The Land of Dreams

Do you ever think about dreams? Why we have them? Why their content is sometimes stranger than fiction and other times more mundane than “Leave It to Beaver?” I have noticed that my dreams often feature things or people or events that come up recently or things from the past that I have been mulling over a lot. Sometimes even I am amazed by the apparent randomness and creativity of my own brain. Stories more fantastical than science fiction movies emerge in full color while my body dozes. Since I’ve come to Djibouti though, I haven’t had too many strange or elaborate dreams--probably because I usually hit the sack hard and don’t roll over until the sunlight streams through the window. But the other night I had a pretty wild one precipitated by two ordinary happenings and one rather frustrating event. They were as follows:

1) For one of my classes, I had students prepare debates in partners and present them to the class. Two girls gave opposing views on the value of arranged marriages. My class asked if I would ever consider an arranged marriage. I told them I would never agree to marry someone without first meeting and getting to know them. But I am not opposed to the idea of an older and wiser person introducing me to someone they think would be a good partner and seeing if there is anything there. So that started me thinking about arranged marriage.

2) I just finished reading a book written by an Iranian English literature professor who chronicled her and her students’ ups and downs before, during, and after the Iranian Revolution. It was fascinating and tragic and made me thankful that I teach in Djibouti in 2011 and not in Iran anytime between 1979 and 1999. It also made me so sad to think of how secluded and stifled so many Iranian women were during this time and how thankful I am that there are no official morality police here who can arrest you for the serious crimes of showing a strand of hair, wearing makeup or licking ice cream in public.

3) One of my students proposed to me. He was not joking and not insane; he laid out his feelings and intentions of marriage in a very clear, if somewhat indirect way. I rejected him in an equally clear yet indirect way. After feeling like I had finally figured out how to relate to men here in appropriate ways, I confess his proposal threw me for a complete loop. It was slightly horrifying and I now know how Elizabeth Bennet might have felt when Mr. Collins proposes to her in Pride & Prejudice. But this is another story for another day. Suffice it to say, this unfortunate event has stuck in my mind for the past few months.

So how did that marvelously complex mental machine of mine process through these tidbits of information?

I had a dream in which my parents arranged my marriage to one of my students (ironically not the one who proposed) because they felt I was getting old and should get to know Djibouti better by marrying one of its inhabitants. I tried to protest that the semester wasn’t over yet and that it would be really awkward, not to mention differences of culture, religion, age, nationality, economy, education, etc. But there was to be no arguing. I had to marry him at once. So we went through a betrothal ceremony and then I moved into his house with his family. I suppose legally we were married even though we hadn’t had a proper wedding yet. So I spent my days avoiding him at all costs and pleading with my parents to let me come home while he kept trying to sequester me away from the rest of his family who was also living in the house. (Creepy, I know.) One day, I was hiding in the goat pen when a strange man stormed in and announced that I was a sinful, adulterous woman because I was living with a man I was not properly wedded to. I protested that I was forced to go live with him, that I had done nothing wrong and had rejected all of his advances. “I’m an honorable woman!” I screamed. “No you’re not!” he thundered back. “I know what you’ve done and you must pay for your sins! I am the police. It’s my job to make sure our society is pure and you will not go free until you’ve paid!!” Then he grabbed a flaming torch and lit the shed on fire, quickly escaping and blocking the way out of the small door. I panicked until I saw a small opening between the tin wall and the ground and crawled through it to safety. The man turned his head and saw me escape around the corner, and thus began our chase. I ran to friends’ houses, through the crowded markets, hid in, behind or below anything I could find while he pursued me like a bat out of hell. I had started running in a panicked craze towards the edge of town, beyond the furthest neighborhoods and out to the bush when I was startled awake by a sudden noise.

Sigh, thank goodness it was only a dream.