The tough love of our grandmothers. Real stories. You won’t be nice by force: three real stories about not the happiest marriages When they force you into marriage

“I always knew that I would have to marry a man I didn’t know and didn’t love. In our family, being born a woman meant being someone's property - first your parents, then your husband. I was just an object that was supposed to serve men and produce children.

There is a difference between a forced marriage and an arranged marriage. The latter is a marriage entered into by agreement between members of two families, and is usually not forced. An element of violence appears in cases where one of the parties to the marriage does not want or cannot give consent.

In Britain, forced marriage has been illegal since 2014. This also applies to cases where a woman is brought into or out of the country for the purpose of marriage. Yet in England, only one in every 30 violent marriages ends in court proceedings, and everyone knows that many cases remain hidden.

I grew up in a Hindu family. My two brothers enjoyed much more freedom than I did. They were allowed to meet girls and go to university, but I was taught to cook and clean the house.

I was born in England after my parents moved from India to Britain in the late 60s. They themselves got married after just a week of dating by family agreement and always led a separate existence - I never saw them hug or kiss each other, or simply hold hands.

I had a very difficult childhood. I was molested by a family friend when I was a teenage girl, bullied at school for being Asian, and then a much older Pakistani Muslim man stalked and beat me.

I was considered damaged goods because of all this and at the age of 19 I was sent to India where I underwent a rite of purification and exorcism of evil spirits. Then the search began for a husband for me. I said I was not ready for marriage and rejected all the candidates, and after two months I was sent back to Britain.

A few days after returning, I ran away from home at night and ended up in a homeless shelter. There I swallowed pills and cut my wrists, but woke up in a hospital bed.

Two weeks after being discharged from the hospital, my parents resumed their search for a husband for me. They posted an advertisement about me in a Hindu temple and posted a profile on sites where Hindus are looking for brides.

The parents went through at least ten men before they found the right one - they were either too old, poorly brought up, or simply belonged to the wrong caste.

I was kept in a separate room while the parents on both sides negotiated with each other, and then I was taken into the room to show the potential groom to the parents.

One day, the young man’s relatives, who knew our family through the temple, contacted my parents. I only saw him for a few minutes and then our families agreed on our marriage. He seemed to me to be a very quiet and modest person, and from this I drew the wrong conclusion that he would be kind and caring.

He lived in another city and in the months before marriage he wrote me letters in which he promised that he would treat me like a princess.

When I showed these letters to my parents, at first they were unhappy because it was strange for them, especially his promises to love me, but after a few weeks they told me that they were glad that I was going to live with a good family.

I was scared to have sexual relations with him after everything I experienced as a child. He replied that we could wait to have sex until we got to know each other better after marriage.

And yet, on the wedding day, I felt horror - the photographs show that I looked unhappy. First, we registered the marriage in a government office, and then a Hindu ceremony took place in the temple.

I was only 20 years old, and I had to move into his house immediately after the wedding. The thought of having to live with strangers filled me with horror.

The night after the wedding, my husband raped me. He knocked me down as I was getting ready to go to bed, did his job, and then called my mother and said that “the job is done.”

I sat on the bed in despair, thinking that my wedding night should not be like this. And in his romantic letters, my husband promised me something completely different.

When we moved into his house, things got even worse. His mother was angry that my dowry was, in her opinion, so poor.

She demanded thousands of pounds, a new car and an expensive TV. But my parents could not afford it, and she began to take out her anger on me.

She woke me up at 5 am every day and made me clean and clean the house from top to bottom, and did not let me sleep until 3 am. She cut my hair and watched what I ate.

“I didn’t give a damn,” I swaggered in front of Melissa. - I want to sleep!

Around midnight, my father left to meet Musa at the station. Mom came into the room and woke me up.

Rise, rise! You still need to get dressed and fix your hair. You must meet him!

I slowly turned over to my other side, still feigning indifference.

Sorry, but no way! He doesn’t need to see me, and I don’t need to see him! Leave me alone!

No, you will get up! - This time the mother raised her voice. - And move! Your father will be back with him soon! And I warn you, Leila: you are in for a strong thrashing, if you are not ready for their arrival!

I have never seen my mother so excited. In a hurry to get dressed, she grabbed my hair so hard that I pulled back and screamed again: “No!” Melissa decided to intervene as gently as possible.

Leila, why don’t you want to take at least a step forward? You meet him, everyone calms down, and then you say: “No, I don’t want to marry him.”

You do not understand! You don’t know them, if I agree to the meeting, then everything is lost!

Don't be stupid, what on earth are you talking about?

I know what I am saying! If he sees me and wants me, I'm lost!

No one in Melissa's family was forced to marry a stranger. Of course, her father demanded that she choose: my brother or her family. She stayed with my brother and got along with us. But at least she had a choice!

I don't see such freedom. Father would rather ban me somewhere. I know how it is with people like me. I turned twenty, I had already run away from home twice, I was rebellious, loved to walk, smoke, worked at night and tried to commit suicide - by no means an ideal daughter. My parents wouldn't risk it if my boyfriend changed his mind. They wanted to marry me off until it got into my head to give up all caution and virginity. While I frantically clutched the pillow with the firm intention of not giving up, my mother greeted the visitor in her usual manner, with three bows.

Welcome, come in, make yourself at home...

“If you stick your head out, Leila,” I thought, it’s all over.”

I seriously doubted that I had the opportunity to refuse. It was clear that if I appeared before the guest, my parents and he himself would take this as de facto consent. And then fixing everything will be really problematic.

Leila, go make some tea!

Helpless rage boiled inside me. “Brew some tea and bring it to him on a silver platter!” An indicator of the obedience of a well-bred daughter, ready to serve the first idiot who appears in front of her, because her family decided so.

For as long as I can remember, I have always served men, but this time it was like I was selling myself to a man I didn’t even want to know. My bad feeling was justified. Memories of my childhood came back to me like nausea. I was born to suffer - there's no end in sight. There was nothing to hope for, to get at least a little peace, to live my own life and get rid of the constant worries about my virginity. I had no intention of selling it cheap. It was as if I was screaming: “Here she is! If I could, I would hang a red lantern here! It will change to green only when I want it! Until the time comes, I don’t want to do anything with anyone!”

How could I make them see the light? I wanted to shout to them: “Don’t worry, my hymen is still intact! It will continue to be so! Don’t you understand that I’ve been protecting it since childhood? That the last thing I want is to sleep with someone! And even more so with a stranger! Leave me alone! Let me dream, love, make a choice!

My parents were impervious to this kind of argument. Marriage is the pinnacle of raising a girl. And the role of the parents is to position her for marriage. Once married, a daughter becomes the responsibility of her husband. The father is freed from his debt - his mission is over.

I wouldn't buy freedom even for money. I thought that earning money would be a kind of insurance against marriage, but my hopes were absolutely not justified.

“Come on, it’s not that bad,” Melissa tried to cheer me up. What scared her more than anything was that my father might slap me in front of everyone. I still gave in to my mother, but before I allowed myself to be thrown into the lion’s mouth, I wanted to know what he was like.

Melissa, be a friend, go into the living room, look at him.

Maybe you can tell me under what pretext?

Then just take some dry things from the balcony, and then look through the window.

Are you crazy?! Do you know what the weather is like there? Your mother will definitely ask what I'm doing there!

Oh please!

Bad luck: the windows fogged up, and Melissa couldn't see anything except my mother's back. She came back giggling.

Your mother stood right in front of him. It's nothing you can do! Listen, stop panicking, get over there. You look at him, he will look at you, then you weigh everything and say “no”!

I decided to prepare tea, as etiquette required, and serve it to the guest. I felt a malicious pleasure, throwing in three times as much tea leaves as mint leaves, and adding little sugar to make the tea bitter. He will decide that I don’t even know how to brew tea - so much the better.

My mother made me wear a gandura. She also wanted me to tidy up my hair and put on makeup, but I came out with a regular bun on my head.

It really is disgusting tea, Melissa laughed.

I don’t know why, but before appearing in the living room with a tray on which there were cups, a teapot and muffins, I went out to look at his shoes. Like all the guests, he took off his shoes in the hallway. And that hour the decision I had made long before turned into a gigantic NEVER in my head!

Small, nondescript shoes made of black leather with laces, some kind of mesh, with decorative holes at the top. They were disgusting. The father was much older than the guest, but had excellent taste. My betrothed had no sense of style at all, at that moment I realized what type they wanted to pass me off as, I rushed back to the kitchen, still holding a tray of crappy tea

No way, Melissa! Have you seen his shoes?

What nonsense! Did you go look at his shoes?

She laughed until she cried, but I didn’t see anything funny here.

He's not for me - that's obvious!

How can you say that! You haven’t seen it yet, just the shoes!

These lace-up peasant boots speak for themselves. I bet he has a face to match them.

You won't mind just going and looking. Chill, you can't judge by shoes alone. That's funny.

I don't like his shoes, so neither does he! I resisted like a donkey. I was outraged by the sight of his terrible shoes. This man was just a dork. The damn boots - dusty, old-fashioned, shapeless - gave him away.

Melissa, they picked up a North African peasant from a remote place! How can they sell me off to the first guy they come across who dresses like that?

I already felt humiliated because I was forced to take part in this grandfather's show. Now it’s even worse - I was simply fooled. If I saw expensive Dior shoes, I would think that I was being sold to some dude like a whore. If a guy came wearing sneakers, I would call him an unemployed man who would suck money out of me and squander it in bars. I wouldn't be happy with any shoes. I didn't want to marry anyone. The man of my dreams didn't wear shoes. She was ephemeral, like himself.

The stranger was my worst nightmare, and these creepy shoes only confirmed my fears. The parents stretched out in front of this ugly pair of shoes, bowing and scraping. They were ready to destroy my destiny forever.

We often learn about the love of our grandmothers not from them, but from films. From the sad ones, where a woman is waiting from the front for a missing person. The romantic and funny ones, where a girl and a guy fall in love with each other at a construction site, at lectures, in virgin lands. Because very often those grandmothers who could have told something different chose to remain silent. Let it seem like it was just like in a movie...

The cruel twentieth century wrote many life stories that you do not want to share. And yet, some stories have reached us, and Pics.ru managed to collect them. Erasing them from memory is the same as erasing the memory of these women.

Sundress - on ribbons

My great-grandmother was actually given in marriage to the first person they met, because they found a good groom for her younger sister, and “they don’t reap through a sheaf” - that is, a younger sister cannot be married off before an older one. The great-grandmother lived in her husband’s family for about a year, and in order to avoid fulfilling her marital duty, she slept on the stove with his grandmother all the time. When Soviet power came, she was the first to rush to the neighboring village to get a divorce. Her husband, who had never come into his own, was watching her outside the village, “tearing her sundress into ribbons,” but she ran away and did not give in. And a few years later she met my great-grandfather, 6 years younger than her, fell in love, got married, gave birth to 4 children.

took pity

Our past neighbors - my grandfather and grandmother - got married during the war. She was a nurse, she was sleeping, and he raped her while she was sleeping. In the process, he realized that she was a virgin, was afraid of arrest and proposed marriage: “no one will marry you anyway.” She was scared and agreed. So he reminded her all his life: “If I hadn’t taken pity on you, no one would have taken you.”

Harmonist

My great-grandmother's sister fell in love with an accordion player at her own wedding and ran away with him. She gave birth to three children. He walked around and drank all his money away. Bill, of course. She and the children went to dinner with my great-grandmother. The great-grandmother was tired of feeding her sister, and she forbade her to come and bring her children. My sister went and hanged herself.

Farmhand

My great-great-grandmother served as a farmhand in the house of a rural priest. Then the owner married his son to her. They lived together all their lives. According to family stories, the great-great-grandfather, as he got drunk on a holiday, began to tell his wife: you, they say, are a farm laborer, know, give your place.

Flaw

One of my grandmothers got married after the war when the men returned from the front. She had a loved one, but he lost a couple of fingers in the war. And the grandmother decided that she wouldn’t be able to feed without her fingers. She married her grandfather, who became an alcoholic. And the one without fingers later became an accountant. And he earned money and didn’t drink...

Activist

One of my great-grandmothers was forcibly married off at the age of sixteen to a security officer. She gave birth to three sons... And then her husband was shot. She gave up her sons from her hated husband to an orphanage and left for Siberia! She was a crazy activist and party leader, they say.

Turkish girl

My great-great-grandmother is a military trophy from the Russian-Turkish War. Her great-great-grandfather brought her from Turkey, after raping her, and then did her a favor and married her. Of course, she was forced to convert to Christianity. She died either from her fifth or sixth birth, very early, she was not even thirty.

Necessary

My great-grandmother's husband did not return from the front. She “lost” her passport, got a new one without a stamp, sent her daughter to the village and got married again. Keeping silent about the previous marriage, because who needs a widow with a child. The deception was revealed eight years later, and then the great-grandfather began beating the great-grandmother. Beat almost every day. She endured it, then broke his ribs. While he lay and fused his ribs back together, she nursed him, apologized and consoled him. After this my grandfather was born. The great-grandfather continued to beat the great-grandmother, but carefully. Half-heartedly. It's scary because it happened. But what to do! Necessary.

Deacon

My grandfather held a grudge against his parents for a long time because his beloved sister was forcibly married to a clerk, known in the village for his evil temper. Soon after the wedding, she tied the goat poorly, it got loose and gnawed something in the garden. The husband beat his wife so that she lay prone for a long time and remained lame for the rest of her life. Grandfather, having heard about such a thing, tore the stake out of the fence and went to investigate. The clerk, having received his due, became quieter for a while, but the matter still ended badly. They were throwing haystacks, the husband somehow didn’t like how his wife gave him a fork, he hit her on the head with the handle of a fork, and she went blind.

Don't overdo it!

My great-grandfather, who was about 35 years old at the time, wooed my 15-year-old great-grandmother. She didn't want to marry someone so old. Then my great-great-grandfather beat her with the reins in the stable so that she wouldn’t go after rich suitors. She got married like a sweetheart... She gave birth to six daughters. Then the war began, and all six had to be raised by one. But after the war, she didn’t want to return to her husband, so she raised her daughters alone.

Unequal marriage

I was lucky enough to communicate with my great-grandmother, born in 1900. She lived in a village in southern Ukraine. She was married off at the age of 16 to a widower with three children. The widower was over 30, he limped and was generally a little crooked. But he paid off the numerous debts of my great-grandmother’s parents. In general, it was under these conditions that she was married off. Actually sold.

Pilot

During the war, my grandmother worked in the rear, at a factory. She was a very young girl, 15 years old. One day I fainted from hunger on the way to work. While they found her, while they pumped her out and found out who she was, the factory bosses almost put her in prison - for desertion and failure to show up at work. To rectify the situation, her aunt goes to the front - the case is closed. After the war, my grandmother went to live in Georgia. I met a military pilot there; love at first sight! 9 months later my mother was born. When it came to the wedding, it turned out that she had a “criminal” past. The pilot was immediately recalled from the unit and... that’s all. Although my mother tried to look for my father all her life, she could not find him. They say I look a lot like him...

On different sides

My grandfather, a nobleman, left my grandmother alone with her two daughters in exile. When the Germans came to Latvia, my mother’s sister was sent to a camp. Mother went to fight for Russia, which she had never seen. The grandfather found one of the daughters in the camp and, having learned that the second was in the Red Army, promised to personally hang her. A Russian officer with a full St. George's bow, he was in a German uniform. He was caught in Yugoslavia by Tito's partisans and shot. My mother had a different middle name all her life. And I’ve never even seen his card.

Changed my mind

One of my great-uncles dated a woman and loved her. One day she and a group of people went to the beach to swim, and there she was raped in the water. It’s as simple as that – they surrounded a bathing woman and raped her. He changed his mind about getting married.

Escape to marriage

After graduating from college, my future grandmother was assigned to work in a remote Uzbek village. So deaf that all those who arrived were thinking about how to escape from this “prison,” and the village authorities, accordingly, were thinking about how to keep them by force. They didn’t give me leave, didn’t issue documents, didn’t allow me to travel to a neighboring town or even leave the village anywhere... After two years of this hell, my grandmother seized the moment when the head of the collective farm left and escaped. She managed to knock out legal documents for vacation and rode out on a cart, and there was a chase after her: they knocked on the departing director, and he turned around and ordered to catch up... They didn’t catch up. Grandma came to her relatives to spend her vacation, but the question arose - how not to return when the vacation is over? The solution we found was banal for our family. According to the law, a wife cannot be separated from her husband. Therefore, during a month of vacation, they found a decent groom who had a residence permit and a job in the capital, and married her off. The collective farmers, by the way, took revenge. When my grandmother asked them for her work record and other documents, they stated that they had lost everything. And my grandmother lived with my grandfather until his death, and these were half a century of marriage without love.

Master

My grandmother, the first singer and dancer in the village, married my grandfather - a stern, courageous, real man. Grandfather knew how to work and earn money, he knew how to do everything around the house - from sewing and cooking to repairing watches and furniture, he knew how to get scarce goods for the family in the most difficult years and to extract all kinds of benefits and allowances from the state. Then my grandfather returned from the war and finally became a dream come true - a “stone wall”, a breadwinner, a hero. But the “stone wall” also had a downside. Grandfather was a real tyrant. Everything had to be just his way. Besides, he was amazingly stingy. Grandmother was not allowed more than one dress for going out, cosmetics, new bed linen, and was not allowed to use what was given by relatives and friends. It was not allowed to go to the cinema or theater, because it was a waste of money... For a long time I thought that they lived this way out of poverty, until I discovered that my grandfather kept a lot of money in a closet drawer. By the way, they didn’t like guests in the house. They lived together for more than fifty years. The grandfather understood perfectly well that he was turning his wife’s life into hell. In old age, after a series of strokes, when reality began to mix with the imaginary, he often had the same nightmare. That she will take revenge...

Kulak daughter

My grandmother was the daughter of a kulak, her family was exiled to Siberia. There the red commander had his eye on her. He got married to a revolver, threatened the whole family with lime... And after some years he found himself another wife, a young one. As a result, the grandmother carried both the children and the household on herself. And my grandfather’s “young” wife later left him.

Dresser

My great-grandmother died at 36, having had about 40 abortions. She herself was a nurse, her husband was much older than her. He married her by force. I came to her village with food appropriation, saw the young great-grandmother and issued an ultimatum: get married or dispossess your parents. Then my grandmother was born, whom my father named after his first wife with a Jewish name; the first wife, also a fiery revolutionary, died of tuberculosis. My great-grandfather took my grandmother to her grave several times a year. Grandma didn’t love her own mother, and apparently her mother didn’t either. Before my grandmother, my great-grandfather and great-grandmother had a boy who died as an infant. They buried him in a chest of drawers. This chest of drawers, without one drawer, stood in their apartment until their evacuation from Leningrad.

P.S. I can’t help but remember another “love story” that happened in this community, I’ll give it in its entirety.

My grandfather saw my grandmother and fell in love at first sight. Although “fell in love” is not the right word, I’ll tell you now, you’ll understand everything yourself.

He was from the Tambov province, from a peasant family, a “promoter” as they said then. He was a member of some detachments, collecting food taxes, then - enemies of the people, very quickly found himself in the NKVD system. Where, by the way, he spent his whole life, surviving all the leaders and the change of system, and from where he retired to a high and honorable pension.

He saw my grandmother, I think, during some kind of evictions, compactions, confiscations and other cannibalism of varying severity. And he proposed to her almost immediately.

He could take advantage of his position and demand sex or cohabitation. But he wanted everything. And forever.

He proposed legal marriage to her. With the fact that if she refuses, he will arrange for her entire family to be shot. The Meshchersky family was large and had a suitable background for execution.

She married him. She bore him two children. She never contradicted him, ran the house, raised children. She was almost always silent.

He always provided and protected his family. They were never poor. In the hard years - and they had almost no others - his animal instinct led the family between countless dangers. For example, in the first week after the declaration of war, he took a government car and rushed to Peterhof, where the NKVD stables were located. I brought a bag of oats from there.

Very quickly he was taken to the front to serve in the tribunal. What is a war without a tribunal.

During the blockade, she and the children plugged all the cracks with rags so that the smell, even the shadow of a smell, would not leak out, and cooked these oats. That's how they survived. My father, he was 12-13 years old, remembers how he skated during the blockade. If I brought something from a food warehouse, I would be shot for defeatist sentiments. If I brought flour or sugar, they would exchange it for other products, arrest me, or simply kill me for this sugar... He was a brilliant man.

His intelligence and connections made it possible to return his family to Leningrad before the end of the war, and in general saved them more than once.

After the war, in 1946, she suffered a stroke. He, regardless of expenses, convened a council of the best specialists. The diagnosis was not in doubt, nor was the treatment. The doctors reassured him: she would lie in bed for a long time, she would not recover completely, of course, in the future she would partially take care of herself, the house would no longer be there, it would never be the same. But there is no danger to life, the prognosis is favorable.

He thanked everyone, paid everyone and released them. He took a government car, dragged her out, loaded her and took her to one of the houses destroyed by the bombing, of which there were many then, and left her there.

His son, then 16, looked for her. Incredible, but I found it. Do not know how. On the third day. She was still alive, but did not recognize him and died within an hour or less.

After burying his mother, he took his younger sister, who was 12 at the time, by the hand and took her to his relatives. He himself went to seafaring - there was a barracks for the duration of his studies, and then the sea. He never returned to the apartment on Fontanka where he spent his childhood and never saw his father again.

He retired, was married to a woman 30 years younger than himself, had a house, if not a mansion, in Peterhof, and lived to be more than 90 years old.

I've never seen him.

I am ashamed of my relationship with him.

I was named after her - a terrible name that brings misfortune. It used to scare me, but now I’ve somehow gotten used to it. I like her.

Her grave is long lost. Let this story be here in her memory.

UN, 15 million people around the world live in marriages against their will. Women who were kidnapped by men or who married at the insistence of their relatives told Snob about persuasion and threats and why they stayed married or separated from their husbands

“At the wedding, I found out that my husband was also forced to marry me.”

Maryam, 22 years old

I grew up in Tajikistan, in an ordinary Muslim family. We were not too religious: no one wore a burqa, prayer was read at will. I was lucky: my parents paid for my education and even allowed me to attend additional classes. However, my older brother constantly monitored my every move. However, this did not stop me from studying, hanging out with my girlfriends, and posting photos on the Internet. Guys at that time did not interest me: I was forbidden to communicate with them, and I thought about the reputation of my family and did not take risks.

Our girls usually get married at 17-18 years old, but I was too modern for our society: I wanted to first build a career and only then find a person with whom I could spend my whole life. I sincerely believed that this would happen. I grew up a tomboy and a feminist. This tormented my parents. Dad constantly scolded my mother for not being able to raise me to be a girl, and my mother, in turn, scolded me. There were scandals every day.

As soon as I turned 17, matchmakers began to come to the house. There were many fans, but I refused everyone. I deliberately dressed like a scarecrow so as not to please anyone, and was rude to women who tried to marry me. I resisted marriage for three years.

I saw my husband for the first time on the wedding day, but we talked to him only after the celebration. It turned out that he was also forced to marry in order to break off his relationship with a Russian girl

One day, my father’s second cousin came to us to marry her son. Dad couldn’t stand it and gave the go-ahead for the wedding without my or my mother’s consent. We cried for a whole week. I begged my father not to marry me off because I knew the groom’s relatives. I never liked them because they were very out of date. I never saw my future husband: he lived in Russia for 11 years and rarely came to our city. I knew that he was very religious, and this frightened me greatly, because our overly religious people are very unfair. It was useless to resist my father’s will, and I had no thoughts of escaping: I didn’t want to disgrace my family. So I got married at the age of 20 - quite late for girls in our country.

I saw my husband for the first time on the wedding day, but we talked to him only after the celebration. It turned out that he was also forced to marry in order to break off his relationship with the Russian girl he loved. It was a blow for me: I was afraid that he still loved that girl. However, my husband and I quickly became friends. A week after the wedding, we flew to Russia. We didn't like each other enough, so we lived together as friends for six months. Fortunately, my husband did not put pressure and respected me.

Everything would be fine if it weren’t for my mother-in-law. I lived with her for two months, she considered me a slave and controlled my every move. She was in a hurry to get pregnant, counted our money, complained about me to my husband and constantly said what a clumsy and unkempt freak I was. Naturally, this affected his attitude towards me.

I was just lucky that my husband turned out to be, although strongly religious, a very understanding and educated person

I became pregnant, but I wasn’t particularly happy about it, since after the birth his whole family would have moved in with us. I became depressed and had a miscarriage because of this. And this was the last straw.

I began to quarrel with my husband often, but then I looked at my friends who were also forced to get married. For some reason, their husbands loved and listened to them, gave them gifts and flowers, but nothing from my husband. I talked to psychologists on the Internet, read articles and realized that my husband did not see me as a woman - only a friend, and the main woman in his life was his mother. Then I calmly told my husband that his mother’s attitude did not suit me, that she had offended me very much. I began to take care of myself and love myself more. And my husband changed his attitude towards me: he began to be jealous of me, give me flowers, gifts, sometimes arranged romantic surprises (and he is not a romantic at all), began to consult with me. My parents always told me to listen to my mother-in-law and husband and to remain silent. But now I always tell my husband what I like and what I don’t. And this helps a lot. My husband and I are not perfect, but we will work on it.

My mother-in-law left us behind. We still have a difficult relationship: she is jealous of my son, wants to move in with us to control our lives, constantly complains and demands money from my husband. She's annoyed that we got along. I try to communicate with her as little as possible, my husband sometimes gets offended by this.

I still think that getting married against someone's will is terrible. I was just lucky that my husband turned out to be, although strongly religious, a very understanding and educated person. He immediately told me that everyone chooses how to live, and that he will not force me to live the way he wants. My husband prays five times a day, doesn’t drink or smoke, and I can easily wear short dresses and drink on holidays. There are girls who are less fortunate; there is no one to help them: the reputation of their parents is at stake, and if a girl gets divorced, her parents will not accept her.

“When I refused to get married, my family decided that there was a genie inside me.”

Taisa, 28 years old

A few years ago, my daughter-in-law’s cousin, who at that time lived and worked in Moscow, saw me in the photo, and he liked me. They gave him my phone number, we talked a little, and I quickly realized that this was not my person. I immediately said that I was not interested in a relationship with him and that he should leave me alone. However, relatives on my mother’s side began to say that it was time for me to get married and that he should be given a chance.

Soon he came to Chechnya and came to visit us with my cousins ​​and their children. I told him again that nothing would work out between us. Then my sister suggested we go to the center and take a walk - it was her birthday. I calmly got into her car. Her son was driving. And that guy in another car with his sisters followed. After some time, I realized that we were going in the other direction. I asked my sister why, and she: “You’re getting married.” I didn’t believe it, I thought she was joking. It would never have occurred to me that my cousin could steal me for someone. Moreover, in Chechnya it is legally prohibited to steal girls. Then she called my mother and asked if she agreed for me to be married to that guy. Mom agreed, and then I realized that they were not joking. I panicked, started yelling at my sister, and even tried to open the door and jump out of the car. As a result, we stopped, I went out onto the road, shouting: “Creatures! How could you do this?” They tried to take my phone away, but I didn’t give in that easily. I called my aunt, explained everything and asked her to come pick me up. She advised me to go to that guy and promised that she would pick me up. I obeyed.

My father's side of the family was very unhappy that I was kidnapped. But the story was hushed up because maternal relatives were involved in the theft

We arrived in the village. There were a lot of people waiting for me there. They brought out the sweets, took me into the house, put a scarf on me, and I burst into tears. The women were on their knees persuading me to stay. When persuasion did not work, they began to threaten. They said that if I returned, rumors would spread, and after that no one would marry me. I just cried and said that I wouldn’t get married. One woman even decided that there was a genie inside me. I saw that not a single person was worried about my state of mind or thought about my desires. They only thought about their own skin: if the police found out that I was stolen, they would have to pay a huge fine.

I cried for a long time and prayed to Allah for help. I firmly decided that I would not give up. Three hours later my aunts and brothers came for me. They took me home. My father's side of the family was very unhappy that I was kidnapped. But the story was hushed up because maternal relatives were involved in the theft. I was lucky that none of the men touched me, so the mullah said that I was pure and that since I didn’t want to get married, they wouldn’t give me away.

After this incident, I did not leave my room for a long time. She cried a lot and didn't eat anything. I was ashamed to show myself to my parents. I lost a lot of weight and went to work exhausted and pale. After that, my mother tried to persuade me for another month to marry that guy. I stood my ground: I don’t want to and I won’t. Then I told her what I had experienced, my mother repented and asked me for forgiveness. I never forgave the cousin who helped steal me. We do not talk.

“Grandma said that now they won’t call me spoiled”

Ekaterina, 21 years old

I live in a small Kazakh town. I was raised by my grandmother, who was sure that virginity was the most important thing in a girl’s life. Naturally, there was no talk of any sex before marriage.

My mother married a virgin at 21, my grandmother is very proud of it. When I was two years old, my father ran away. He doesn’t even want to hear about my mother and grandmother, he says they are “traveled.” After the divorce, my mother went on a spree, often bringing men into the house, and I heard her “concerts” at night. She didn't care about me.

As a teenager, my hormones began to play, I scratched the walls - I needed sex so much. I went to small teenage meetings based on interests and met a guy there. We were both 16 years old. We became friends, then started dating and soon slept together. He was my first.

There was a terrible scandal. My grandmother yelled that she would throw me, a “damaged slut,” out of the house if I didn’t force this guy to marry me.

My grandmother dragged me to the gynecologist every month and when I refused to go to him, she began to put pressure. I had to say that I am no longer a virgin. There was a terrible scandal. My grandmother screamed that she would throw me, a “damaged slut,” out of the house if I didn’t force this guy to marry me. I didn’t want to get married, but the thought of being considered “damaged” and never getting married again scared me so much that I put pressure on my boyfriend. It was beneficial for his mother, who lived in the village, to get rid of the extra mouth, so she agreed to the wedding with the words: “Do what you want! They got a whore!” My grandmother paid for the wedding entirely. My husband's parents did not come to the celebration. We couldn’t sign because of our age, but everything was as it should be: a white dress, a veil, a festive table.

At first we lived well, but then the abuser woke up in my husband. He constantly bullied me, called me a whore because before him I had petted and kissed other boys. He said that because of this my virginity meant nothing to him. Shortly after the wedding, I became pregnant. My grandmother’s upbringing had an effect: you must give birth, a child is sacred, and then you can have at least ten abortions. When I was five months pregnant, my husband, as I later found out, was flirting with my friend.

When I gave birth to my daughter, his relatives swore at me over the phone: they said that I was a whore and whores’ children were not considered children. Life with my husband became even more difficult - he either said that he loved me and my daughter more than life itself, or said: “Yes, as soon as I leave for work, you’ll jump on someone else’s ***.” By the way, we lived at the expense of my grandmother, and my husband sometimes worked as a waiter.

When I found out that my husband cheated on me with a waitress, I went crazy. She hit him with a chair and yelled that he had ruined my life. We parted company with a scandal. Grandmother said: “But now you won’t be called spoiled and you can get married again. We’ll just show the groom a photo from the wedding so that it’s clear that she didn’t lose her virginity in the alley.”

Unfortunately, I can’t find a normal job: I didn’t even finish ninth grade because of my grandmother, who considered education for girls to be nonsense

Soon I found another guy. He insulted me that I was a “trailer” and no one needed me, that I had gained weight - he drove me to hysterics. We parted. My nerves were so shaken that I turned to a psychotherapist. It turned out that I was depressed. I felt very bad, and my grandmother yelled at me not to lie on the sofa, but to go clean up and sit with the child. One day I lost my temper and hit her. My grandmother said that I was an inadequate and ungrateful bastard, that she had raised me for 18 years in vain, that even my mother, who pushed me onto her, was much better than me and that it would be better if I died.

I lived with my grandmother for some time, breastfed the baby, and then, taking a minimum of things with me, I allegedly went to the store and did not return. I didn't have any money. At first I slept with guys for housing, then a friend helped me. We were in love with each other as children, and now we decided to get married. The wedding is scheduled for April. I live with him and improve my health. Unfortunately, I can’t find a normal job: I didn’t even finish the ninth grade because of my grandmother, who considered education for girls to be nonsense. And this is in the 21st century, in a Russian family. Now I read a lot, I have improved my grammar. The best education is self-education.

My daughter lives with her grandmother. I don’t have money to support her yet, but my grandmother is wealthy and gives her everything she needs. My grandmother hates me and constantly complains that I abandoned her, an old woman, with her child. When I get back on my feet, I will definitely take my daughter: I will not allow my grandmother to cripple another girl.

“I became an outcast because I disgraced my parents with divorce”

Safiya, 24 years old

I grew up in Karachay-Cherkessia. My parents are Muslims who lived according to Soviet laws, but did not forget about traditions. Since childhood, I was ready for my father to decide the issue of my marriage, and I didn’t really resist it.

My father had a friend whose son had been asking for my hand for several years. I refused. But at the age of 17, my parents married me to him. They were afraid that they would kidnap me: I was a tall and prominent girl. I managed to get used to my future husband, so I didn’t rebel too much. As he later admitted, I attracted him precisely with my refusals.

My husband was seven years older than me. He was a pure and naive guy. I fell in love with him immediately after the wedding - the first man, romance and all that, and we were very young. For my sake, my husband stopped drinking and became seriously involved in religion: he performed the Hajj to Mecca and began to pray. It was impressive.

But everything was ruined by his relatives. My husband's stepmother and his sister were plotting against me. The point is banal jealousy and envy: their dear boy began to pay all his attention to his young wife, and not to them. My father-in-law was a tyrant, and my husband did not know his own mother, so he had problems expressing his feelings, and he never learned to stand up for his wife. In his family, the wife was considered a draft horse. I was obliged to wear long robes, a headscarf, not to wear makeup, and I was forbidden to work anywhere outside of home. My husband once told me: “You must love my relatives, my friends and even my mistresses.” We divorced because of endless gossip and scandals after two years of marriage. I left my husband on my birthday. I haven’t celebrated it since – it’s a black date.

The most important thing is not to rush, to find out all the ins and outs of the future spouse’s family. After all, in the Caucasus, a woman marries not only a man, but also his entire relatives

At the age of 20, I was left alone with a baby in my arms. She returned to her parents' house and became an outcast because she disgraced her family with a divorce. I would like to live separately, especially since I earned good money, but this is not customary here. My parents constantly put pressure on me and dreamed that I would return to my husband. I understand them, they wanted the best for me. However, no miracle happened. My ex-husband soon remarried, and I was left with a broken heart, dreams and pride trampled into the dirt. He is not involved in our child's life in any way. I didn’t file for alimony so as not to owe anything to his family.

I didn’t receive any support from my parents, so I started looking for it on the side and found it in my current husband. He was very courteous, kind and affectionate with me and amazed me with his reverent attitude towards my child. He is an ordinary hard worker, has neither ranks nor big money, but he tries to do everything for his family, sparing no effort and health. A year and a half after the divorce, I married him. I admit that I didn’t marry him out of love. Escaped from pressure. We don’t live well, but I am free to do what I want, go where I want and wear the clothes I choose. I still suffer for my ex-husband: it’s impossible to forget my first love. Sometimes I drive myself into a frenzy with thoughts about the past, I regret that I could not save my family and gave up so quickly. It's all because of youthful maximalism.

I hope that traditions that oppress women’s rights will be forgotten over time and women will become equal to men. You should create a family only with a person whose views on life coincide with yours. The most important thing is not to rush, find out all the ins and outs of your future spouse’s family, and get to know everyone if possible. After all, in the Caucasus, a woman marries not only a man, but also his entire relatives.

“I had nowhere to go, so I resigned myself”

Larisa, 31 years old

I was kidnapped eight years ago in Chechnya. That day I went to visit a friend. In one of the courtyards I noticed an unfamiliar car, but did not attach any importance to it. We sat with a friend, and I was already getting ready to go home when an acquaintance called me and invited me to meet. He was much younger than me, we communicated periodically. That day he was passing through our village. My friend and I went out the gate and exchanged a few words with that guy. Then she literally went into the house for a minute. This guy and I stood there for another five minutes. It was getting dark, and I felt somehow uneasy. I said goodbye and was about to go to my house, when suddenly the ground disappeared from under my feet. This guy grabbed me, put his hand over my mouth and dragged me into the car. I’m small, he’s twice my size—it’s useless to resist. There was a woman sitting in the car - the fiancée of my future husband's brother - she grabbed me, and I tried to kick and scream.

I didn’t immediately understand what was happening and for whom I was stolen. As I later found out, it was one of my acquaintances, with whom I had not communicated for several years at that time and did not even remember his face. After a while, my friend missed me and started calling me, but they took my phone away. I was taken far into the mountains. They were already waiting for me at the groom’s house, and they pretended that I had come voluntarily. I sat in the car for two hours, refusing to get out. Then I left - they weren’t going to take me back anyway. My relatives were informed about what had happened only at one in the morning, when it was already too late to go get me.

I went into the house, sat on a chair and began to cry. I was surrounded by women and children. They persuaded me that I needed to come to terms with it and move on with my life, and they treated me to the fullest. I sat on this chair all night and demanded to be returned home. Finally they put me in the car and drove me back. I was glad that it was all over, but it was not to be.

I was very upset about what happened. The first few days I cried a lot. And my husband seemed ashamed that he had stolen me, he could not look me in the eyes

My relatives and the mullah had already gathered at home. They talked among themselves and began to put pressure on me. I cried and said that I didn’t want to get married, that I needed to study. They left, but then came back again. My relatives said that I had tarnished my honor because I stayed in someone else’s house overnight, and it didn’t matter that nothing happened. This went on for many hours. In the end, I gave in and agreed to the marriage. During these two days I was terribly exhausted, so I asked my family for a few days to come to my senses, but they immediately took me to my husband.

I had thoughts about escaping, but I thought not only about myself, but also about my parents - what it would be like for them to look people in the eyes. You could say I sacrificed myself. Some relatives, who did not know that I was forced into marriage, reproached me and my mother for suddenly getting married like that. My brothers were very unhappy with my husband's actions. Then everyone calmed down.

I was very upset about what happened. The first few days I cried a lot. And my husband seemed ashamed that he had stolen me, he could not look me in the eyes. I snapped at him for about a month, but then I calmed down. My husband treated me well and felt sorry for me. I realized that I had nowhere to go, so it was better to accept it and move on with my life. I don’t know if you can call it love, but little by little I became attached to him.

Two months after my marriage, a decree was issued in Chechnya prohibiting bride kidnapping.

Yasmine Koenig accomplished what many Arab teenage girls couldn't. She was married off as a minor, but managed to escape from Palestine back to the United States and find a new family, freedom and a new future.

I was six years old when my two older sisters unexpectedly left to “visit relatives” in Palestine. That's what my parents told me. I was born in Chicago, and my mom and dad were born in Jerusalem. My father died when his gas station was robbed when I was 4 months old. Then my mother moved with me and my sisters to the basement of my grandmother’s house.

Too old to wear jeans

Our mother did not raise us in any very strict religious principles. We did not wear the hijab except to the mosque, which we attended on holidays. Yes, we wore long sleeves and knee-length skirts. My sister was 13 years old and became a fan of Usher, bought a poster of him shirtless and hung it in our room. One day his grandmother saw him. She tore it off the wall and tore it into pieces. She was furious. A year later, both my sisters left for Palestine. I was left alone. I missed them very much, because the only time I could spend with friends was time spent at school. When I was finishing high school, they organized a tour for us and none of my classmates would wear a school uniform there. I told my mom about this and she bought me three pairs of skinny jeans. But after graduation, when I was preparing to continue my studies in high school, I found my mother and grandmother cutting jeans into small pieces. They said, “You’re too old to wear that!” I was left with long dresses and only baggy pants, which I hated.

School is cancelled, a boyfriend is out of the question.

I was waiting for my mother to enroll me in high school. I even brought her some information materials myself. July and August passed. “A little later I’ll enroll, but only in a school for girls,” my mother said. But in September all my friends went to school, but I didn’t. I could only communicate with them on Facebook, where I had an account with a fake name so that my relatives would not track me down. I said that I was not enrolled in school, my friends replied that I had the right to continue my education, but my mother continued to keep me at home. I wanted to at least start working, for example, at my stepfather's gas station. When he heard about it, he said, “No problem!” But just like with school, time passed and nothing happened. Like I said, social media was my refuge. Once I corresponded with my former classmate, I liked him. He invited me to a cafe, I agreed. For me it was a risky adventure: at home I said that I was going to visit my cousin, who is 24 years old. She even agreed to “cover for me” if necessary. The date went great, but a few days later this guy rang the doorbell of my house, my mother opened it, and I was standing right behind her. The guy asked: “Is Yasmin at home?”, Mom started shouting: “Who are you and by what right do you break into our house?” He replied: “I am Yasmin’s boyfriend.” After that, my mother locked me in the house for two weeks. And then she announced: “Pack your things. You are going to Palestine to join your sisters!”

— Read also:

My wedding

The last time I was in Palestine was when I was 10 years old. I only remembered that it was very dusty and hot there, not a single tree. I practically didn’t know Arabic. When we were driving to the airport with my mother and grandmother, I demanded to be shown my return ticket to the States. Mom was offended by this, but she took it out and showed it to me. I felt a little lighter in my soul. I was glad to see my sisters. Both lived in the city of Ramallah, where their grandmother had a house. We talked for two weeks, they even made fun of my ill-fated date: “Are you crazy to date a white guy!” Two weeks later they suddenly sat me down in a room and started doing my hair and makeup. I liked it - at home I was forbidden to wear makeup. I asked what the reason was? They replied that we were expecting guests. And the guests came. With my son, who was 21 years old. He and his parents spoke to me in Arabic, and I realized that they were asking how old I was. I said that I was 15. The guy seemed confused after answering. A few days later, in exactly the same way, another family appeared in the house with a son who was ugly, gap-toothed, and shorter than me. I didn't like him very much, but my relatives said that he had a job and a house, and that was enough. Only then did I understand that my mother and grandmother had brought me here to marry me off and leave me here. I was furious. I screamed at my mother: “How could you do this to me? I’m your daughter!” Mom cried, I think it was difficult for her at that moment, but she believed that this was the best option for me. Well, I felt that I was betrayed. And then my grandmother came into the room, she hit me on the cheek and exclaimed: “How dare you treat your mother so disrespectfully?”, and then turned to my mother and said: “See? She needs it. Otherwise, how will she learn respect?” I never really liked my grandmother, but at that moment I just hated her. The wedding date was set for September 30th. I threatened my mother that I would run away, but she only answered: “If you don’t marry him, we’ll find a less pleasant party for you.” My sisters only made things worse by telling me how lucky I was. A few days before the wedding, one of them admitted that she was also married against her will: “I screamed, resisted... But in the end I learned to love him. You too will learn.”

I don't remember the ceremony. Everything merged into one colored spot. But I remember how when he tried to kiss me on the cheek, my mother hissed: “Kiss him!” I could not. After the celebration, my sisters chatted about their wedding night, they even told me to text them how it went. I hated them. I hated it!

Wedding day

My wedding night was terrible, the only thing I am grateful to my husband for is that he was not cruel. It could have been much worse. I started getting severe stress headaches and used them as an excuse to avoid going to bed with him. We spent most of our time with his family. I was looking for ways to solve the terrible situation in which I found myself. For this I needed the Internet. And I found it in my mother-in-law's house. When my husband went to work, I went to her to help with the housework. One day I asked permission to use the computer, having received consent, I registered on Facebook and wrote to a friend with whom I studied in the third grade. I told her about everything that happened.

She immediately wrote that it was illegal. I had another friend on Facebook who was a Muslim from Texas. When I told him everything, he advised me to call the embassy and even sent me the number. My heart was pounding as I wrote it down on a piece of paper and put it in my pocket. Finally I gathered up the courage to call, it happened on October 14th. A man, Mohammed, answered me and asked for my parents' names and address in the States. There was nothing else I could do to prove my citizenship—I didn’t know my insurance number and didn’t have my passport in hand. He said everything was fine, but he needed proof that I was really married - a marriage certificate. But I didn't know where he was. Then he asked me to tell him my husband’s last name, and I realized that I also had no idea about it.

Mohammed said he would get in touch as soon as he verified the information. Since then he has called me several times. And I still found out my husband’s last name, which became mine.

To freedom!

On December 3, Mohammed gave me the number of a taxi service and the address of the hotel, and told me to be there the next day at 11.00. In the morning, I waited for my husband to leave, gathered my things, including the gold my family gave for our wedding, and dialed a taxi number. At that moment I realized that I didn’t know the address where I lived. I called a large store nearby and ran towards the taxi, praying that no one would see me.

Photo from graduation album

The embassy staff searched me - for security reasons, to check if I was wearing a bomb. I didn't care, they could do whatever they wanted - I was so close to freedom! We went to the American embassy in Jerusalem, where I filled out all the necessary paperwork. And in the evening, in the company of a diplomat and two security guards, I went to the airport to board a flight to Philadelphia. After my transfer, I was flying to Chicago, and there was a guy sitting next to me who asked how old I was. I said I was 15. He noticed that I was too young to fly on an airplane myself. If only he knew what I went through...

Upon arrival, I had 20 minutes, and I opened Facebook. First I read a letter from my sister, who wrote how she hated me and never wanted to see me again. Then I saw my sisters chatting with my mom and aunt. One of them wrote that I was ruining the family’s reputation. It hurt me to read all this, but I knew I made the right choice.

New future

For the first six months I lived with a woman who had already adopted several children. It wasn't easy - she is very religious and made us go to the Baptist church every Saturday and Sunday. But it was still much better. I was convinced of this when I saw my mother in court. I froze in my tracks, and she pretended that she didn’t know me, that I didn’t exist.

A few months later, I testified in court. My mother and her lawyer showed me a wedding photo of me smiling and noted that I looked happy and wanted to get married. I had to explain to the court that I smiled to survive, and my mother knew all along that I did not want to get married. So I told her she was lying and burst into tears. All those feelings that had been building up inside me finally broke through.

After that hearing, I officially remained a ward of the State of Illinois. I went to ninth grade and changed three foster families. The main thing for me was to survive and live until I was 18, when I could become independent. And when I met Carrie and Marvin’s next guardians, I didn’t have much hope. I needed time to open up to them. But I was unprepared for the fact that on the day of our first anniversary of living together, they offered me adoption. I was shocked! They wanted to become a real family for me. And I agreed. For the first time in my life I could not be afraid that I would be kicked out, put my things in the room and everything was in order, for the first time I was safe.

I just graduated from school. I became the first in my biological family to receive an education! I received a scholarship and will study communications and computers, considering that it was technology that helped so much in saving me. I'm happy that I finally have the right to choose - what to wear, who to date, who to marry, and ultimately who I want to be.

Main photo: John Brawley

Based on materials from: seventeen.com, childrensrights.org