 The stone was given to me by Um Athaba. I met her in Abu Ghraib prison for women in August 1971. There was no special wing for political prisoners. So, I was put with the women on life sentences and Um Athaba was one of them. She was a Bedouin and 30 years old, of medium height with long black hair, which she covered with a foota (a traditional head covering). She always smelled of cloves. She had green piercing eyes, enhanced by her brown skin. She spoke very little and always paced cautiously as if she expected something to happen. Her hands were always moving. She crocheted collars and cuffs for women’s dresses and sold them to prisoners, guards and visitors - very cheaply. She had been condemned to death and was awaiting execution, when a new law was passed by Abdel Salam Arif’s government (1964-68) which abolished the death penalty for women. Her sentence was, therefore, commuted to life. My cell was opposite hers. I had been there 2 months when she spoke to me for the first time. She said “Do you want to learn how to crochet?” I said “Yes”. A strange friendship grew between us. For hours we would sit together silently while our hands competed, crocheting collars and cuffs. One day she told me the details of how she killed her husband. How he came back home drunk, how he beat her up and fell down on the bed and slept, how she then poured petrol onto him and set him alight. And she had no regrets. She said proudly “ I confessed to his murder and I didn’t lie like…” and she indicated the other prisoners scornfully. Another time she whispered as if telling me a secret, “Do you know who saved me from execution?”. I answered “The change in the law”. She laughed loudly, “No, this”. Out of the pocket of her long black dishdasha (like a long shirt), she took out something wrapped in a white handkerchief. It was a semi-precious grey-blue stone. She called my attention to the tine black spots, which were scattered on the whitish side of the stone. She said “This stone has a special magic. A sheikh known for his spiritual powers gave it to me. The stone protects the person who carries it from danger and evil. The day I was released, Um Athaba, said goodbye to me calmly then she silently opened my hand and placed the stone in it. I gave the stone to my mother and forgot all about it, until I graduated from university and was about to leave Iraq. My mother gave me back the stone, but in a new form. She had taken it to a jeweler she knew in Nahr Street and had had it made into a necklace. Since 1974, I have only worn this necklace a few times, but I have kept it. Do I believe in its magical powers as did Um Athaba and my mother? Well, I’m still alive. HAIFA ZANGANA, writer, left Iraq 1975 |