The Girl from Baghdad by Michelle Nouri Page B

something happened: during recess, in front of the same peephole, Dani jumped for joy. She held a little scrap of paper in her hand. He had asked her to meet him somewhere nearby after school. It was one of the most daring plans a young man could make.
    â€˜Can you hang in there another two hours?’ I asked her, jokingly.
    â€˜I’ll die much sooner …’ she said in a weak voice, pretending to faint. I had to drag her down the length of the corridor, laughing like crazy as she pretended to collapse.
    When we left, the young man was waiting, leaning against the car door. I looked at Dani. Her dark eyes were dramatically made up, more than usual. She lowered her sunglasses and smiled. We couldn’t just stand there staring at him. It would be too risky. Somebody might see us, so I pulled her towards the place we were to meet,certain he would follow us from a distance, without looking obvious about it. The strict rules of our culture meant Dani would never be able to talk to him and he, if he were a real gentleman, would never say a word to her in public. Therefore, we agreed she would simply leave him a note on a bench.
    Dani scribbled a few lines on a piece of paper, then folded it and squeezed it into a crack in the chair.
    â€˜Hurry up! You don’t want anyone to see you!’ I scolded.
    â€˜I’ve almost finished. But where is he? Do you see him?’
    â€˜He’s at the entrance. He’s pretending to read a magazine. He’s waiting for us to leave.’
    â€˜There. I’m ready,’ Dani said, turning to look in his direction. As we walked away, she asked, ‘Do you think he’ll answer me?’
    â€˜What did you write on the note?’
    â€˜I gave him my phone number.’
    It was a very audacious move, but making phone dates like this was the only way to talk to a boy. Unfortunately, this still did not eliminate the family surveillance problem. Everything went smoothly on the first call between Dani and her admirer. However, on the second phone call, Dani’s father picked up the receiver, perhaps only because he thought his daughter’s behaviour seemed suspicious. The young man was caught unawares, andbecause he spoke into the phone, Dani’s dad discovered their flirtation. From that moment, Dani was forbidden to use the phone, even to call me. And worse, her brother was designated to watch her every move.
    As girls, we couldn’t visit public places or meet a male friend alone. We were only granted permission to meet boys in public places provided a brother or a male cousin accompanied us. It was useless to do things in secret; there was always a family member or acquaintance who somehow found out what we’d been doing. And they were all too ready to intervene, sometimes physically, to impede even a simple chat. However, we had learned to take advantage of all of those prohibitions.
    We already knew how to catch a man’s attention at twelve years old, playing with his desire. No contact, no words: barely showing oneself, then immediately disappearing, to appear untouchable. The sound of our sandals squeaking, with a strategic walk down the sidewalk, was sufficient to arouse their curiosity. My cousins used to chew American gum in a visibly provocative way. It seemed terribly vulgar to me. A look, to Iraqi women, was an effective weapon.
    â€˜A woman has to stay as silent as possible,’ our aunts used to repeat to us. ‘You have to learn to be silent and beautiful to find a good husband.’ It was up to the man to choose whether he should act upon a woman’s charms, but a woman’s main weapon was the ability to exploit hercharms to the maximum effect. Thus, from the time we were seven or eight, we were taught to make ourselves look pretty and take care of ourselves. It started as a game. In front of the mirror, with our hands still shaky and imprecise, we learned how to put eye shadow on, curl our eyelashes and