Woman

The Algerian born Kabyle poet and singer Idir has songs that deeply touch my heart. He sings mostly in Arabic, and also has songs in French. I speak and write French fluently, but when it comes to Arabic my knowledge is less than basic at this point. But with the music of Idir, the lack of understanding Arabic does not stop me from wanting to know the translations, which fortunately do exist, or from being deeply moved by this unique singer's songs. He has this kind habit of explaining his songs 'meaning to his audience, and there is one song he sings about his mother that just hit my heart head on. The song is about isolation, a burden millions of women live with, in the past, and to this day. The song stirred a deeply buried pain in me, as I am not a stranger to isolation and its devastating impact on self confidence, hope and talent. I love my husband very much, but there is no denying that I have endured long stretches of isolation during my marriage, and I am going through one now. I have often thought of my father's mother, the grandmother everyone affectionately called "Meterke", "Little Godmother". She became a widow at age 38, with a son  and three daughters. She never remarried, and had she so considered, it probably would have been frowned upon in a small Flemish village of post World War II. My mother thought her bitter, but I remember her as a quiet, strong woman, devoted to her children and grandchildren. She lived with my father's youngest sister, who never married and was living with her until Meterke died at age 70, and my single aunt was 36. I remember spending weekends at their city apartment in Oostende, Belgium. My aunt worked full time in the social welfare sector, leaving my grandmother alone all day until evening time. She never complained and encouraged her adult daughter to go to the theater and movies, and go on trips with her co-workers and friends. She was alone a lot. That sense of her aloneness soaked into my impressionable child's mind and memories, and like a stubborn dye, it never faded. In my stretches of isolation and loneliness in my marriage, I would visit her memory and resolve, and draw strength from it, as I still do now. My isolation is not the result of being a young widow, but the result of living with a kind but exceedingly solitary man, who is very hesitant to socialize and has very little understanding of my gregarious nature and the sadness the isolation has caused and causes me. That I am susceptible to his strong will on this is not just his personality, but my own weakness when it comes to standing up for my own needs, that being the result of being emotionally neglected as to my social needs as a child and teenager. I have had times when I was able to break through that isolation, and then I would fall back into that trap, thinking I was moving too far away from my husband, only to realize he does not have the same needs, and having to start all over again, which I am dealing with again now. It is not something visible to neigbours and casual friends,and I do not speak of it, until now, but it is a very difficult and at times heartbreaking challenge. Idir's song dedicated to his mother brings home the awareness I am not alone, or outdated in that concern, as it seems to be a burden time and again, of being a woman in many parts of the world, regardless of status or culture. It is one I fight bravely against and like the tides of the oceans, I have had the pleasure of seeing the high tide, as well as the low tides through which I am wading now. I was invisible as a child, and now I am struggling with invisibility as an adult. That I am a woman only reinforces the acceptability of this struggle. Idir's beautiful  song made that  crystal clear to me as I recall his words so well as he introduced his haunting ballad :  " Il n'est  pas evident d'etre une femme dans ce monde, que ce soit dans une societe moderne, ou que ce soit dans une societe de fortes traditions. "