Dreams of Trespass: Tales of a Harem Girlhood

“But it was the radio incident that taught me an important lesson. It was then that Mother told me about the need to chew my words before letting them out. ‘Turn each word around your tongue seven times, with your lips tightly shut, before uttering a sentence,’ she said. ‘Because once your words are out, you might lose a lot.’”

The author emphasizes the power and importance of words that becomes a major theme of the novel. The “radio incident” refers to Fatima inadvertently revealing to Father that the women have an illicit key to the radio, which then causes the other women to blame and shun Fatima. This is one of Fatima’s earliest lessons in the potent effects words can have, in the way they can cause you to “lose”—or gain—“a lot.” Fatima also learns that she must carefully consider her own words, in order to exercise some measure of control in her life.

“When Mother finished Scheherazade’s story, I cried, ‘But how does one learn how to tell stories which please kings?’ Mother mumbled, as if talking to herself, that that was a woman’s lifetime work. This reply did not help me much, of course, but then she added that all I needed to know for the moment was that my changes of happiness would depend upon how skillful I became with words.”

In this quote, the author further develops the theme of words and storytelling in the novel. While words are powerful in general, they are particularly important for women in Fatima’s world, who have no other way to claim agency. The “skillful” use of words is one of the few ways Islamic women of Fatima’s time can attempt to take control of their situation, to gain what they want and need and find happiness in life. In addition, this quote mentions the story of Scheherazade, who told stories to a king in order to keep him from executing her. For women like Scheherazade—and the female characters in Dreams of Trespass—stories and words can literally save their own lives.

“Roaming freely in the streets was every woman’s dream. Aunt Habiba’s most popular tale, which she narrated on special occasions only, was about ‘The Woman with Wings,’ who would fly away from the courtyard whenever she wanted to. Every time Aunt Habiba told that story, the women in the courtyard would tuck their caftans into their belts, and dance away with their arms spread wide as if they were about to fly. Cousin Chama, who was seventeen, had me confused for years, because she managed to convince me that all women had invisible wings, and that mine would develop too, when I was older.” 

The author references the imagery of wings and flight that will reoccur throughout the novel, and which will dovetail with themes including Moroccan women’s desire for freedom and the power of storytelling. Clearly, the women of Fatima’s world feel stifled by the traditions that keep them confined to the harem, unable to leave or to pursue their own desires. When women cannot escape in real life, they do so symbolically, through imagination and storytelling. In fact, words yielded with great talent, such as Aunt Habiba’s, really do function as “invisible wings” that allow women to escape their restricted lives, if only in a symbolic sense.

“Sometimes, [Yasmina] said that to be stuck in a harem simply meant that a woman had lost her freedom of movement. Other times, she said that a harem meant misfortune because a woman had to share her husband with many others. Yasmina herself had to share Grandfather with eight co-wives, which meant that she had to sleep alone for eight nights before she could hug and snuggle with him for one. ‘And hugging and snuggling your husband is wonderful,’ she said. ‘I am so happy your generation will not have to share husbands anymore.’”

In this quote, Fatima is pursuing her quest to understand the word “harem,” which becomes a central motif in the novel. One of the reasons young Fatima finds harems so hard to understand is because unlike her own walled harem, her grandmother Yasmina lives on a farm with no physical boundaries. As Yasmina explains here, Fatima must learn that a harem is not defined by the physical, but rather by unspoken rules and mindsets—including the tradition that Islamic men take multiple wives, and the rules that keep women from going where they please. Yasmina hopes that in the new, modern Morocco nationalists are attempting to create, women like Fatima will no longer be subject to the restrictions of the harem.

“Showing total disinterest to your speaker, Aunt Habiba had recently told us, was one good way for the weak to take power: ‘To speak while others are listening is indeed the expression of power itself. But even the seemingly subservient, silent listener has an extremely strategic role, that of the audience. What if the powerful speaker loses his audience?’”

Here the author develops a central theme of the novel: the power of words, particularly for those in weaker positions, like women, who have no other way of asserting their voice. Aunt Habiba sees communication as a shifting power exchange between listener and speaker; women, who, as the more “subservient” members of Islamic society, are expected to listen, can upset this balance by refusing to bow down before the speaker’s words. Throughout Dreams of Trespass, women do not accept the ideas they’re told by male speakers, and instead use words and stories to express their own ideas and reclaim power.

“[Tamou’s] presence on the farm, with her tattoos, dagger, aggressive bracelets, and constant horseback riding, made the other women realize that there were many ways to be beautiful. Fighting, swearing, and ignoring tradition could make a woman irresistible. Tamou became a legend the moment she appeared. She made people aware of their inner force and their capacities to resist all kinds of fates.”

Tamou, a warrior woman who lost her family but finds a new life on Fatima’s grandfather’s farm, becomes a symbol of women who defy tradition and embrace their own power. Tamou truly is “irresistible” on the farm, enchanting both Grandfather and the other wives, and she teaches Fatima that a woman need not be proper and subservient in order to be valued. Furthermore, Tamou’s story offers hope that a woman’s own strength and courage can help her to “resist” tragedy and find fulfillment. Her character adds to the novel’s theme of women searching for their own happiness, even when they must defy tradition to do so.

“In addition, Yasmina said, [a harem] did not need walls. Once you knew what was forbidden, you carried the harem within. You had it in your head, ‘inscribed under your forehead and under your skin.’ That idea of an invisible harem, a law tattooed in the mind, was frightfully unsettling to me.” 

The author emphasizes the idea that harems—and rules and limitations in general—are not just physical constructs. Rather, the most powerful boundaries exist within the mind, where the rules of what is allowed and what is forbidden can govern any situation, with or without visible borders. Fatima finds this idea “frightfully unsettling” because she recognizes how powerful it is—while walls can be torn down, a “tattoo in the mind” cannot be removed so easily.

“‘Maybe the rules are ruthless because they are not made by women,’ was Yasmina’s final comment. ‘But why aren’t they made by women?’ I asked. ‘The moment women get smart and start asking that very question,’ she replied, ‘instead of dutifully cooking and washing dishes all the time, they will find a way to change the rules and turn the whole planet upside down.’ ‘How long will that take?’ I asked, and Yasmina said, ‘A long time.’”

As Fatima and her grandmother discuss the laws and customs of their world—rules that imprison women both literally and figuratively—Grandmother Yasmina suggests that young women like Fatima must grow up to change traditions and break down borders. Even as a child, Fatima is already questioning her world in a way previous generations have not, and her search to understand the boundaries and limitations placed on her becomes a central concern of the novel. While Yasmina hopes that women like Fatima will affect change in the future, she acknowledges that they have a difficult task ahead of them—change, she says, will take “a long time.” 

“ […] Father would say that he could not just break away. If he did, tradition would vanish: ‘We live in difficult times, the country is occupied by foreign armies, our culture is threatened. All we have left is these traditions.’ This reasoning would drive Mother nuts: ‘Do you think that by sticking together in this big, absurd house, we will gain the strength we need to throw the foreign armies out? And what is more important anyway, tradition or people’s happiness?’”

This quote encapsulates the conflict between upholding tradition and pursuing happiness in Dreams of Trespass. Female characters like Mother and Grandmother Yasmina tell Fatima that happiness—not a frivolous happiness, but a fulfillment that comes from having the freedom to work toward one’s dreams—should be of the utmost importance in a woman’s life. On the other hand, male characters like Father fear that following individual desires rather than continuing past traditions will lead to the destruction of Moroccan culture. Of course, this traditional culture—which many men consider “more important” than happiness—by its very nature limits women’s freedoms and their ability to lead a happy life.

“Happiness, [Mother] would explain, was when a person felt good, light, creative, content, loving and loved, and free. An unhappy person felt as if there were barriers crushing her desires and the talents she had inside. A happy woman was one who could exercise all kinds of rights, from the right to move to the right to create, compete, and challenge, and at the same time could feel loved for doing so.”

Mother’s words reveal that Moroccan women’s goals of fighting for equality and living happy lives are not opposed to each other. Rather, the first is necessary to achieve the second. Moroccan women have lived with “barriers” for centuries—laws and customs that do not allow them to go where they wish, educate themselves, or live on their own—and have experienced deep unhappiness as a result. Mother hopes that her daughter, who will come of age in a more progressive Morocco, will not only be able to develop her own talents, but will be “loved” and valued for doing so. Such personal fulfillment, the author suggests, can only occur in a society where men and women enjoy equal rights and opportunities.

“‘Covering your head and hiding will not help. Hiding does not solve a woman’s problems. It just identifies her as an easy victim. Your Grandmother and I have suffered enough of this head-covering business. We know it does not work. I want my daughters to stand up with their heads erect, and walk on Allah’s planet with their eyes on the stars.’”

Mother criticizes one of the specific traditions that holds Islamic women back: the custom of keeping their heads covered in public. While this practice supposedly protects women from unwanted male attention, it actually marks women as those who do not have choices or power in Islamic society—and thus presents them as “easy victims.” Throughout her autobiography, the author remarks on how the veil separates and differentiates men and women in her world, creating a gulf that is impossible to bridge and ensuring that women remain without power. Fatima’s female mentors hope that she will cast off limiting traditions like the veil, and instead claim her power and freedom with her “head erect.”

“As I watched Chama perform, I vowed to myself that when I became a grownup woman as tall as she, I definitely would be affiliated with a theater of some sort. I would dazzle Arab crowds, neatly seated in rows and looking up at me, and tell them about how it felt to be a woman intoxicated with dreams in a land that crushes both the dreams and the dreamer.”

This quote illustrates the way the narrator is inspired by previous generations of women, as she sees how effectively Chama “dazzles” and communicates through her acting, and which she hopes to accomplish the same in her own life as well. The quote also affirms the power of storytelling, as through exaggerated, theatrical tales, women like Chama express real truths. Furthermore, these truths are subversive ones that women cannot state outright, but only in an indirect way, by nestling them within an entertaining story. Through her plays, Chama exposes and critiques a “crush[ing]” Islamic society.

“Oh, yes, I would tell them about the impossible, about a new Arab world, in which men and women could hug each other and dance away, with no frontiers between them, and no fears.

“Oh, yes, I would enchant my audience, and re-create, through magic words and calculated gestures, just like Asmahan and Chama before me, a serene planet on which houses had no gates, and windows opened wide onto safe streets.

“I would help them walk in a world where the difference needed no veil, and where women’s bodies moved naturally, and their desires created no anguish.” 

Fatima not only acknowledges Chama’s prowess as a storyteller, but hopes, in the future she imagines for herself, to take the power of storytelling one step further. Fatima recognizes the ability of stories well told—in this case, dramatized—to make the listener see the world in new ways, just as Chama has done. Through her own stories, and in a new, modern world, Fatima hopes not only to help others see new possibilities, but to actually make those possibilities real—to allow her audience to “walk in a world” without borders and limitations.

“The terrace cheered Princess Budur, because she dared to imagine the impossible, the unrealistic. As a woman, she was powerless and desperately weak, surrounded by tough highway robbers. In fact, her situation was really hopeless—she was stuck in the middle of nowhere, far away from home, in the midst of a whole caravan of untrustworthy slaves and eunuchs, not to mention dubious merchants. But when your situation is hopeless, all you can do is turn the world upside down, transform it according to your wishes, and create it anew. And that is precisely what Princess Budur did.”

This quotation shows how the strong heroines of traditional Arab stories—here, the Thousand and One Nights—inspire Moroccan women of the twentieth century to stay strong against oppression. Princess Budur has never had to fend for herself, and she starts out “desperately weak.” As a result of this initial weakness, the princess’s journey toward self-reliance is an even greater, more radical transformation. The princess transforms not only herself, but her world, by breaking through limiting traditions—and the women listening to her story realize they can follow her example.

“The women on the terrace cheered at Princess Hayat’s decision to help the distressed Budur, who had dared to do the impossible, and after the play was over, talked heatedly, long into the night, about fate and happiness, and how to escape the first and pursue the second. Women’s solidarity, many agreed, was the key to both.”

Princess Budur’s story presents the idea that women will only find the strength to overcome oppression when they work with rather than against each other. Division between women leaves them in a position of weakness, but women who come together can offer each other strength and support—as Hayat and Budur do when they rule their kingdom together. Throughout the memoir, the author highlights the bonds that sustain female characters, and the valuable lessons older women offer to young Fatima. It is this shared knowledge and power, Mernissi suggests, that will allow women to become powerful enough to shake off male oppression.

“I loved [Aunt Habiba] so much. She was so silent, so apparently quiescent to the demands of a tough outside world, and yet, she still managed to hang onto her wings. She reassured me about the future: a woman could be totally powerless, and still give meaning to her life by dreaming about flight.”

The author again affirms the power of storytelling, as Aunt Habiba’s stories of strong women have allowed her to grow her own invisible wings, and to live a life of value and meaning. While Aunt Habiba never outwardly breaks through her oppression, she finds a way to live within it, to dream of freedom and to pass those dreams on to a future generation.

“‘You already know all the essentials: a little girl, as small as she is, has enough energy inside her to defy torturers, to be courageous and patient, and to waste no time trembling and screaming. I told you that the kidnapper expected me to cry and scream. But when he heard no sound, and saw two twinkling stars fixed on him, he immediately brought me back up. He did not expect defiant silence and a calm stare. He expected me to howl.’”

Mina’s story supports the memoir’s affirmation that even those who are outwardly weak can access inner courage and strength. At the moment young Mina was most vulnerable—when she was at the bottom of a well, with only her hands clutching a rope to keep her from drowning—she forced fear away and looked her oppressor in the eye. As this story suggests, Muslim women as a whole must rise above fear and look oppression in the eye; only by “defy[ing] torturers” can they find their way out of a hopeless situation.

“Indeed, we children found the thought of switching codes and languages to be as spellbinding as the sliding open of magic doors. The women loved it too, but the men did not. They thought it was dangerous, and Father especially did not like Mrs. Bennis, because he said that she made trespassing seem natural. She stepped too easily out of one culture and into another, without any regard for the hudud, the sacred boundary.”

This quote brings together two of the memoir’s major themes: the limiting nature of tradition, and the role of hudud, or boundaries, in the Arab world. Mrs. Bennis is not held back by tradition—she drives a car and goes out without a veil—and to the harem children, this casting off of tradition seems as freeing and astonishing as opening “magic doors.” At the same time, Mrs. Bennis sometimes wears traditional clothes and a veil, and her ability to move back and forth across borders makes her particularly dangerous. Mrs. Bennis threatens the separation of men and women, of old and new, and reveals that the “sacred boundar[ies]” are not as impenetrable as they may seem.

“Then [Mother] would turn to me and say, ‘You are going to transform this world, aren’t you? You are going to create a planet without walls and without frontiers, where the gatekeepers have off every day of the year.’ Long silences would follow her speeches, but the beauty of her images would linger on, and float around the courtyard like perfumes, like dreams. Invisible, but so powerful.” 

In this quote, Mother has accepted the fact that she herself will not be able to break through barriers and realize her own dreams—even though Morocco is changing, Mother’s request to attend classes and learn to read has been denied. Since Mother cannot achieve freedom and equality for herself, she encourages her daughter to do so for her. Significantly, Mother is not powerless here: rather, her “powerful” words and dream inspire her daughter to “transform” their world.

“Aunt Habiba said that anyone could develop wings. It was only a matter of concentration. The wings need not be visible like the birds’; invisible ones were just as good, and the earlier you started focusing on the flight, the better.”

The author explores a major symbol of the novel: the image of wings, used to represent Islamic women’s desire for freedom. Aunt Habiba encourages Fatima to “focus on flight”—to develop the inner resources necessary to escape her society’s restrictions. Throughout the book, Fatima witnesses the ways women grow “invisible” wings: by telling stories; rebelling against tradition in small ways, like embroidering subversive subjects; and proclaiming their own self-worth through beauty rituals. As Fatima finds her own way to “fly,” she will reveal these invisible wings to the world, writing books about the inner strength of Islamic women.

“‘Mothers should tell little girls and boys about the importance of dreams,’ Aunt Habiba said. ‘They give a sense of direction. It is not enough to reject this courtyard—you need to have a vision of the meadows with which you want to replace it.’”

Aunt Habiba suggests that rebellion and change is not about fighting against the past, but rather about crafting a stronger, more positive future. Fatima takes these words to heart throughout the book, as she begins to focus less on breaking out of borders, and more on imagining and creating “a new Arab world,” where men and women have “no frontiers between them, and no fears”(111). This quote also illustrates the valuable guidance older generations of women provide for young Fatima: without her aunt’s encouragement, Fatima would not understand the “importance of dreams” and “visions” so clearly.

“Zaman (time) is the Arab’s wound.

They feel comfortable in the past.

The past is the lure of the dead ancestors’ tent.

Taqlidiis the territory of the dead.

The future is terrifying and sinful.

Innovation is bid‘a,a crime!” 

This quote encapsulates the conflict between tradition, or taqlidi, and innovation, or bid‘a, in the Islamic world. Fatima’s teenage cousin Chama states these words, and her observations reveal the particular challenges faced by “adolescen[ts]” (216) in her culture—at an age when Chama should be looking toward the future, she is instead forced to remain in the past. In Islamic culture, tradition becomes a shield against what is new, unfamiliar, and potentially dangerous—and this “shield” keeps Islamic women locked in by restrictive tradition, when the rest of the world is moving forward. 

“‘But why?’ I asked her, ‘and why can’t we escape the rule of the difference? Why can’t men and women keep on playing together when they are older? Why the separation?’ Mina replied not by answering my question but by saying that both men and women live miserable lives because of the separation. Separation creates an enormous gap in understanding.”

On the final page of the memoir, the author emphasizes the fact that the division between men and women is at the root of the “misery” in Islamic culture. Through Mina’s words, the author suggests that an inability to understand or communicate with others leads to restriction, limitations, and unhappiness. Only if women and men can come together, without veils and oppressive traditions, can Muslims begin to bridge this “enormous gap in understanding.” Thus, throughout the memoir, Fatima dreams of creating a world where “the difference need[s] no veil” (111).