospital for further care. Desperate and in excruciating pain, we embarked on a frantic search for a hospital that had space to admit me. It was a harrowing experience, going from one hospital to another, from 10 am to midnight, with each place turning us away due to overcrowding. I couldn’t fathom how such a situation could occur.
Finally, through the connections of a family acquaintance, we managed to secure a spot in a big hospital. Exhausted and in agony, I was admitted, and the lifeless baby was delivered in complete silence. In the same room, I could hear the cries of other women giving birth, a stark contrast to the solemnity that enveloped me. It was a daughter—a precious child I didn’t have the opportunity to hold or even see. They whisked her away from my sight before I could even catch a glimpse of her face. My heart shattered into a million pieces as I grappled with the overwhelming grief of losing a child I had longed for, a child who represented hope amidst the chaos of my life.
Days turned into weeks, and weeks turned into months as I mourned the loss of my daughter. The emptiness within me was insurmountable, and I struggled to find a sense of purpose or meaning in the aftermath of such a devastating loss. I felt adrift, like a ship without a compass, desperately searching for direction.
But amidst the darkness, a flicker of resilience ignited within me. I realized that I couldn’t let grief consume me entirely. I owed it to myself and to the memory of my daughter to find the strength to move forward. I sought solace in writing, pouring my emotions onto paper, and finding catharsis through expressing my thoughts and experiences.
As I shared my story with others, I discovered that I was not alone in my struggles. Many women had faced similar challenges, battling societal expectations, navigating oppressive environments, and enduring unimaginable hardships. I connected with these women, offering support and solidarity, and together, we began to forge a path toward empowerment and self-discovery.
Driven by a newfound sense of purpose, I embarked on a journey of self-improvement and healing. I pursued further education and professional development, determined to regain my independence and reclaim my identity. I attended workshops, seminars, and networking events, surrounding myself with individuals who shared my passion for personal growth and empowerment.
Over time, I gradually rebuilt my life, both personally and professionally. I became an advocate for women’s rights and empowerment, using my voice and my experiences to bring about positive change. I worked tirelessly to create opportunities for women in my community, emphasizing the importance of education, independence, and self-belief.
Amidst the struggles and challenges, there was a glimmer of light that entered my life. It came in the form of a familiar face; someone I had admired from my college days. The young man I had once harbored feelings for, my college crush, reentered my life unexpectedly.
One fateful day at work, I walked into the engineering department and there he was, standing before me. He extended his hand, shaking mine, and called me by my first name. Memories flooded back as I realized that he was the same person I had known from my college days. Time had transformed him into a more handsome and mature individual.
We began talking, reminiscing about our time in college, and catching up on our respective journeys since then. Hours turned into days as we shared stories, dreams, and the hardships we had endured. He listened intently, noticing a sadness lingering in my eyes, even when I smiled.
Months passed, and our connection grew deeper. We started spending more time together, sharing meals during lunch breaks, and he would even make sure I got home safely, accompanying me to the transportation. Our bond was rekindled, stronger than ever before.
However, one day he unexpectedly missed work due to illness. Concerned for his well-being, I called his home to check on him. His mother assured me that he was okay, and the next day, he returned to work. It was during that time that he mustered the courage to reveal his true feelings for me.
In a heartfelt conversation, he confessed that he had loved me since our college days but had always been too afraid to express his feelings. The tumultuous situation our country was in had only intensified his hesitance. I was taken aback by his confession, but I appreciated his honesty.
In turn, I confided in him, sharing the story of my tumultuous marriage and subsequent loss. Despite the pain and uncertainty that had consumed my life, he assured me that he would never allow anyone to hurt me again. His unwavering support and genuine care began to rekindle the flicker of hope within me.
Months continued to pass, and our relationship blossomed. He asked me to marry him, and without hesitation, I said yes. Our love provided solace and strength amidst the chaos that surrounded us. Together, we vowed to build a future filled with happiness and stability.
But as we prepared for our wedding, an unexpected interference threatened to disrupt our plans. Upon hearing about our engagement, the company’s boss approached me privately. He professed his feelings for me, suggesting that I deserved someone who would treat me like a princess. I was deeply disgusted by his unprofessional behavior and reminded him that personal choices should not be interfered with in a workplace setting.
To avoid any further complications or potential harm, I made the difficult decision to resign from the company. My fiancé, realizing the importance of my well-being, resigned as well. We found ourselves jobless for a while, facing the uncertainty of an unpredictable future.
In the midst of adversity, we persevered. I eventually found a job as a teacher in a vocational high school, teaching engineering, while my fiancé secured a position in an aircraft company. We married in 2001, vowing to support and cherish each other as we embarked on a new chapter together.
But the challenges we faced in our homeland persisted, prompting us to make a life-changing decision. In 2002, we decided to immigrate to the United States, seeking stability, security, and the opportunity to pursue our dreams without the constant shadow of violence and unrest.
Our journey to a new country was filled with its own set of challenges.
As the years have passed, the dream of having that picture with a white dress and my husband in a tuxedo has remained a constant presence in my heart. It has become a symbol of the love and commitment we’ve shared for over two decades of marriage.
While we may not have had the opportunity to capture that specific image on our wedding day, the dream lives on, growing even stronger as time goes by. It has become a cherished desire, a vision that represents the culmination of our journey together.
As I reflect on our 20 years of marriage, I dream of recreating that picture—a testament to the enduring love and happiness we have found in each other. It has become a celebration of the milestones we’ve reached, the challenges we’ve overcome, and the deep bond that has only grown stronger with time.
In my dreams, I envision a picturesque setting, bathed in golden sunlight, where we stand hand in hand, radiating joy and love. I imagine myself in a flowing white gown, adorned with delicate lace and intricate details, while my husband stands by my side in a dashing black tuxedo, exuding elegance, and charm.
Every detail of the picture is carefully curated—the gentle breeze that rustles through my dress, the soft touch of my husband’s hand on my waist, the warmth and tenderness that radiate from our smiles. It is a moment frozen in time, capturing the depth of our love and the journey that brought us here.
This dream serves as a reminder of the beauty of our love story, and the unspoken vows we renew with each passing day. It symbolizes the dreams we continue to build together, and the shared vision of a future filled with love, happiness, and togetherness.
While the picture itself may not exist yet, its essence lives on in our hearts, inspiring us to cherish each other and the life we have created. It is a testament to the power of dreams and the enduring nature of love.
And so, we hold onto this dream, cherishing the hope that one day, we will bring it to life—a tangible reminder of the love that has carried us through the years, a symbol of the dreams we continue to pursue, and a testament to the enduring power of our love story.
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