That Man Arrived

By: Nazli Farokhi

Wednesday 14 May 2008

Translated by: Golriz Farshi

Once again, legal inequalities and the petition of the Campaign posed as an excuse to listen to a friend’s laments. She told me of that which has been stolen from her by force.

She told me of her loneliness and insecurities, of how she is now alone.

And her days were filled with thinking of that which was once hers. But this ownership was not recognized. For days, while she felt surrounded by loneliness and frailty, her hands that now seemed so empty, were building.

My friend told me of her fears and encounters and the law. She often had to defend herself from the laws that never protected her. But the self was looted so atrociously it had no energy to defend. No energy to imagine the day when the accusing finger is pointing at her again. The more she sought and read, the fewer rights she found for herself. Especially since she had gone with her own free will and now had no right to complain.

She shared her grave loneliness with me and told me of a sorrow that was heavier than her shoulders could bear. She told me of a body that she felt no longer to be hers.

Her tears and distress of loneliness took me back to the grief I experienced many years ago.

This piece is a compilation of her, me and loneliness.

That Man Arrived…

And I was left with tears that had dried up before they were shed and a scream that was trapped in my throat. Like all my nightmares. And his rough hands that appeared larger than everything to me. As if he could hold my chest and my voice in his fist and take my voice from me.
He could come and touch my body, my breasts, my legs, and no scream would emerge. No sound would emerge and a silence that was not the sign of consent, but a sign of a scream, of anger, of tears. Tears and anger and screams that did not have a chance to materialize. They are lost in the intricacies of the body, never to emerge.

And my body—the temple of my soul in my solitudes of pleasure and security—he arrived and took my body from me. Took it and carried it away—this, my only possession. The only property that I knew belonged to me and me alone. “This is mine,” I had screamed to myself many years ago. For him to come now and take what is “mine” and carry it away. And I am left without a body. With two empty holes in place of my breasts that always reminded me of security and my moments of pleasure and delight.

I want them to be gone, to disappear, never to remind me of my insecure, violent and pillaging moments again. Times when the scream was trapped in the throat and the tears dried up in the eyes.
Here I am now; ahead of me lays a chaotic word and behind me an untimely incursion.

I must return. I must return to find my feelings, regain my scream and anger and take back my body which was left behind. Fill my empty breasts once again. Once more, scream my ownership and make everyone understand, no one has the right to invade my body, even if my feet were guiding me to it. Make the people, my family, the law and everyone understand.

It is a difficult war and I am the only warrior, alone with thousands of enemies.

Read the original article in Farsi


  • That Man Arrived

    27 May 2008 16:19, by Dee

    I want to reach out gather these women in my arms and hold you safe. The words
    "I am the only warrior with thousands of enemies"
    leaves me in helpless tears.
    We hear you our sisters. We weep for you. We work for your liberation.
    The regime blocks youtube for a REASON. They don’t want you to see the support you have.
    We your sisters in womanhood will never give up. N-E-V-E-R. We won’t forget you. Not for a single day.


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