By Adriana Wilner
for Marie Claire, Brazil

They keep the faith, but their books do not hide the suffering that marks the lives of Muslim women – they are forced to accept arranged marriages and cannot express their sexuality. Oppressed by this culture, five writers react, asking for justice, and, above all, respect.

Enough. Women cannot be treated as inferior beings. That is what five female Muslim writers say in their books, standing up against the oppression that still reigns in a sizeable part of Islamic countries.

Their words have been irrigating continents over the last two years. Out of the five writers, three of them are not living in their countries of birth, but their books have been causing inflamed reactions. Iranian Azar Nafisi, author of ''Reading Lolita in Tehran'', in which she points to the danger in mixing religion and ideology, only published her book once she had left Tehran and arrived in the Unites States. ''I contribute more to freedom in a country where I am able to express myself.''

Born in Uganda, Irshad Manji, author of ''The trouble with Islam Today'', lives in Canada, but still relies on the services of a body-guard due to the constant threats she receives. ''I am not anti-Islamic, I just did not want to join an army of robots in the name of God.''

The Bengali Monica Ali, who has lived in London since she was a child, entered the literary world with more tranquility. The author of the novel “Brick Lane”, that examines the conflicts experienced by those who changed Bangladesh for London, now prepares herself to publish her second book.

Nedjma, author of ''The Almond: The Sexual Awakening of a Muslim Woman'', and Safiya, author of ''I, Safiya'', also spoke out, but they did not have the opportunity to leave their roots. For this reason Nedjma, who lives in Africa, uses a pen name and Safiya remains recluse in a small village in the North of Nigeria.

For the French historian Marc Ferro, these writers are a courageous minority. Those that study Islam state that not all Islamic countries adopt a line of extreme oppression against women – there are more flexible countries, such as Egypt, and other more rigorous ones, such as Saudi Arabia. ''But we know that there are no equal rights for men and women. And,
thanks to the voices of these writers, we can understand what happens in this universe'', says Ferro.

In their exclusive reports to Marie Claire, three of these fighters talk about forced marriages, sexuality and children, exposing the frustration and the hope of those who have suffered and still suffer discrimination for being a woman.

Iranian Azar Nafisi, aged 54, has lived in Washington since 1997, when she left the country she was born in, in search of freedom to discuss her ideas. The book ''Reading Lolita in Tehran'' (Published in Brazil by Girafa, 504 pages, R$ 58) tells of her experiences teaching clandestine classes to a small group of women. They read classic literature from the West. For the author, the novel ''Lolita'', by Wladimir Nabokov, is a representation of the totalitarian regime in which she lived. Azar is today a Professor of English literature at Johns Hopkins University.

''I used to refuse to use the veil. To cover women because you believe that their bodies are sources of temptation is a repressive idea.''

“To live in the Islamic Republic of Iran is like being forced to have sex with the most hated man. You can clear your mind, pretend you are another person, pretend you are in another place. After having asked to leave my post as Professor of English Literature at the University of Tehran, in 1995, I brought together a group of women who used to get together to discuss forbidden books. I chose seven of my most dedicated former students and invited them to go to my house. It was an escape route to tolerate what was often an intolerable condition for us, women, imposed by a system that was out of our control. The students were penalized for running up the staircase, for laughing in the corridors, for talking with people of the opposite sex. I had a great desire to write this book in Iran, but I knew it would be censored. So I kept the idea for later, for when I was able to speak freely. I used to refuse to use the veil. To cover women because you believe that their bodies are sources of temptation is a repressive idea. People have different rituals to demonstrate their beliefs, it just can’t be imposed. My book was published in 32 countries: only one of them, Turkey, can be considered a Muslim country. It was a difficult decision to start my life again in Washington with my husband and children. I miss Iran, my friends, my family and the peculiar colours of the sky and the flowers. But I think I can contribute more towards reforming Islam and towards freedom in a country where I can express myself. I remind my children Negar, aged 21, and Dara, aged 19, how lucky they are to have the best of both worlds. They have strong ties with the culture and the country where they were born. We celebrate the Persian New-Year, we talk about Iranian traditions. Exile can be hard, but it also gives us access to the ideas of two universes at the same time, and this is marvelous.''

Nedjma is 45 years old and lives in a North African country that cannot be revealed for security reasons. Her book ''Almond'' (published in Brazil by Ed. Objetiva, 207 pages, R$ 33) is the first erotic novel written by a Muslim woman. In it, the author reveals a society that is monolithic only in its appearances. In the day-to-day, gaps that are unimaginable to the West,
are opening: from the homosexuality amongst girls who are confined to an intense relationship with a lover, as a form of “escape” from an arranged marriage. The book is autobiographical when it talks of the passion between the two main characters. The remainder is a collage based on authentic personal experiences of women.

''The orgies hurt my idea of love because I believe in fidelity. But we all use our body as we wish.''

“I am not married. I have passed the age of putting a ring on my finger. Before I used to think I should get married, but I reconsidered. The institution of marriage is unjust towards the women of my country. I prefer just to live together. I found a happy medium in a relationship of love, respect and partnership with a man who, like me, is a monogamist. But I could not have children. They would not be recognized by the law. I wrote an erotic book because there were no novels of this type written by a Muslim woman. Eroticism is the strongest weapon against conservatives. I describe the turmoil of the bodies but also the pleasure. I use a pen name to protect myself, but I lead a normal life. I have never had homosexual or group sexual experiences like those in the book. My sexual life is of an afflictive conformism, the orgies hurt my idea of love, exclusive and faithful. But we all use our body as we wish. In the sacred book, sexuality is an essential dimension of life. A good believer is someone who knows how to balance the carnal and the spiritual spheres. I would go even further: there is a hedonist view that defends the just use of the goods God has put in our hands. We thank God for having created the birds, the trees, the fruits of the land and for having allowed two souls to love each other and find themselves through the body. I try and believe that there are gaps, even in the most restricted societies. What people tell me about Saudi Arabia confirms that, behind the veil and the closed doors, there is unbelievable permissiveness. The only problem is that these parallel worlds just prolong the life of these anointed people who intend to rule Muslims through abuses and intolerance. I believe that the Muslim Arab world is more libertine than it seems. Now it needs to become free.''

Irshad Manji, aged 36, was three when she arrived in Canada – her and her family fled from the Uganda of the Dictator Idi Amin. Even far away, she grew up using the veil and attending an Islamic school. But she never accepted the idea that women are inferior to men.  She is a lesbian, a feminist and a journalist – she is TV anchor of the interview programme
''Big Ideas'', of TV Ontario. Her book, ''The trouble with Islam today'' (published in Brazil by W11 Editores, 272 pages, R$ 33), proposes a liberal reform of Islam.

“I made a promise to myself: I would use the freedoms of my society to think and challenge without being afraid.”

“Every Saturday, I would to the Islamic school, the madressa. I wanted to know, for example, why girls could not conduct the prayers. I was expelled from the Madras when I was 14. Not because I refused to be a Muslim, but because I did not want to join an army of robots in the name of God. My parents did not forbid me from asking questions, but they did not encourage me. My mother was always loving, my father, violent. When they separated, I was 16 years old and I decided that I would never see my father again. I needed the distance. Today I don’t feel any more hatred, just pity. I have doubts whether I shouldn’t see him again before he dies or before I die. I receive constant threats, but I do not live with fear. Michelle, my partner, gives me support. Years back, she was expelled from military service for being a lesbian. She took the case to court and won. Many define me as an ‘interesting lesbian Muslim’. I am more than that, I am a thinker. Today I follow my religion my way. I fast during the month of Ramadan, not because I am scared of the divine punishment, but because it helps me in the formation of my character, it gives me discipline and empathy with the poor. There was a time when I used to say the five daily prayers. Today I speak to the Creator in the underground, in the library. And I am honest enough to admit that, if I am not able to see a predisposition for a liberal reform of Islam, then I should consider the perspective of leaving my faith. The reform must start with women. As has been said before, if you educate a boy, you educate only that boy. But, if you educate a girl, you educate the entire family. If they knew their rights, many women would not swallow what is said to them. Many call me an opportunist. Maybe I am because I see that there is an opportunity, whilst many are satisfied by just complaining, shouting and blaming the others for the problem.'' Safiya is only 38 years old and lives in a small village in Northwest Nigeria. She is unreachable because of her own story. The book which carries her name -''I, Safiya'' (published in Brazil by Ed. Verus, 186 papes, R$ 26)- was written by the Italian journalist Raffaele Masto. In 2001, Safiya was sentenced to death for having had an illegitimate daughter. After a large amount of international pressure, she was acquitted. The legal argument for her salvation came from the Koran: according to Mohammed, the semen of a man can remain in the womb of a woman for up to three years and still fertilize the egg. Therefore, her youngest child, baptised Adama, could have been from Safiya’s previous husband. Below, is a small passage from the book.

''I gave birth to a little girl, Adama. From the first time I saw her, I felt that she was worth fighting for.''

“The reality of marriage burst into my life when I was only thirteen. Yussuf must have been fifty. He was old and ugly. My first sexual experience was disappointing. I could hear Yussuf’s breathing heaving over my body, but I did not share his pleasure, maybe because my clitoris had been cut off when I was a baby. After a few years, I was the mother of four children. The
opportunities for work were decreasing and Yussuf went to the south.  I lost two of my children. To chicken pox. I went to talk to my mother-in-law. She said: ''Everything that is happening is your fault''. I answered: ''Maybe Yussuf sent money through his other son, but I never received it''. My words made her furious. It was then, that I understood: Yussuf’s parents thought that they needed the money more than me. My mother-in-law uttered the fatal sentence: ''In the name of my son, I renounce you! I renounce you! I renounce you!''. Three times – an irrevocable condemnation. I re-married, with Mohammed, who already had two other wives. One of them, Fátima, managed to convince him to renounce me. Two years later, I married Mamman. But he treated me so badly that his relatives convinced me to ask for the divorce.

Mohammed asked me to marry him again. Fátima had died. Our marriage could have worked, but one day he came home with a new wife. I was renounced once again. I began to be courted by Yacubu, a distant, married, cousin. I ended up sleeping with him and I got pregnant. One day, the police arrived. My father had warned me: my extra-marital affair was a violation of Islamic law. During the legal proceedings, Yacubu admitted to having sexual relations with me, but later he went back on his word, saying that he had never seen me before. I gave birth to a little girl, Adama. I was sentenced to death by stoning. But, if a favourable sentence was given, it could prevent other women suffering the same condemnation. And we won. Today I am married to a good, happy and caring man. He read my story in the papers and sent my father a message asking for my hand. My biggest dream is to give him a baby. Allah wants me to be happy.''

Monica Ali, aged 37, was born in Dhaka, Bangladesh. Daughter of a Bengali father and an English mother, she moved to England when she was three, fleeing the civil war in her country. She studied in Oxford and worked as a Sales and Marketing Manager. At the age of 35, just after the birth of her two children, she wrote her first novel: ''Brick Lane'' (published in Brazil by Ed. Rocco, 472 pages, R$ 52), which, even before it was published, granted the author a place on the list of Great Britain’s best novelists.

''In London nobody was waiting for us and we had no money. My father took a long time to join us.''

The book’s main character, Nazneen, is 18 years old when her parents marry her to Chanu, a 40-year-old man. The couple leave Bangladesh and move to London and try to keep their roots. Chanu is a mediocre man, but Nazneen tries to see his qualities. The turn around in Nazeen’s fate does not happen through maternity, but through her relationship with Karim. At the same time, Nazneen keeps writing to her sister, Hasina, who lives in Dhaka and married without the family’s approval. But her husband is violent and she runs away. The novel, that draws a parallel between the life of the sisters, is gripping and talks of a subject that is dear to Monica Ali: her mother had difficulties in leaving Dhaka with her children. Nobody could leave the country. But at one point the trip to England was allowed. ''In London nobody was waiting for us, we had no money. My father, an employee of the Bengali government, took a long time to join us'', said Monica to the British Newspaper ''The Guardian''. After some time, her family stopped speaking Bengali and made no plans to “return home''. As her native city
could no longer be reached, it became something mythical. The Islamic world is at the centre of the author’s life, but the book and its characters have no relation to her family’s story – she insists on pointing out.