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Behind Closed Doors: Women's Oral Narratives in Tunis
Tunis has a long history of city life reaching back to ancient times. The Arabic language is firmly rooted among its inhabitants and most embrace the morals and culture of Islam. Behind Closed Doors presents forty-seven tales told by three Beldi women, members of a historic and highly civilized community, the city's traditional elite. Tale-telling is important to all Beldi women, and the book examines its role in their shared world and its significance in the lives of the three tellers.
Tales are told at communal gatherings to share and pass on Beldi women's secret lore of love, marriage and destiny. Ghaya Sa'diyya and Kheira tell stories which echo their life experience and have deep meanings for them. Their tales reflect accepted moral codes, and yet many depict attitudes, relationships, and practices that contradict established norms. Whereas Kheira presents a conservative and moralistic view of the role of women, Sa'diyya's heroines are alive with sexual energy, and Ghaya's stories also offer racy and rebellious comments on a woman's lot. These contradictory visions offer a kaleidoscopic view of the position of women in the rich life of a historic North African city.
Tales are told at communal gatherings to share and pass on Beldi women's secret lore of love, marriage and destiny. Ghaya Sa'diyya and Kheira tell stories which echo their life experience and have deep meanings for them. Their tales reflect accepted moral codes, and yet many depict attitudes, relationships, and practices that contradict established norms. Whereas Kheira presents a conservative and moralistic view of the role of women, Sa'diyya's heroines are alive with sexual energy, and Ghaya's stories also offer racy and rebellious comments on a woman's lot. These contradictory visions offer a kaleidoscopic view of the position of women in the rich life of a historic North African city.
392 pages, Paperback
First published August 1, 1996
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Displaying 1 - 5 of 5 reviews
March 18, 2018
This collection of folkloric stories from historic and modern-day Tunis, Tunisia, were collected by from three contemporary women from the Beldi or elite class in Tunis by author Monia Hejaiej, who recorded a total of 47 their stories in spoken Arabic and translated them into written English. To be honest, I enjoyed Hejaiej’s introduction and background on women in Tunisia and the reasons behind their story-telling more than I enjoyed the stories themselves. The tales, while full of local color and culture, and sometimes downright risqué, are brief, and often deal with the supernatural and the macabre. In short, they resemble a lot of other cultures’ folklore. Some inspire sympathy for a woman’s lot in this culture; others are just silly. The most important aspect of women’s story telling is that it offers an avenue for women to express themselves in a strict Muslim society that does not allow women to become public figures or professionals. “These tales reflect prevailing moral standards; and yet they display attitudes and explore relationships and practices that are sometimes in total contradiction to social norms,” says Hejaiej. “Women explore alternative subjectivities and depict alternative models through which they speak, expressing a refusal to be fixed by the gendered meanings which their society attaches to individuals. . . . [the stories:] empower women by allowing them to transcend social conventions.” (21). She adds that the tales “provide excellent accounts of the social fabric of the cultural and sexual parameters of the entire society.” Hejaiej gives a short portrait of each of the three women whose tales she recorded. The first narrator, Ghaya, age 60, learned story telling from her grandmother and another professional teller. Ghaya, who always regretted her unhappy marriage and wasted education (she was allowed to go to school, but then kept at home), relates several stories about women, like herself, who were forced into marriages with men they did not love and expected to live a life of domestic duty. Her stories, however, tend toward respect for women’s traditional roles. In her tale “Sabra,” Ghaya describes a dutiful wife whose children are killed one by one by her husband, yet she remains devoted to him. (At the story’s end, we find out he didn’t really kill the children, but he did take them away from their mother until they were adults. For this, she is supposed to be admirable for staying faithful to her husband, then living happily after with him and the grown-up, married kids). The second narrator, Sa’diyya, 55, still illiterate because her uncle-guardian thought it shameful to send girls to school “to be raised by male foreigners,” also was unable to marry a man she loved, but finally married a 70-year-old widower. Her stories give artistic shape to her painful life. She depicts heroines who seek sexual fulfillment, break social barriers, and surrender to impulsive passions. The third narrator, Kheira, 62, went to school wearing a veil and accompanied by a servant until puberty, then was confined to home “for her protection.” She decided never to marry, and to dedicate herself to a religious life. (She has made four pilgrimages to Mecca and hopes to make seven). Kheira’s stories suggest resignation to Fate and God’s will, and are more complex and phantasmagorical, but her heroines generally have happy marriages. “Reality is depicted as harsh and wearying for most women; fantasy is common on their stories as a compensation and an escape from the unbearable,” Hejeije states. “Women are confined, but not in their imagination” (60).
September 20, 2019
Academic Monia Hejaiej interviewed three Beldi women who are renowned in their community for their storytelling skills. In a masterful introduction, Hejaiej introduces some of the themes and differences that cross the stories. The remaining three quarters of the book is dedicated to the stories themselves.
It's fascinating to get a glimpse into Tunisian life. The three women have widely different views on life and the relationship between men and women, and its interesting to see their personalities and worldviews reflected in the stories they choose to tell and the way in which they choose to tell them.
I was also fascinated by the similarities and differences between these stories and those from other traditions. I was familiar with versions of two of the stories (both of which have Scottish versions, one also having a version in Grimm and the other having multiple versions across countries), and also the differences. In particular, divorce played a much larger part of these stories than any storytelling traditions I have come across before.
I would recommend this book to anyone who has an interest in storytelling or women's history.
It's fascinating to get a glimpse into Tunisian life. The three women have widely different views on life and the relationship between men and women, and its interesting to see their personalities and worldviews reflected in the stories they choose to tell and the way in which they choose to tell them.
I was also fascinated by the similarities and differences between these stories and those from other traditions. I was familiar with versions of two of the stories (both of which have Scottish versions, one also having a version in Grimm and the other having multiple versions across countries), and also the differences. In particular, divorce played a much larger part of these stories than any storytelling traditions I have come across before.
I would recommend this book to anyone who has an interest in storytelling or women's history.
June 24, 2014
It is quite difficult to separate a person’s perceptions and preconceived notions from experiences that seem alien and unfamiliar. Divergent concepts and beliefs become a source of paralysis and combustion that blind and obfuscate the person’s judgment. The contemporary, western mind- unrestricted and fostered by liberal and radical principles- habitually turns a prejudicial eye towards anything that challenges the idea of individuality and freedom, rashly judging before trying to understand the source of variance. Through the advent of women suffrage and liberation, the world slowly began to change and with it, the perceptions of the populaces. Therefore, it has become a stark realization that in the Muslim world, the sharaf (honor) of the woman is preserved through the male population, the man of the household the warden of the family’s integrity. While the modern woman attempts to throw off the shackles of the patriarchal society, the Muslim woman must rely on the men to protect their honor, a value shaped through social perception rather than individual merit. The world expects uproar, yet in the Islamic community, patriarchal control is so deeply embedded that woman can only hope to transcend this grip through their imagination, their storytelling, a position that is familiar and yes, comfortable to their society. With the Islam religion the focus of existence, the source of variance is entwined to their way of life and beliefs.
The code of modesty is the ethic by which Muslim women live by. They are expected to be shy and quiet with their heads lowered and eyes downcast. By never crossing the threshold of their front door and leaving their domicile, the integrity of the family is maintained and the woman’s honor is secured, for the hearts of humanity are rapacious and the flesh ravenous. Thus, they become a captive of their own home out of fear of defamation and misguided observations. This is seen in Sa’diyya’s tale “The Birthmark,” in which the wife is fearful of leaving her home and inadvertently ruining her husband who is away, gambling on her integrity. In her book Behind Closed Doors, Monia Hejaiej declares that “famil[ies are] an instrument of socialization and control” (69). All the female knows is her family and from a young age, the code of modesty and patriarchal control is instilled. Women are an accessory, a supplement to the core, an annexed country reigned by her sovereign- the father, brother, or husband. The wife in the story’s birthmark is the catalyst for her husband’s woe. Through courage, shrewdness, and loyalty she redresses the wrong and brings balance to her domesticity. She is by no means a meek woman; she becomes the savior and the bearer of her family’s integrity. Yet, the tale’s moral is simple, a woman is raised to be prudent and chaste, to disgrace herself is to disgrace the family leading to total ruination. This moral no doubt shapes the inherent values of the women.
The veil, hair, and silence. The veil protects the woman from the licentious eyes of men, becoming a symbol of her modesty. Likewise, the woman’s hair is also covered, the volume and body of the uninhibited mane a source of enticement and desire. These two elements lead to yearning, a fire that smolders and menaces decorum. To the Muslim community, these two represent human sexuality which is a danger to society. These ideas are also seen in “The Birthmark,” where the men are seen gambling and talking about the woman of their lives and how their bodies are covered from head to toe, living cloistered within the walls of their homes. This suggestion influences and forms the minds of the females, modesty maintained by the veil and the casing of their hair. To even see a bit of skin on the body, much less a birthmark, is a great violation that shames and razes the domestic sphere. To the western mind, these elements are forms of control. Yet, to the Muslims, these are forms of protection, a safeguard of the family’s honor. And then, there is silence. A woman is expected to be quiet, even in the face of adversity, never voicing their anxiety and discontent, and they are to speak softly, their voice a “soft melody” (64). This muteness and softness soothes the home, negotiating an otherwise tempestuous relationship. Sa’diyya’s telling of “Ftaytma” disrupts the convention. She turns the expectation of silence towards the male when she lops off the tongue of a father-in-law, turning the table of control towards a male-controlled society. This turn of narration represents the storyteller’s transcendence of social conventions and preconceptions. Through Ftaytma, she rejects male control and takes the power for herself. Hejaiej proclaims, “We are born with sex but we become gendered” (83). This suggests that humanity is nurtured to be men or women, roles, expectations, and spheres shaped and cultured through social variance. When the female protagonists take on the role of men, such as in “Lulsha and ”The Birthmark,” the storyteller abandons the tenet and becomes a man, finding freedom if only for the duration of the tale.
Despite what the western world perceives of the Islam community, these codes have maintained the integrity of Muslim families. What we see as control, they see as protection. What we see as meekness, they see as modesty. One’s tenets are not the others, thus one cannot even begin to judge and admonish. In the end, all one can do is try to understand. Who are we to push our ideas and unrests upon them?
The code of modesty is the ethic by which Muslim women live by. They are expected to be shy and quiet with their heads lowered and eyes downcast. By never crossing the threshold of their front door and leaving their domicile, the integrity of the family is maintained and the woman’s honor is secured, for the hearts of humanity are rapacious and the flesh ravenous. Thus, they become a captive of their own home out of fear of defamation and misguided observations. This is seen in Sa’diyya’s tale “The Birthmark,” in which the wife is fearful of leaving her home and inadvertently ruining her husband who is away, gambling on her integrity. In her book Behind Closed Doors, Monia Hejaiej declares that “famil[ies are] an instrument of socialization and control” (69). All the female knows is her family and from a young age, the code of modesty and patriarchal control is instilled. Women are an accessory, a supplement to the core, an annexed country reigned by her sovereign- the father, brother, or husband. The wife in the story’s birthmark is the catalyst for her husband’s woe. Through courage, shrewdness, and loyalty she redresses the wrong and brings balance to her domesticity. She is by no means a meek woman; she becomes the savior and the bearer of her family’s integrity. Yet, the tale’s moral is simple, a woman is raised to be prudent and chaste, to disgrace herself is to disgrace the family leading to total ruination. This moral no doubt shapes the inherent values of the women.
The veil, hair, and silence. The veil protects the woman from the licentious eyes of men, becoming a symbol of her modesty. Likewise, the woman’s hair is also covered, the volume and body of the uninhibited mane a source of enticement and desire. These two elements lead to yearning, a fire that smolders and menaces decorum. To the Muslim community, these two represent human sexuality which is a danger to society. These ideas are also seen in “The Birthmark,” where the men are seen gambling and talking about the woman of their lives and how their bodies are covered from head to toe, living cloistered within the walls of their homes. This suggestion influences and forms the minds of the females, modesty maintained by the veil and the casing of their hair. To even see a bit of skin on the body, much less a birthmark, is a great violation that shames and razes the domestic sphere. To the western mind, these elements are forms of control. Yet, to the Muslims, these are forms of protection, a safeguard of the family’s honor. And then, there is silence. A woman is expected to be quiet, even in the face of adversity, never voicing their anxiety and discontent, and they are to speak softly, their voice a “soft melody” (64). This muteness and softness soothes the home, negotiating an otherwise tempestuous relationship. Sa’diyya’s telling of “Ftaytma” disrupts the convention. She turns the expectation of silence towards the male when she lops off the tongue of a father-in-law, turning the table of control towards a male-controlled society. This turn of narration represents the storyteller’s transcendence of social conventions and preconceptions. Through Ftaytma, she rejects male control and takes the power for herself. Hejaiej proclaims, “We are born with sex but we become gendered” (83). This suggests that humanity is nurtured to be men or women, roles, expectations, and spheres shaped and cultured through social variance. When the female protagonists take on the role of men, such as in “Lulsha and ”The Birthmark,” the storyteller abandons the tenet and becomes a man, finding freedom if only for the duration of the tale.
Despite what the western world perceives of the Islam community, these codes have maintained the integrity of Muslim families. What we see as control, they see as protection. What we see as meekness, they see as modesty. One’s tenets are not the others, thus one cannot even begin to judge and admonish. In the end, all one can do is try to understand. Who are we to push our ideas and unrests upon them?
January 31, 2021
Fascinating look at the oral history of story telling in the Middle East, especially through the lens of gender.
January 17, 2011
Most Americans are disassociated with Tunisia and the rich cultural history of story-telling coming from the culture of Arabic women. This book gives insight to other references to such stories that are inspired by the verbal tradition such as the Arabian Knights. The author has done an excellent job in coming up with an interesting idea from which to dedicate her research.
Displaying 1 - 5 of 5 reviews