Chapter FiveZain stood on the porch of her father’s house in Sahat Al Midfaa, gazing out at Abu Rummana Street and the trees in the yard. The voice inside leads me to write about freedom, but what kind of sense does that make if I don’t even support myself? I preach freedom, I demand equality, and I claim in newspaper columns to be the spokesperson for liberated girls, yet the whole time I’m being supported financially either by my father or my husband. Oh, and I think of myself as “famous,” too. Well, as long as I’m dependent on a man for my support, I’m a pitiful mess!
The voice of the woman who’d taken up residence in Zain’s mind, and who wielded a pen as though it were a rifle, had started to become part of her now. The voice had grown louder and louder since Zain had gone alone to ge
