Al-Ahram Weekly 13 - 19 January 2000 Issue No. 464
Published in Cairo by AL-AHRAM established in 1875

Amatter of mistrust Once more, the Personal Status Law that regulates such matters as marriage, divorce, child custody and alimony is being reconsidered. Fayza Hassan examines past struggles and future prospects "A Marriage in Cairo", from the Illustrated London News (1897). An article dated 1882 in the newspaper declared: "The condition of women in Egypt is said to be rather more favourable than in Turkey; and polygamy, though a legal institution, is not practiced in one family out of twenty, among the middle class and labouring class... The worst abuse of the Mohammedan law... is the facility of divorce by the husband, almost at his own caprice; but the divorced wife is entitled to a separate maintenance..." Sources (from far left): Al-Hilal 1892-1992 (commemorative publication, Dar Al-Hilal, 1992); Henri Laurens, L'Expédition d'Egypte 1798-1801 (Armand Colin, 1989); Al-Musawwar, 28 May 1999; Nicholas Warner, ed., An Egyptian Panorama: Reports from the 19th-century Egyptian Press (Zeitouna, 1994)

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Traditionally, the primary roles of women in patriarchal societies like Egypt have been those of wife and mother. Strong women who left their mark on history, from Shagaret Al-Durr to Nefissa Al-Muradiya, Huda Sha'rawi to Doria Shafik, have bewildered and unsettled society.

Towards the beginning of the 20th century, a number of educated upper-class women, fired by nationalist sentiments, abandoned the harem and fought for their country's liberation from British occupation. Thereafter, they harboured illusions that, having proved their mettle, they would be allowed to remain in the political arena, or at least emerge from their enforced seclusion. They were in for a rude awakening; but after this initial setback, they organised themselves and made some concrete demands regarding their status as citizens. They won a few battles but lost many more; ultimately, it is debatable whether they, rather than the changing social context, played an instrumental role in the reforms which took place from time to time in the laws governing women's condition -- or even whether the resulting changes were ultimately to their advantage.

Until the 19th century, matters related to the family were determined by the ruling authorities in accordance with their interpretation of the Shari'a. Power to render verdicts in cases of litigation in family matters was delegated to the representative of the sultan or qadi. At the time of the French Expedition, Bonaparte attempted to reach a compromise between the law of the land and the interests of the army of occupation. It is mainly in the realm of the personal status laws decided by the Mahakim Shar'iya (religious tribunals) that strong confrontation developed, writes Ramadan El-Khuli in Egypte-Monde Arabe (CEDEJ, 1/1999). El-Khuli notes that during the French occupation, the number of marriages registered in the tribunals of Egypt dwindled spectacularly, especially in the districts completely under French control. He speculates that Muslims were reluctant to record their marriages in courts presided over by qadis appointed by the French army.

Other matters, however, such as inheritance laws (including decisions pertaining to estates without heirs and to marriages between Frenchmen and Muslim women), called for urgent decisions. Although many such marriages are said to have taken place during the three years of the occupation, the only one recorded in the documents of the time is that of General "Abdallah" (Jacques) Menou to Zubayda El-Rashidiya -- an indication, according to El-Khuli, that many women chose the easier formula of the urfi marriage, an unwritten contract recognised by the Shari'a. Although it deprived women of their marital rights, this formula had the advantage of evading the difficulties of registration, since marriage to Christians converted to Islam was disapproved of by both the religious authorities and the population at large. Abdel-Rahman El-Gabarti commented contemptuously of Menou's marriage that "it was enough that he pronounce the declaration of faith for him to get married." In fact, El-Khuli points out, a few years after the end of the occupation, the writing on the contract was painstakingly crossed out line by line in an attempt to erase its traces, a further indication of the uneasiness caused by such marriages.

Menou's marriage to Zubayda El-Rashidiya (from the town of Rosetta), the daughter of Mohamed El-Bawwab, was performed in two phases and recorded in two distinct documents. The first included Menou's conversion to Islam and the marriage agreement, registered according to the traditional formula used for all Muslim marriages at the time, after consultation with the muftis as to its validity. The second is a contract "of mutual consent", registered at the tribunal of Rosetta, containing 11 clauses and concluded by the couple two days after the first. The provisions dealt with inheritance rights, whereby Zubayda was granted the right to inherit from her own family and pass this inheritance to her children (who, it was stipulated, were to be raised as Muslims) if she died before her husband. She, on the other hand, could not inherit from him; if he died before her, she would receive only the Mu'akhar Al-Sadaq (a "postponed" portion of the bride-gift). The clause that deprived Zubayda of Menou's inheritance was drawn from French jurisprudence, under which the couple was allowed the separation of their respective assets. Another item dealt with the custody of minor children: Menou was granted full custody if Zubayda died before him. If he died before her, their children were to be entrusted to two guardians, one Egyptian, the other French. The latter was to be appointed by the French government. If both spouses happened to die at the same time, the children would be placed in the custody of the French government -- a clear violation of the Shari'a, which specifies that non-Muslims may not have control of Muslims.

'My ambition, Father, is to marry the man I have chosen freely, the man I have loved, and not to be passed on like an inherited good from one member of the Safwat Pasha family to another'. Ramza's father was dismayed at the consequences of his departure from the strict norms of women's upbringing. 'I see that I have spoiled you, Ramza,' he told her. 'I've allowed you to learn to reason and I am partly responsible for the state of things now... We are easterners, Ramza. Here marriage is a family affair, not just a matter of falling in love with a handsome boy.'

El-Khuli concludes that the two contracts were a compromise agreed upon by those who presided over the marriage because it provided them with the option of rejecting at any time the conditions of the second contract, while endorsing the validity of the marriage sanctioned by the first.

An unpublished document from the Mahkama Shar'iya, studied by historian Mohamed Hakim, provides an interesting example of how Mohamed Ali (r. 1805-1848), on the other hand, used the Shari'a to regulate the lives of his subjects in general and to deal with the rights and duties of women in particular. In the 1820s, a man from Sharqiya signed a marriage contract on behalf of his small daughter, and invited his friends to attend the wedding. Frightened, the little girl ran away; her divorced mother took her in and refused to deliver her to the father, who thereupon filed a complaint in court. The mother, asked to appear before the ma'mour (district governor), contended that her daughter was not yet of age and "therefore could not know her rights in marriage". The father, she said, was marrying her off to get back at her (the mother) because she "had divorced him". The ma'mour asked to see the girl and, when he had ascertained that she was indeed a minor, he called for the qadi and asked him to state his opinion. The qadi concurred that the girl was not yet of marriageable age and the ma'mour therefore ordered the father to postpone the marriage. The details of the case were recorded in an official report. When Mohamed Ali was informed of the incident, he expressed surprise at the fact that the girl's own father had wished to marry the child off. "What then is to become of orphaned girls?" he wondered. He then issued a decree to the effect that no child was allowed to marry before reaching maturity (approximately 12 years old for girls and 15 for boys); but, as soon as they had done so, they were to be married at once.

The decree included a further decision from the wali, which had to be communicated without delay to the district heads and village umdas: namely, that widows and unmarried and divorced women should be exempted from the payment of the land tax, but earnest attempts should be made to marry them off, so that their husbands could be charged with the tax on their behalf. This was a necessary measure, the document explains, as it was ordained in the Qur'an that men were placed above women ("Innal-Rijal Qawwamoun 'Alal-Nisaa") and husbands were therefore responsible for the payment of the tax on their wives' behalf. The wali further ordered those who had the financial means to take two, three or four wives immediately, if there were not enough men to go around in the area. The village sheikh was responsible for finding a husband for every unwed woman of marriageable age.

Mohamed Ali concluded by warning that an inspection would take place within three months. Fathers who had contravened to this order would be jailed in Alexandria, while mothers would be sent to work in Ras Al-Wadi (one of the wali's development projects). Widows and orphaned girls of marriageable age would be the responsibility of the village sheikh, who would go to jail himself if he failed to find them suitable husbands. The wali, whose major concerns were to fill the state coffers and to increase the population quickly in order to have more soldiers for his army, understandably made no provisions for the wishes of women, considering them to be the assets (or liabilities) of men.

By the end of the century, Egyptian men were divided on precisely this issue. Those who had been exposed to progressive ideas promoted and encouraged a change in women's status; among them were Gamaleddin Al-Afghani, Sheikh Mohamed Abduh and Qassim Amin. Before them, Rifaa El-Tahtawi (1801-1873) had devised a pioneering marriage contract for his own wedding. The others, ensconced in their traditions, favoured the status quo, allegedly drawing their objections to innovation from religious texts. Both groups, however, were forced to work out new strategies to contain, or adapt to, the wind of rebellion that had begun to blow from the women's quarters.

In this context, many men had mixed feelings about the modern trends that were being discussed freely by 1900 in the salon of Princess Nazli Fazil, niece of Khedive Ismail and wife of Salim Abu Hajib, the Mufti of Tunis. Disregarding the rules of seclusion with panache, the princess invited only men to her gatherings and actively dabbled in politics. She criticised the government openly and was said to harbour pro-British sentiments. Seeking to influence decision-making directly, she saw to it that her salon attracted high-profile figures like Lord Cromer, Abduh, Al-Afghani and Saad Zaghlul. Her house soon became known as an important centre of political intrigues and a breeding ground for western-style ideas of women's independence.

From top: an imaginary Ramza; Ali Youssef; General Menou

Whereas many men were willing to accept -- at least in theory -- the possibility that change in the status of women went hand in hand with progress and an emulation of western societies (fact and fiction regarding the position of women in these societies abounded), they were nevertheless uneasy in coming to terms with their own, and a fortiori their women's, sexuality. The topic was labelled private and seldom broached openly.

A seasoned traveller like Mohamed El-Muwaylhi, who was a frequent visitor to the princess's high-brow soirées when in Cairo, advocated women's freedom but avoided the question in his writings. His main work, Hadith Issa Ibn Hisham, published at the beginning of the century, is remarkably devoid of reflections on the subject -- or of female characters, for that matter, if one excludes a brief allusion to a prostitute. In Egyptian lore, an unstated classification of women prevailed: they were mothers, sisters and daughters, who lived under men's jurisdiction and were therefore worthy of respect; or they were prostitutes, secretly lusted after, maybe, but considered ignominious and contemptible. In his short novel Zahira or the Diary of a Young Egyptian Poet (1935), Mahmoud Kamel describes at length the torment of a young man torn between the values learned at home and his sinful attraction to a "fallen" women. Mostly, however, Muslim men past adolescence seemed quite happy to rely on the Qur'an and its interpretation to regulate their relationships with the other sex.

Poet, writer and feminist Malak Hefni Nassef (1886-1918), known as Bahithat Al-Badiya, was a strong advocate of women's rights within marriage. Betrothed to a man who already had a wife and child, she was hostile toward polygamy. She stressed that Islam condoned the practice only in very specific circumstances. Showing an unusual understanding of men's situation, she nevertheless protested in Al-Nisa'iyat: "We have archaic practices that shout for reform. Men should not occupy our time and thoughts complaining about their work. I think they are subject to the injustice of the government on the one hand and the difficulty of making ends meet on the other. They find no one to take revenge upon except us. I do not think that there is any opponent who is weaker in weaponry than us, and less vengeful. Oh God, inspire the men of our government to do right because their injustice to the nation has many repercussions on us. It seems that we have not received anything more than men receive except pain. This reverses the Qur'anic verse that says, 'One man's share shall equal two women's share'."

It is sometimes contended that poor and/or less educated Egyptian women, tending to cling more to the security embodied in tradition, are men's accomplices in perpetuating the condition of gender inequality. According to this theory, they are the first to condone practices such as short-term schooling for girls, child marriage, female genital mutilation and polygamy, and the last to accept a relaxation in practices often falsely attributed to social and religious imperatives. In a short story from her collection Who Will Be the Man? (1981), Alifa Rifaat describes a mother's eagerness to see her daughter married off to a rich suitor, who is a complete stranger: To the young girl's entreaties not to force her into marriage, she answers with contempt: "You fool! What's wrong with Smain? He is a good man and he will weigh you down with gold and thousands of hopes. Wretched one, do you want to break your father's word and put our head in the mud?"

More insightful than Rifaat's description of the mother's attitude are the words quoted in the Introduction to Faith and Freedom: Women's Human Rights in the Muslim World (Mahnaz Afkhami, ed., London, 1995): "Islamist intransigence forces Muslim women to fight for their rights, openly when they can, subtly when they must. The struggle is multifaceted, at once political, economic, ethical, psychological and intellectual." In fact, the petite histoire of women's effort to free themselves from men's tutelage contains many examples of evasive action, passive resistance and escape from a law that has been elaborated for the convenience of a predominantly patriarchal society. Admittedly, the rich have had an edge over poor women in designing and implementing successful strategies to reach their goals, one reason for which a larger number of women of the aristocracy did not become more deeply involved in demanding legal changes to the personal status laws. Those who did, like Huda Sha'rawi and, later, Doria Shafik, were ambitious women with aspirations to stardom, who revelled in the power and originality of their intellect and saw themselves as social reformers and political leaders as well as defenders of the oppressed.

When Bahithat Al-Badiya delivered her first lecture to an all-female audience in 1909, she was speaking to upper-class women who had been educated, albeit at home, and who believed in giving their daughters at least the same treatment, comment Margot Badran and Miriam Cooke in their anthology of women's struggle, Opening the Gates (1996). Nassef was simply militating for an extension of these privileges, and the women were quite receptive to the ideas expounded by the speaker: promoting school and university education, followed by a career for girls, as well as a change in modes of dressing. After all, the Levantine and Coptic upper-class women with whom they came occasionally in contact were missionary-school educated and socially active outside the home; they did not go around covered from head to toe, yet they were perfectly respectable. Why could not Muslim women emulate them? In fact, the first decades of the 20th century witnessed changes in the education of Muslim upper-class women, who were brought up in a much freer atmosphere than had previously been the case. While receiving private tuition at home was now the privilege of the highest echelons of the aristocracy (the royal princesses were repeatedly photographed in their "school" at the palace) the slightly less royal frequented French, German and British schools, where they received an exclusively foreign education. Khedive Ismail had wanted Egypt to be part of Europe, and there it had remained, at least for the upper classes.

From the 1920s on, Egypt witnessed the emergence of a generation of aristocratic young women fluent in foreign languages, especially French, and with scant knowledge of Arabic. They played the piano and took ballet lessons. They dressed in the latest Paris fashions and ordered charming little hats chez Marthe on Qasr Al-Nil Street. They had a good chance of pursuing their education abroad. Their hearts were broken by the fate of Madame Bovary or Anna Karenina (the latter read in the French translation). Many women confess to having been unaware of their own identity (most French-educated Egyptians, in fact, remember reciting by rote "Our ancestors the Gauls..."). In her book Border Passage, Laila Ahmed recounts that she only discovered that she was Egyptian and Arab after the 1956 War, when her best friends and professors left the country.

These westernised young women, raised by foreign nannies, surrounded by Sèvres knickknacks on the tables, Gobelins on the walls and a Louis XV salon in their parents' homes, had not been well served by the legal system. They were therefore quite shocked when the time came for them to marry. Doting and permissive fathers who had secretly harboured doubts about foreign ways suddenly turned into regular male chauvinists, intent on enforcing the "proper" customs. Marriages were arranged according to the rules of a conservative society and women found themselves tied to men they hardly knew, and whom they often did not care to know. Extricating themselves from the trap set by well-meaning relatives was no easy matter, as they discovered soon enough.

Qut El-Qulub (1898-1968) strikingly illustrates the circumstances of traditional, arranged marriages in her novel Ramza (1958), which she wrote in French. Ramza had fallen in love with her friend Bahiga's brother, and wanted to marry him. She decided to confront her father with her wish. The father, who had other plans for his daughter, refused to hear her out. "I was angry. I said, 'My ambition, Father, is to marry the man I have chosen freely, the man I have loved, and not to be passed on like an inherited good from one member of the Safwat Pasha family to another'." Ramza's father was dismayed at the consequences of his departure from the strict norms of women's upbringing. "I see that I have spoiled you, Ramza," he told her. "I've allowed you to learn to reason and I am partly responsible for the state of things now... We are easterners, Ramza. Here marriage is a family affair, not just a matter of falling in love with a handsome boy."

A momentous incident that took place at the beginning of the century is said to have inspired Qut El-Qulub: the marriage of the famous journalist Sheikh Ali Youssef to Sheikh El-Sadat's daughter. In the summer of 1904, Sheikh Ali travelled to Istanbul with his friend, the Sufi Sheikh Abdel-Qader El-Sadat. There, Youssef became engaged to El-Sadat's daughter, Safiya, with her father's full consent. Back in Cairo, however, El-Sadat reneged on his promise. According to some, his change of heart was occasioned by the arrival on the scene of a better prospect; others contended he had been prompted by obscure British machinations -- for it was no secret that there was little love lost between Sheikh Ali in his capacity as editor-in-chief of Al-Mu'ayyid, a staunchly anti-British newspaper, and the forces of occupation.

Safiya, who was in love with her fiancé, decided to elope, and was helped in this project by her sister and brother-in-law, Sheikh Mohamed Tewfik El-Bakri, syndic of the Prophet's descendants. It was in their home that the signing of the marriage contract took place. Furious at the news, El-Sadat went to court in an attempt to annul the marriage, claiming that his daughter had wed far below her social condition. The case had tremendous political repercussions, polarising the various factions around their respective leaders. The courthouses (the case went to the Court of Appeals, then to the Court of Cassation) were packed on the days when verdicts were awaited. In every instance, the courts ruled for the father against the husband. Safiya was divorced from Youssef against her will, but the young woman refused to go back to her father's house, arguing that she was over 21, in full possession of all her faculties and therefore, according to the Shari'a, empowered to marry whomever she chose. Furthermore, her husband's salary, she said, was sufficient to keep her in the way to which she had been accustomed. Although he had to practice a profession (as opposed to living off the revenues from his land) Sheikh Ali was far from being as destitute as the courts had claimed. Once divorced, Safiya went to live in the house of the respected Sheikh El-Raf'i until the storm blew over.

Khedive Abbas Hilmi, who had great faith in Sheikh Ali's journalistic talents, intervened on his behalf, thus giving the nationalists, led by Mustafa Kamel, an unexpected opportunity to malign the editor of Al-Mu'ayyid further. They claimed that he had joined ranks with the khedive and now, as a protégé of the monarch was ready to condone the British occupation. When Safiya's divorce became final, El-Sadat, having suddenly changed his mind, accepted a new marriage proposal by Ali Youssef on her behalf.

The case had shown clearly that the actors in this tragi-comedy were much less concerned with applying the Shari'a than with using it to further their personal aims. More importantly, the legal machinery had been put in motion by men for their greatest advantage. Safiya's only weapon had been to adopt a form of passive resistance; but this she used to the greatest possible effect, by playing on her father's fear that she would tarnish the family name. It was ultimately the khedive's support that shifted the balance in her favour -- a deus ex machina that a poorer and less well-connected woman could not have hoped for.

Women's economic dependence, legal subordination and educational deficiencies have often prevented them from availing themselves of the protection that the Shari'a -- and, later, the personal status laws -- could have granted them. Only wealthy and independent women have sometimes been able to make the best of a situation loaded against them, negotiating the right to travel without their husband's or guardian's written permission, using various stratagems -- often passed on from mother to daughter -- to extract themselves from the tangles of bad marriages, or hiring crafty lawyers to assist them through endless court proceedings to keep the marital abode. "The situation is not about to change," says Zeinab Radwan, dean of Cairo University's Dar Al-Ulum (Fayoum branch). The proposed amendments to the Personal Status Law are being considered for final approval by the People's Assembly, but Radwan is sceptical. "If all the amendments are passed, which is doubtful," she says, "the law will still be in favour of the rich, as it will force women to renounce any kind of financial support in cases where they are the ones initiating the divorce.

"The new amendments, which include the much-discussed Khul', will help women of independent means who can afford to leave the marriage literally with the clothes on their back," Radwan explains. Khul', a practice condoned by the Prophet, has rarely been used; its introduction to the existing law has been proposed to help women obtain a speedy divorce. "But," argues Radwan, "women have always had a way of leaving an intolerable marriage: the 'Isma (a clause in the marriage contract more accurately called the Mufawada), if correctly drafted, allows a wife to divorce herself from her husband immediately and definitively." Like Khul', however, it is only suitable for women who do not ask for alimony, the 'Idda (a stipend the husband must pay during the three months immediately following the divorce, during which a woman cannot remarry) or the Mu'akhar Al-Sadaq. "Unfortunately, the Mufawada has been branded as a publicity stunt. Actress Amina Rizq and dancer Fifi Abduh have taken advantage of it and men have been prompt to point out that this proved their point," adds Radwan.

Khul', on the other hand, is a straightforward procedure and does not require the prior consent of the husband, as does the Mufawada. The amendment currently being proposed, however, has been drafted in such a way as to penalise poor women, since it differs from the Prophet's pronouncement, which stipulated that the woman was obliged to return only the bridal gift, but should not renounce her other financial rights. The proposed amendment, in contrast, includes "a concession to men's egos", comments Radwan: "The woman's absolute renunciation of all her financial rights. Only in this way will the court grant her a final divorce (which prevents the husband from unilaterally renewing the marriage contract three times within specified periods of time)." Another point of contention generating heated debate regards the custody of minor children, and whether the woman seeking Khul' has the right to renounce child support on their behalf. "Clearly, the prospect of having to provide for their children might force poor women to think twice before taking advantage of the procedure," says Radwan.

"By refusing to register child marriages..., the reforms [of 1913] severely limited [them] indirectly... The declaring of child marriages as invalid would have been considered an act of ijtihad..." John Esposito, Women in Muslim Family Law (Syracuse University Press, 1982). Photos from Images, 12 February 1955

Economic conditions are changing, however, and statistics show a dramatic increase in the number of female heads of households. Soad and Umm Alaa work in a large clothes factory where they occupy important positions, the former as a team leader and the latter as an assistant cutter. Their salaries have allowed them to build houses in the Muqattam, and Umm Alaa has recently introduced electricity and running water to her small dwelling. Both women's husbands are content to stay at home and, since the children have grown, make no pretence of even seeking employment. They spend their days smoking and playing backgammon at the café. While Umm Alaa's husband simply prevents her from going to work every now and then (just to show her he is still the boss), Soad's husband beats her black and blue. Khul' could represent the key to an easier life, even though they know that they may have to cede their houses to their husbands and move elsewhere. "As long as we have a job, we will be fine," they assert confidently. Madame Gigi, who works on a sewing machine at the same factory, is Christian. She listens wistfully as the other women make plans for a future free of men who will squander their salaries and show no consideration in return. "We Copts," she says, "are not even allowed to dream about this day. In our religion, marriage only ends with death, unless of course you have that much money." She stretches out her arms to indicate the necessary amount. "Maybe I will make up my mind one day to poison him," she chuckles. "Men are very trusting, really, when you think that they let us prepare their food."

A younger woman who also works at the factory expresses her surprise at the women's aggressiveness. She has just been divorced by her husband because she was only giving birth to girls. "What are you complaining about," Madame Gigi scolds her jokingly. "Did you expect to be treated better than Queen Farida?"

"There would be no need for Khul' if parents had taught their daughters to protect themselves with the Mufawada," insists Radwan. "Unfortunately, it is considered a slight to a man's pride even to discuss the matter before marriage. When men reject the idea of granting their future wives the right to divorce themselves, wise women should walk away before it is too late," she concludes.

The Mufawada has its own pitfalls, however. Sawsan recently obtained what seemed like a quick and relatively easy divorce. Her father had insisted at the time of her marriage that the contract be drafted to include her right to divorce herself from her husband. Twenty years later, upon discovering that her husband had taken a second wife, she decided to take advantage of the clause. She went to see a lawyer, who examined her marriage document and informed her that there was a loophole in the text: she could divorce herself from her husband 'when' (mata) she wished. "This means that you can divorce yourself once, but your husband can bring you back within three months," he said. "If he does, you no longer have any recourse. The correct wording is 'every time' (kullama) she wishes, but unfortunately few people know the difference." The lawyer then advised Sawsan to use the Mufawada and to state at once that she freed her husband of all financial obligations towards her. Only in that way would the divorce be irreversible.

Women who have dared to ask for the Mufawada and actually obtained it rarely talk about it afterwards, for fear of hurting their husband's feelings. It has therefore remained an equivocal subject, most often left to the men to decide among themselves.

They are usually even more reluctant than women to discuss the issue. One young man, however, was willing to share the difficulties he encountered when he decided to grant his bride the right to divorce herself from him. Samer woke up that morning with a heavy heart. He was having his marriage contract drawn up later in the day and had postponed telling his father that Dalia would not marry him unless he granted her the Mufawada. Samer knew that his father, a very conservative man, would shame him for having bowed to his fiancée's "whim". He dressed and went to see the Ma'zoun (the government official who attends to the writing of marriage contracts) and explained his problem. The Ma'zoun was not pleased. "Why did you accept such a condition? It belittles you, my son." he said. "She must not be a good girl, respectful of the authority of her father. I strongly advise that you let her go." Samer mumbled that he wanted to marry this particular girl. Could the Ma'zoun please arrange things in such a way that his father would not notice the offending clause? He would pay what it took to please both his father and his fiancée. He left with the promise that the sheikh would do his best. That evening, the Ma'zoun arrived at the bride's house. He was in a hurry, he said, as he had another contract-signing to perform that same evening. He announced sternly that he insisted on the bride and groom being represented by their legal representatives and, ignoring the families gathered for the occasion, busied himself writing down the particulars. The representatives were asked to sign in several places, then Dalia and Samer signed the documents. As soon as this was done, the Ma'zoun rose to take his leave. He asked Samer to come by and collect the contract at his office in a few hours. The zagharit resumed as he departed in a hurry. When Samer went to pick up the final document, the Ma'zoun showed him where he had added the Mufawada, under the signature of the representatives.

"What remedies can amendments to the Personal Status Law contribute to women's situation when the odds are stacked against her?" asks Aliaa who, at the age of 30, is still single. Many young women are postponing or deciding against marriage, rather than become embroiled in cat and mouse games to obtain their rights. "But," says Siham, who has been fighting for her freedom in various courts for over two years, "there will always be naïve girls who let their parents decide for them and jump headlong into the trap, thinking that marriage is based on mutual trust."

Asked what advice he would give future brides, a lawyer specialising in divorce cases comments: "The law will never protect the weaker party in a marriage completely. As a parent, I would advise those who have daughters of marriageable age to equip them with a good education, a well-paid job and an apartment of their own before thinking of marrying them off -- just in case things turn sour. Other than that, the future bride should not rely on the Ma'zoun to take her side but rather seek the advice of a good lawyer who knows the law and how to close loopholes. She should be warned not to let her future husband and/or his family intimidate her into giving away any of her rights, because the chances are that when her husband wants to get rid of her, he will show little mercy. Treating divorced wives gallantly is just not yet part of established usage."

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