Inside the Walls
Approaching the Islaheya’s front gate one gets the impression
of its being merely another building in another of Cairo’s crowded residential
areas. Agouza is just that, crowded,
residential, a few shops nearby, the streets none too clean amid the regular
dust and dirt common to Cairo. A gate, a
guard, dark red brick on the buildings façade, the only sign distinguishing the
Islaheya from other homes is the sign over the gate which reads Moasaffet el Agouza which roughly translates
to mean a school or place for education in Agouza, one of Cairo’s more central,
populous and very busy suburbs. The term
Islaheya is not used. Islaheya connotes
something very negative, rather than education, it refers to a ‘fix-it’ place, implying
something is wrong with the residents inside.
Advertising flaws to the outside world creates just the sort of image authorities
wish to hide.
A tour of the facilities is essential when attempting to
comprehend what Il Binait Dol undergo
on a daily basis. Keep in mind too that
the Agouza facility or school has had the benefit of Hanna’s Social Committee
for the past fifteen years, without which there is no saying what level of
defenestration might greet the unsuspecting visitor. Straightaway a visitor will see a wall
painted brightly in a sort of modern art, graffiti style. DEO students helped paint this to brighten up
the entrance of a wall otherwise grim and grey.
To the right stand the remains of a garden patch also donated and put in
by DEO students and volunteers.
Unfortunately left to itself, the garden with the exception of a few
hardy plants, died through disrepair and neglect by the Islaheya staff. Forbidden to go to the patch, the Islaheya
girls were helpless to keep their tiny parcel of green alive. Even if they had right of access, gardening
or garden tools have never been part of their learning.
Once past the outside entrance gate, the visitor comes to the
main hallway which leads to all rooms, sleeping quarters, classroom, kitchen,
toilet areas, and shower rooms. What
meets the eye immediately are dirt encrusted walls, floors, chipped plaster,
peeling paint, and worst of all mold and damp everywhere. It drips from the ceilings, creeps into the
wall crevices, the cracks, some large enough for a small fist, are covered in
mildew. The keepers attempt to keep any
visitor away from the kitchen but I managed to go past and even take a partial
picture. Inside the door sits in broken
and dirty tiles, is an old bathtub which is used to soak beans for foul and
tamaya. When and how often this tub gets
cleaned is not something to ask, suffice it that the tile stains have caked on
dirt, a layer of dust and food crumbs cover the kitchen floor, and the few
girls working in the kitchen do not wear kitchen gloves, have their hands in
the food as they work at the only ‘job’ allowed, cooking for other Islaheyas
for which they earn a few Egyptian pounds per month. Not all girls receive this privilege, only
the ones who have learned to play the game and curry favour of those in charge.
As the kitchen stands in the first floor, ascending the
stairs to the second floor brings its own drama of odor, filth, and worst of
all chains, gates locked against escape, and other indignities which the girls
live through daily. On my last visit to
the Islaheya in May, the keepers almost refused our admittance, claiming that
because it was Friday, the girls rested and had no time for visitors. As we all knew this attempt to keep us out
stemmed from lies, we insisted and finally they allowed us to visit with a
select fifteen girls. Their major
concern is that visitors might meet with girls kept locked behind bars and
gates. Those girls, desperate to escape
their moldy prison, beseech any visitors as they put hands through the bars,
begging for any small attention.
A description alone of the Islaheya facility only touches the
surface of the lives which the girls must endure. Take Sally’s
short life for example. She’s twelve
now, four years ago her mother put her out of the family car in the middle of
Cairo’s streets. There has never been
any explanation for her mother’s behavior; she never made any attempt to find
her daughter. Sally thinks she lived on
the street for about a year, long months alone, stealing bread and anything
else which came her way. By the time
Sally made it to the Islaheya she had become involved in a street gang whose
leaders forced her to sell on the streets.
They also got her addicted to drugs which made her more compliant. At the Islaheya Sally initially tried to run,
for her, after a year living in relative freedom, albeit under horrific
conditions, imprisonment behind gates with guards and madams imposing their
will was intolerable. The physical
withdrawal from the daily dose of drugs was sometimes violent, at all times
riddling her young body with excruciating pain.
As a result, she slipped into extreme antisocial behavior, incurred the
wrath of authorities, and ridicule of the other girls, who began to call her
crazy, in spite of the fact that many of these girls too went through drug
withdrawals.
Locked in a small cell without help, without toilet
facilities, and with minimal ventilation, Sally eventually, after many weeks,
joined the general population. The other
girls still stigmatized her as mezhnuun [crazy],
Sally remained isolated, had no friends, and no possibility of relief from the
terror of Islaheya living. One of the
keepers finally took pity on the young girl, only nine years old, helping Sally
to adopt acceptable attitudes to make her life more tolerable. Gradually the young girl learned the ropes,
made one or two friends, most of the girls still fear her a bit, after three
years as inmates, possibly because Sally occasionally gives way to
uncontrollable rages. Whether this comes
from fear, terror of her own life, remnant of drug abuse, or sheer panic, no
one can tell as Sally has never seen a doctor or any other medical person since
being in the Islaheya. Medical care in
the Islaheya is nominal at best. What
Sally did learn was how to earn privileges, one of which is the right to be
educated. Through that means my students
learned her story, otherwise she along with eighty percent of the girls remains
buried alive behind the gates and bars of the Islaheya, coming to light once or
twice a year when Hanna convinces the authorities to allow the girls a Ramadan
Iftar
at the Egyptian Rowing Club, a short open cruise on the Nile, or the excursion
to Ra Sidr, inexplicably cancelled for this year by the authorities.
Without Hanna or my students or even my own visits to the
Islaheya life inside would remain a mystery.
If girls leave through legitimate means, marriage or family reclamation,
they keep silent about the abuses and tragedies inside. If girls escape, to whom can they report the
maltreatment which they receive? First,
authorities refuse to investigate, they choose not to believe these street
children, children whose own families either disown them or from whom they have
run away.
Behind the moldy walls many secrets exist which the keepers
wish keeps hidden from the outside world.
Their domain, their rules, their wards.
The girls quickly learn how to curry favour with supervisors, which one
can they work to get privileges, with whom can they sell sex for an illicit
night on the streets, who will listen to stories about others in exchange for
an illegal cigarette, a phone call, an extra ration of food.
Il Binait Dol, those girls, quickly learn the
system, how to behave in front of supervisors.
For them it’s survival, and the only way they know how is through
telling tales of fellow inmates, some of the supervisors, with nothing much to
do all day, appear to enjoy scandalous stories and quickly mete out punishment
whether deserved or not. They slap the
girls for swearing; they kick the girls if they get into a physical fight, if a
girl attempts to run away, she is chained to a bed in an isolated room for any
amount of time, even up to a month in one case which we heard about through
reliable sources. Alongside this
punishment they have daily religious lectures and praying times are encouraged
but not enforced. Seeing no incongruity
between their religious instruction and treatment meted out, the girls grow up
as nominal Muslims, Muslim by birth and sketchy training, but a sense of
religion or even spirituality evades them.
It’s no wonder since the treatment they receive is certainly at variance
with the readings they hear.
This girl’s story did not come from one of the inmates, but
from someone whose career there would end if her name were disclosed. After attempting an escape, one girl was
returned to the Islaheya in Agouza where she received brutal treatment. Chained to her bed in an isolated room for a
month, the girl had only a bucket which she later had to empty and clean
herself. During the day, one dish of
foul was placed in her room along with one cup of water. She lived in unbearable stench, daily increasing
the possibility of disease, and even death, but she was finally released into
the general population of girls. Her
previous punishment did not prevent her from trying to escape again. Once again, the authorities caught her and
brought her back to Agouza. The
supervisors, not satisfied with merely chaining the girl to a bed, they beat her
with those same chains first and then incarcerated her for yet another month at
the end of which time they shipped her off to one of the Islaheyas in the
Sinai, far from Cairo or anyone she might know in the city, to an Islaheya with
a reputation as a virtual prison. None
of the girls have heard from or about her since her removal.
When there is a general punishment, the girls cannot remove
beyond the locked and gated bars on the second floor where their dormitories
are located. Sometimes, if the girls
attempt a general disturbance, the supervisors will cane the girls, especially
those they believe leaders, then they declare a general lock-up, usually for a
day or two, sometimes a week. During
that time, none of the girls are allowed out; schooling, any fresh air for the
few permitted to be in the courtyard, and certainly no outside visitors, other
than authorities, may enter the Islaheya.
Hamda told us her story, a short and very painful one. Now fifteen, she first came to the Islaheya
at eight. This time, her mother brought
her, left her with the madams because she had too many children at home, a
husband who divorced her, leaving her no choice but to bring her eldest
daughter to the Islaheya. Hamda’s mother
has never come to see her nor did she express any desire to reclaim her
daughter. Though she had no direct
contact with the police, Hamda does have a record; her name must be written
down on the official books in order for the Director to allow her to stay. Hamda recalls, although years after the fact,
that the madam, at the time Madam Ibtisam, locked her in a small room, again
the excuse she gives to ensure that Hamda would be staying in Agouza. Given three meals and let out for bathroom
privileges, the frightened eight year old had no clue what was happening, only
that she wanted to go home, to her mother, brothers and sisters. She thinks two brothers and two sisters, but
cannot be certain. Her all night crying
provoked the supervisors to anger and the next few days began her torment,
beating first with sticks, then a cable, food only once a day, finally Hamda
learned the trick, no crying, no beating, and more food. Eventually word came she was to stay in
Agouza so Hamda became part of the general population of girls. The dormitories consist of between twenty and
twenty-five beds, when Hamda came, not all girls had their own mattress and
were forced to share, which situation fell to Hamda’s lot. Then the lesbian activity for Hamda
began. Clinging to her bed partner for
warmth and comfort, the young girls have no notion of their own bodies, bodily
functions, or sexuality; they explore each other’s bodies, and begin to feel a
certain comfort, perhaps even pleasure in their mutual exploration. Receiving instruction in the Qu’ran on a
daily basis, all the girls instinctively know that physical contact like this
is punishable if caught, so they attempt to keep this part of their lives
secret. Many girls, all ages, will sneak
into other’s beds not for comfort, but either to force sexual relations on
girls, usually older to younger, or to engage in lesbian sex.
The girls receive no education on sexuality, they merely
learn it is haram, in many ways making
it more enticing for the girls to practice, in spite of the sever punishments
they receive when caught. If not able to
be with a partner, the girls begin masturbation at young ages, also severely
punished if caught. The Islamic belief
that masturbation and same sex relationships are seen as abnormal and certainly
haram is evident in that they learn
early not to get caught, sneak at night or anytime when the supervisors are
otherwise engaged. Most of the girls,
not allowed to attend school, locked in the upper rooms, have so little to
occupy them that becoming part of a gang, practicing illicit acts, and exerting
power over girls selected as more model residents, becomes the norm. So as in most institutions a gang rises to
the top, a gang of girls who often terrorize others, less capable of fending off
those who violate their youth.
In another part of Cairo, not too far from Cairo University,
sits another Islaheya. This one provides
homes for street boys, boys in circumstances similar to the girls. They have been abandoned, run away from home,
orphaned left to fend for themselves; eventually captured and brought to the
Islaheya by the police. There the
similarity ends. Home to over 300 boys
at any given time, the boys receive entirely different treatment, a helpful
reception awaits them on their entry into the Islaheya, and they receive
instructions from supervisors, immediately given their own well-cared for bed,
properly cleaned linens and coverings.
From the start, the space is private and personal; no one has the right
to interfere. Each bed is margined off
with a small shelf, place for personal items and books. The Islaheya entrance hosts a large working
fountain and is surrounded by green gardens, grounds well-kept, manicured,
flowers, shrubs, a tiny oasis inside Cairo’s smog and pollution. No rubbish can be detected in the car park,
inside the entry, proper offices house the director, his staff, secretaries,
and other workers who keep this Islaheya running.
Once inside, the Islaheya has a section with proper
classrooms for primary school children.
I visited the classes, the boys, all in school uniforms, attended
classes provided with desks, books, writing materials, and government trained
teachers. They would all be able to take
the government exams, the Adadaya
after passing grade six and then those interested could choose to go outside to
higher education, or if not interested in academic training they would be sent
to various apprenticeships.
Ashraf, now ten, was only five when we first met him. My male students, who did their practical
experience at this Islaheya, enjoyed his company. One of the youngest children there, he wasn’t
sure how he got there, but has no contact with any family outside the Islaheya
walls. Although young, his very
intelligence made him rather a favorite among all the Islaheya boys, he was
full of fun, was well looked after, and had found a secure home after wandering
Cairo’s streets. He was brought by the
police to the Islaheya as an orphan, a street child, so he does have a record
and like many of the other boys, no identity other than his first name. But in the Islaheya he found acceptance from
the older boys, became a kind of mascot to the older boys. They cared for him, made sure he escaped
punishment for some of his boyish pranks; generally saw that no harm came to
him. For the most part, the boys protect
one another; feel secure in the knowledge that even though they are in custody
until the age of eighteen, they have an educational programme which provides
them a way out. Literacy, training, and
apprenticeships form their daily lives.
As part of our visits to this Islaheya, the Director spoke
with all of us whenever we needed information.
This openness differed from the secrecy we found at the Agouza
Islaheya. The Directors there had no
secretarial staff; no offices with phones and assistants, or apparent interest
in seeing the girls receive the best the government can provide. Mr Ashraf, the director at the time for the
boys’ Islaheya, made sure that not only were the boys educated, but that they
had clean facilities, three good meals a day plus snacks, a library in which
they can sit and work. A sense of
well-being, order, and purpose permeates the boys and the atmosphere of their
Islaheya.
In addition to their education and other homelike care, the
boys have large well-kept grounds, inclusive of playing fields, basketball
court, and an area for football. The
boys are not confined to their rooms, not chained to their beds, nor are they
locked in small holding rooms. This is
not to say they do not receive punishment, for the rules there are strictly
enforced. Rough language, contraband of
any kind, attempting to escape, lying, and other forms of illicit behavior are
most certainly punished. But the boys feel
much more content, knowing they will become viable and valuable members of the
greater community.
Marriage virtually provides the only way out for the girls,
but for them to find a marriage partner when they cannot leave the Islaheya,
when they are marked with a police record, and worst than all, most have no
family or family identity. Who will
marry the girls? Marriage is also an
important aspect of life for the boys.
They all want to have families, especially children which are an
intrinsic part of Egyptian life, but they wish to marry girls who have families
with respectable prospects. Costs for
marriage mount high and poor boys from the Islaheya must work hard to even come
close to raising enough money to provide a simple flat plus wedding gift for
their prospective brides. When my
students asked the boys at the Islaheya if they would ever consider marrying an
Islaheya girl, the response without exception was no. To these boys marriage to a girl from the
Islaheya would do nothing but keep them in the lowest element of society, these
prison girls, these Islaheya girls are not virgins, one the most significant
facets for acceptable marriage in the Muslim world; they had no real identity,
even if they have family, family shunned them, they have no money, no ability
to gain possessions, and virtually no education, with a few exceptions.
Another comparison between two similarly aged Islaheya
residents, one boy Ahmed, one girl Hosna demonstrates how the underlying
conditions within the Islaheya make a difference in attitudes of the
children. Ahmed, aged fifteen, came to
the Islaheya four years earlier because of what he called ‘private
problems’. My male students dug a bit
deeper and the extent of the private problems was rape by uncles and cousins
and beatings by step-father. Unable to
sustain life in this environment, Ahmed ran away soon to be caught by the
police. After bringing him to the
Islaheya, he had a few difficulties, in particular with the director Mr
Ashraf. Although Mr Ashraf ran a very
clean and tidy Islaheya, if the boys became a bit rebellious or even demonstrated
the least tendency to disobey, he himself would be the boys. He did not leave this gruesome task to others
in order to instill a fear and perhaps respect for his authority, Mr Ashraf
took this charge. Initially Ahmed
suffered many beatings, but then began to realize the benefits to living in the
Islaheya. He had a clean area all to
himself for sleeping, school and school uniforms, good food, a healthy outdoors
environment with a weekly sports teacher provided by Mr Ashraf’s management of
their budget. As he settled in to a
routine, he developed one or two close friends, not many, as he still had and
has issues of trust, and his ambition now is to attend and finish high school
with the object of getting a good job and eventually marry a girl from the
outside. He is well-fed, given clean
clothes daily, has a clean and relatively safe environment in which to
live. The safety of his environment must
be qualified as there are some boys in the Islaheya, just like the girls, who
refuse to submit to order and discipline, break the rules and threaten some of
the boys who comply with Islaheya rules.
In contrast Hosna, aged seventeen, came to the Islaheya five
years ago after her mother threw her out of the home. She is frightened all the time, especially small
for her age, has only one friend, many enemies within the Islaheya, has been
raped by other girls at night who sneak into her bed and force themselves on
her, she has been beaten both at home and in the Islaheya. The extent of her ambition – none and her
sole source of entertainment is a gambling stick throwing game called
Tobba. It might be added that Ahmed’s
chief source of entertainment is the Internet.
At the boys institution, internet and computers are made available for
all the children, whereas, the girls have no internet and only one communal
television supplied by Hanna, with limited viewing privileges for selected
girls.
The severest treatment for the girls comes from women, women
in authority; and in the case of the Ministry of Social Affairs for the Agouza
Islaheya a woman in also in charge. The
harshest decrees for the girls’ management come directly from women in
authority. Islaheya supervisors, all
women, waste no time or sympathy on the girls.
A marked contrast too with Madam Nadia in Dubai, where all the children
whether handicapped or street children, refer to her as ‘mom’. If any gets into trouble while in school,
they say they must call their mother, meaning Madam Nadia.
In Agouza, Madame Merwette, the current director, vetoes any
outings, privileges, sometimes cancels the real school for the fifteen eligible
girls for her own reasons. She refuses
visitors entrance, visitors from the DEO who come once a week to engage the
children in games or play in their meager courtyard. In this she is seconded by the other
directors, Madam Zeinab and Madam Naglaa who comes in the afternoons. Madam Naglaa wishes to restrict the girls
even further by insisting that Hanna supply galabeyas rather than the regular
clothes worn by the girls and donated by DEO students and other friends of the
Social Committee. Egypt does not have a
dress code for its women; they freely choose the style of clothing they wish to
wear. If wearing the tradition galabeya
is their choice, if covering their hair with the ejab is what they wish, then
this is personal, not enforced. Hanna
decidedly refused to fall in with Madam Naglaa’s request, not on religious
grounds, but because it must be the girls’ choice, the Islaheya has no rules to
the contrary, and she believed the girls restricted enough, choosing clothes,
however slim the choices or how used the clothing, gives the girls one tiny
sense of humanity, garners them one speck of self-respect as an
individual. No such demand was put on
the boys either by Mr Ashraf in the past or by Mr Yasser, its current
director. In fact Mr Yasser turned down
Hanna’s offer of virtually brand new dress suits when a family friend died and
his widow offered them to the Social Committee.
Mr Yasser’s reply was that his boys did not wear used clothing, they had
no need, and the matter closed, Hanna gave the clothes to residents of Abu
Zabel who definitely have need.
Inside its moldy walls and cracking ceilings, the girls waste
the minutes, hours, days, months, and years wishing their lives away. With little or nothing to do, fights develop,
enemies are made, friendships breakup, humiliation from the keepers and
directors, often beatings occur. Much of
this behavior develops because the girls sit and pace in fear. Not always fear of someone, but of the
unknown. What will happen to them, where
will they be in the ten, fifteen years allotted to them in the Islaheya? Or will they end up like Zeina. At fifty-six she is the oldest and longest
resident – she came at four and has known nothing else since. Simple, uneducated, her speech is slurred,
but she has a smile for everyone who comes to visit. One can find her sitting on the cement
curbing just inside the Islaheya gates, just sitting, nothing else, barely
moving. Her clothes never change, and
her hair is only washed occasionally when she allows someone from the Social
Committee visitors to do this for her.
The girls all know her; perhaps she is their greatest fear although they
do not know how to voice this idea. They
see her sitting, she does no crafts, her simplicity grows with the passing of
each year, is this them in fifteen or twenty years.
My students asked these girls what are their hopes and
dreams. Virtually all say marriage, as
they know it is the only way out for them.
They want a home and of course with this come the obligation of children
which the girls see as security. With a
child in tow, a man might not divorce her or leave her destitute. Not thinking back to their own beginnings,
usually the result of a man leaving their mother, leaving a mother destitute
with several mouths to feed, or a man who has taken a new wife who refuses to
take another woman’s daughter in to her home.
From where do they hope to get their bridegrooms? Some girls continue to sneak out at night
meeting up with old street gang comrades, they believe this will answer. But in truth these boys only use them for sex
but when the girls get back to the Islaheya they believe it’s love. Only the few fortunate like Mona have a
fighting chance. Other girls have left
the Islaheya through marriage; sometimes a family member on the outside feels
sympathy and arranges a marriage.
Jumping at any opportunity to leave, a girl accepts. What happens to her afterwards is difficult
to tell, the girls do not return to the Islaheya even for a visit, this part of
their life they must put behind, never to come back, never to visit. If a girl has no family, no name, what can
she do? Even if the authorities identify
her birth records, it’s unlikely that family will merely emerge to bring along
a prospective husband. Additionally, not
many men want girls from the Islaheya.
It is the rare man who is willing to risk his future with a wife from
the lowest part of society and even if he does wish to marry her, the girl must
pass his family’s approval, in particular that of his mother, as she will be
the one most closely associated with his new wife. Egyptian mothers-in-law have notorious
reputations for interference, for badgering the new wife, and for making her
life a living hell. It takes an unusual
girl to trade one form of punishment and captivity for another.
Captivity comes well in to the equation because in the
Egyptian households, even though the civil law gives women freedom, civil law
is miles distant from actual practice. What
other alternatives offer Il Binait
Dol? When they reach twenty-one,
they can leave the Islaheya but where will they go, what can they do? If they have received the minimal education,
passing their Adadaya exams, this
still leaves them floundering. Training
for work beyond making a few pots and weaving a few simple bags is virtually
non-existent in the Islaheya. They have
no notion of housework, so they cannot hire themselves out as cleaners, most of
the girls cannot cook, only a few gained the right to work in the kitchen and
then the majority of the food was foul and sometimes tamaya If they cooked for wealthy people, their
skills must surpass simple Egyptian fare they’ve eaten and prepared in the
Islaheya. For this, they have no
training. Additionally, most families
refuse employment to girls from their backgrounds, police records stay stuck to
them throughout their lives. In spite of
the education which a few select girls receive from the attentive instruction
and care from Hanna’s teachers Madams Hala, Wafaa, Heba, and Ingy, employment
will be difficult, police records notwithstanding. Employment in Egypt is now and has been for
quite a while is at a low ebb, when University graduates who become teachers
only earn £300 Egyptian to start, what can minimally educated girls with police
records and Islaheya attached to their names, hope to achieve? If they had the opportunity to serve
apprenticeships as housemaids, cooks, or shop assistants then perhaps they
might work on the outside, but as it stands, their potential for earning
independent wages and starting out is virtually non-existent.
Il Binait Dol often lash out in frustration,
especially the older girls, they know their time is ending at the Islaheya,
where in spite of the conditions, they have a place to sleep which is not on
the streets and have three meals a day, regardless of how meager and
uninteresting. Walls crack around them,
ceilings leak dirty water, pipes break, the toilet is filthy, and showers are
rare, but they do not have to wander the streets, they do not have to put their
hands out for a crust of bread or a piaster, they do not have to steal, but
they do have to worry about tomorrow, because for them it does come and often
comes too soon. In spite of attempts to
run away, when they can take their freedom and walk out the front gate, past
the guards many of whom have used them for sex, what is their direction, where
can they go? One sure option is back on
the streets but if and when caught, they will not see the inside of an ill-kept
Islaheya again; they will see the devastating walls and gates of an Egyptian
prison for women.
