Volume 2 . Issue 3 February 2012 A MAGAZINE FOR WOMEN ALL AROUND THE WORLD PLUS: The Beauty oSpeaking Up A Personal Note On Beauty Glamorous Portraits oDeltaWomen StaOriginal Photographs Glamorous Poems Stories on Beauty And More! BEAUTY DeltaWOmen
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However, as Audrey Hepburn,hersel a truly beautiul woman,once said: “The beauty o awoman is not in the acial modebut the true beauty in a womanis relected in her soul. It is thecaring that she lovingly givesthe passion that she shows.”We seldom see this complete-beauty-package marketedby those in charge o settingsocietal norms and expecta-tions.Sometimes it eels like theemphasis on inner beauty issacriiced by the pressing needto sell the importance o beingbeautiul on the outside.
This lack o sources o inspira-tion is not actually a situationwhere there is a “lack” o them.In act, when I think aboutbeauty in terms o strength,
dedication, and soululness,I immediately think o onewoman: WarisDirie, supermodel,emale genital mutilation survi-vor, and United Nations SpecialAmbassador or the Eliminationo Female Genital Mutilation.
WarisDirie was born in theSomali desert, near the Ethio-pian border in 1965. Her amilywas nomadic and traditional.When Waris turned ive, she wasorced to undergo the cruel pro-cedure known as emale genitalmutilation (FGM) or emale geni-
tal cutting (FGC).
For those who are not amil-iar with this procedure, FGMinvolves intentionally alteringand injuring emale genitalorgans or non-medical reasons.FGM consists o the partial ortotal removal o the externalemale genitalia. This procedurehas no health beneits or theover 100 to 140 million girlsand women worldwide who arecurrently living with the conse-quences derived rom it.
In reality, FGM has the potentialonly toharm girls and women. Itinvolves removing and damag-ing healthy and normal emalegenital tissue, and it interereswith the natural unctions o girls and women’s bodies. Tomake matters worse, the pro-cedure is usually carried out byuntrained individuals who donot use painkillers or sterilizedequipment, which increases therisk or complications such aspain, shock, tetanus or otherbacterial inections, urine reten-tion, open sores and other
injuries to the genital region. The long-term consequences o FGM range rom having recur-rent bladder and urinary tractinections to an increased risk o childbirth complications and thedeath o newborns. Every year,hundreds o girls and womendie as a result o FGM.
Needless to say, there is nothingbeautiul about this procedure.In act, undergoing such a terri-ble practice can only jeopardizethe lives o those who couldotherwise become beautiulwomen. Sadly, this horrible tra-dition is still practiced in severalcountries around the world. TheUnited Nations estimates thatapproximately eight thousand
girls worldwide are orced toundergo FGM every day.
In a demonstration o extraor-dinary strength and bravery,WarisDirie did not let this hei-nous actstop her rom beingbeautiul, either inside or out-side. When she turned thirteenshe was orced into anotherhorrendous traditional practice:child marriage. Unwilling tocarry on with her orced unionto a much older man, Waris ledher homeland.One night, beorethe marriage took place, she let
her house. Without any ood orwater, she ran bareoot or daysacross the desert. Weeks passedbeore she reached Mogadishu,the capital o Somalia. Thereshe reached out to amily andas a result o a series o ateulevents, she made her way toLondon, England to work as amaid or her uncle who was anAmbassador.
Lie in London was not easyor a young Somali girl whocould not speak English andwho had never received any
kind o education. However, shestayed positive and allowed herinner beauty to always shine.Ater she escaped her home inSomalia, she had experienceda close encounter in which shenearly was eaten by a lion. Hav-ing survived such an ill-atedencounter convinced her thatshe could overcome any obsta-cles she would ever ace in herlie. Due to this inner strengthand sel-conviction, she was ableto make a living well ater heruncle returned to Somalia (herespected her desire to stay in
The Beauty o SpeakingUpPaola Brigneti
Beauty is indeed in the eye o the beholder. Even
though society tries to impose some standards o
beauty upon us, in the end we are the ones who choose
what really appeals to our senses. For each individual
person, beauty takes a dierent orm and has a dierent
meaning. We should not be orced to buy into a one-
size-its-all beauty concept simply because it is what
society demands. Ater all, who is better at deciding
what appeals to people i not people themselves?
When we hear the word “beauty”, some o us think
o moments in which we were happy. Beauty can dei-
nitely reer to moments, and not just objects. For oth-
ers, beauty might evoke images o gorgeous women
strolling down a catwalk wearing the latest ashion. This
last one is certainly one o the most pushed images o
beauty: in order to be beautiul, women need to look
London by hersel). It was ater her uncle’s departure that she enteredthe modeling world and became amous.
Aterhavingdonned the pages o world-amous magazines like Elle,Vogue and Marie Claire, and having also become a “Bondgirl”,Waris hadcertainly come a long way rom the dreadul day when her own mothersat her on a hot rock in the desert to be circumcised by a strangewoman. However, or many years, the pain was as alive as it had beenon the day the cutting had happened (at some point she had correctivesurgery). Her physical pain maniested during urination, as it took herup to ten minutes to do what most women do in less than one. For oneweek o the month, during menstruation, she would suer rom inde-scribable pain as well. Her mind was also tormented by the event. Sheresented that she would never experience any sexual pleasure in her lie.Most importantly, she was haunted by the act that many girls in Aricacontinued to become victims o FGM every day.
Almost twenty years ater leaving Somalia, WarisDirie was considered tobe one o the most beautiul women in Arica and the world. Her gor-geous ace, which got the attention o Mike Goss, the photographer whodiscovered her when she was just a young girl, became an example o impeccable beauty and perection. However, deep inside, Waris was stillighting an internal battle.During an interview with Marie Claire maga-zine in 1997, she armed hersel with courage and shared her not-so-
beautiul story with the world. We can all agree that such selless actions
and her willingness to expose her innermost secret made Waris evemore beautiul than she already was.
The same year her interview with Marie Claire came out, Waris wasinvited to join the United Nations Population Fund in their ight to FGM. Currently, Waris is a United Nations Special Ambassador or thElimination o FGM. She is one o the main people ighting FGM arothe world. At age 47, she continues to be an example o beauty ostunning physical eatures. However, she has become a lot more th just a pretty ace. She is now an example o courage and perseveraHer ight against FGM did not stop ater her interview, but insteadstarted that day and has gained momentum ever since.
In 2002, Waris ounded the WarisDirie Foundation to support her wan international advocate against FGM. In 2010, the oundation wanamed “Desert Flower Foundation.” Currently,Warisspeaks alongsideretaries o State, national leaders, Nobel Prize-winners, and internatstars to raise awareness about FGM in an attempt to put an end toinhumane practice. She is ighting to keep all girls and women beaby keeping their natural physical state unaltered. She celebrates wothe way they are and she does it by using her lie as an example ocan be accomplished. She is, in every way, a role model or what trbeauty is all about.
“It’s such a beautiul day.” Ellen sighed as sheregarded her slim, beautiul sister with nosmall measure o envy. Renée was recliningcomortably against the porch railing o hernewly acquired McMansion. What had shedone to deserve all o this, Ellen wondered.Unlike Ellen, Renée didn’t even have a col-lege degree. All she had ever done wasentice a handsome rich guy to marry her. It just didn’t seem air.
“Should we have the girls put on their swim-suits?” Renée oered in that crisp tone shehad adopted when she began her meteoricrise in social stature, a tone that reeked o
money and good luck.
Ellen didn’t want anyone – not even Renée– to see her daughter Marie in a bathingsuit but there was no way around it. Shehad inally run out o excuses. At least itwould only be in Renée’s backyard swim-ming pool and not at the beach like lastyear when Ellen had been mortiied bythe way Marie’s puppy at had bulged outrom her oversized swimsuit. But howeverembarrassing that had been, this year wouldbe so much worse. Ater Renée herded herown girls into their bedrooms, Ellen askedwhere she and Marie should change. Shehadn’t wanted Marie to change with Renée’s
girls. The less they saw o her the better.
“I’ll change in the study with you, mom.”Marie piped up, her tone bright in stark con-trast to the rings under her pale eyes, “Weatties need to stick together.”
When they were alone in the study, tearswelled in Ellen’s eyes as she watched Mariestruggle out o her baggy clothes.
“Something wrong, mom?”
“How can you ask me that?” Ellen’s voicewas sot, her limps trembling.
“C’mon mom. Don’t start that body imagestu again.” Ellen turned away rom herdaughter and reached or a tissue rom thebox on Renée’s desk. “Mom, please don’tcry. I’m just a little overweight is all.”
Marie touched her mother’s wrist tentatively,her cold ingertips chilling Ellen to the bone.Deep down Ellen knew this was all her ault.Her husband’s unceremonious departure,Marie’s condition. All o it. And there wasn’ta damn thing she could do about it. In herdesire to rival Renée’s achievements – bighouse, successul husband, and beauti-ul daughter – she had lost everything, or
maybe she just chose the wrong man. Whydid stupid Renée have to have all the luck?
In a it o rustration, Ellen grasped Marie’sshoulders and marched her to the guestbathroom. Forcing her daughter to acethe mirror, Ellen met her relected gaze, asharp pain stabbing at her when she caught
sight o Marie’s listless expression, “Just look at yoursel!”
“I’m sorry, mom. I know I need to lose someweight.”
With an aggravated breath, Ellen kicked thebathroom scales out rom under the counterand pushed her daughter roughly on tothem.
“Mom! What are you doing?”
“Lose some weight?” Ellen’s voice wasbecoming loud, hysterical, “Tell me what youweigh.”
Marie clutched at Ellen’s hands as sheregarded the display, “It’s not how it looks.You’re holding some o my weight.”
Ellen shook her daughter’s hands ree, tak-ing a step back, “Look again.”
Marie leapt rom the scale and began obses-sively braiding her thinning hair, avoidingher relection in the mirror. “Must be broken,she murmured, not meeting her mother’seyes.
“It’s not broken. Look at yoursel! Goddamiit, Marie! Look in the mirror! You look like aholocaust victim.” Ellen knew she was doingeverything wrong, but she elt so helpless.Sometimes it didn’t even eel like Marie wasthere anymore, only a shell o the rambunc-tious child she used to be. It was as i hersoul was already gone and her body wastaking its time to ollow. I only Ellen hadknown that in her eagerness to have herdaughter shed some pounds she was askingher to shed so much more.
Objects In TheMirrorKaleigh Maguire
Story O The Month
75 WORDS FROM A WOMANKASTURBA GANDHILylin Aguas
She was the woman who stood NOT BEHIND her husband, but BESIDEHIM, to share in his sorrows, triumphs and tragedies. The WOMAN, thewie who played a signiicant role in the struggle or India’s reedom andin the making o the great Mahatma Gandhi. The WOMAN who had therespect and recognition o her amily and the world or being the strengtho the great Mohandas Gandhi and the pillar o her amily.
INTERVIEWAN INTERVIEW WITH A TRUEBEAUTYElaheh Zohrevandi
”I want to be a plus-size model.” Parisa tells me as I sit down on my chair.
The way she pronounces the word “Plus-size” is so cute I barely noticethe not-so-beautiul meaning o it.
“I am proud o how I look and want to show the world you don’t have to
be size 0 to be beautiul.”
I ask Parisa i she believes that modeling can make a change. “When I
think o my role models in lie, I never think o super models or Victoria’s
Secret Arch Angels, I always think o my mother and my teachers. They
had the tiniest yet biggest impact in my lie. And I believe, as a person
on this planet, I count so they did change the world when they changed
me.” I am totally stunned by her sophisticated answer. It’s not a surprise
when I hear that she studies philosophy. “It’s my thing. It has always
been.” She says.
“In the country I live in, no woman can show up in the streets just the
way she is. You have to cover your hair and body and it has played a big
and very destructive role in women’s lie. Thinking o how strict rules
o Hijab have changed the way women are looked at, leaves me with
this big question: Who is responsible or women who became victims
o a orced belie?” I ask mysel the same question and share my naïve
thought with her. She rejects my answer with a beautiul smile. “I don’t
think so. It’s women’s ault. They pass their right like a stranger passing
another stranger in the subway.” I can’t believe I’m listening to a beauty
icon. It’s like I’m listening to a university lecture.
I ask her i I can ask a personal question. “While asking a public igure, no
question is personal.”
“What is the thing that makes you eel beautiul?”
“Being in my own skin, being mysel.”
Marie continued braiding her hair, humming tunelessly, and assidu-ously avoiding both the mirror and her mother. Ellen examinedher daughter’s rail, bony rame with a mixture o horror and awe. The smallest one-piece suit Ellen had been able to ind now hungloosely over Marie’s emaciated orm, the bones pronounced underthe pale skin. Ellen had initially bought the swimsuit as an incen-tive or Marie to lose weight. She had never thought in a millionyears that Marie would actually it into it, let alone be too small or
it. Now she had to buy all o Marie’s clothes in the children’s sec-tion. Marie had stopped growing taller when she had started losingweight. Ellen had read somewhere that teenagers who developthese problems oten miss critical periods or growth. Even i herdaughter survived, she may never reach the ive oot mark. But thatwould be a small price to pay. I only …
Overcome by emotion, Ellen dashed rom the bathroom, blindlyretracing her steps to the study, where she ound her sister seated inan overstued armchair. Had she overheard everything? Renée’s ace was
drawn into a pained expression. She said nothing. Ater a ew moments,
she stood silently and wrapped her arms around her younger sister, run-
ning her ingers through Ellen’s hair like she did when they were children.
Something inside Ellen broke. She collapsed into her sister’s embrace, her
tears soaking through Renée’s designer tee-shirt. Renée simply held her, and
rocked her gently as their mother had done many years earlier.
Finally, sniling loudly, Ellen pulled away, and wiped her nose with the back
o her hand, a habit she had ought hard to break in her own teenage years.
She looked into her big sister’s eyes. Renée’s expression reminded her o
their mother, the brave ace she always put on to comort her children when
they were in trouble. All o Ellen’s anger and envy melted away as Renée
spoke, “Honey, I know you like to go it alone, but it’s time to get you some
help.”
A Note To God
Eat Allahyari
WORDS FROM A WOMAN
Got a eeling again, hidden
From my roots I scream and complain
No one knows o my loneliness and pain
From god got a one-way avor
You know I’m helpless and drowned in sins and sorrows
Some crimes are never deined. Here, Beauty is a crime.
The other night I was driving home and the police officer pulled me over. I was accused of driving alone at night.“You are a beautiful girl, you shouldn’t drive at night.” theofficer explained when I
objected to his reasoning. My license was confiscated.
***
I am 12 and I am taller than an average girl of my age.I was walking to French class when I was stopped by a
woman in one of the most crowded avenues of the city.She asked me why I was wearing colorful clothes. I was pushed into a van full of girls nearly my age. I was literally kidnapped. They kept me in the city prison for two nightsuntil I was released with my parents’ efforts.
I was born in a Muslim country, I haven’t even reached puberty and I can choose not to wear a scarf. What iswrong with me? Is it my fault that I am beautiful?
***
When I walk into a room full of people, I feel shameful. I don’t like the fact that I’m a girl. I don’t know if I want to
be a guy either. My shrink says I have gender issues but only god knows that I don’t want to feel beautiful. I don’t feel safe.
These are the stories I hear almost every day, teachingteenagers in Iran. I’m a biologist and thinking o the wayevolution unctions, I realize that we, humans, are theonly creatures on earth that kill something as pricelessas Beauty in someone. Who really hates beauty? We thehuman beings.
I being beautiul is a crime, i being a woman is notwhat we are meant to be, then why are we here in the
irst place?
“Beauty is a characteristic that provides an experienceo pleasure, meaning and satisaction” Wikipedia deinesbeauty. What is your deinition o this crime?
Sinmisola Ogúnyinka started thecharity called Dorcie in 2010 in
Calabar, in order to mobilize womento remove the Nigerian child romthe streets. This column is dedicatedto telling the tales behind some o the experiences she’s had.She now lives in Abuja with heramily.
I don’t get used to things, nothing really last orever but who sayswe don’t have exceptions. I got addicted to going to cemetery.
Every time I stepped oot in the graveyard, I’d eel like I was a brandnew person. I was the companion o a princess.
Sometimes I’d stay ar and watch the people coming in with lowersbut nobody would visit my princess. The only time that I couldn’tgo to Delshad’s grave was weekends. I had to come up with a newplan. I had to see this mysterious visitor.
It was Valentines Day, one rainy aternoon. It’s sad when you don’thave someone to give you Teddy bears and love notes or valentinebut it’s more depressing when you don’t eel like having a boyriendand preer going to cemetery.
I walked in the rain and listened to Take that’s Patience. It’s my avor-ite rainy day song. Walking in, passing the graves, I saw a man in ablack suit and on his knees. From the shaking shoulders that werestill strong like an athlete’s shoulders I realized he was crying. Whowas he? Her son? Her husband? Her brother?
Ater all these years, her loss still makes him cry! He must have beena lover!
I didn’t move, didn’t even get closer to the scene. I wasn’t araid, Iwas jealous. I didn’t want to ace the truth, couldn’t really deal with
the possibility o him being my princess’s love or husband. I watcheduntil he inally gave up crying. I then let.
Days would pass and I would show up every time I was ree ordidn’t eel like sitting at a lecture. I can’t really concentrate wellwhen my mind is preoccupied with something. It must have beenADD or something. The only thing I could think o was the mysteri-ous princess. Why do I eel a real connection with such an existence?No one bounds to a dead woman but I elt complete and alivethinking o her. Growing up, I always had this emptiness inside eel-ing I didn’t belong to anyone. Whenever I was illing a orm I wouldalways pause at the gender question and think i I was really emale.Everything had always been under question when it came to iden-tity. But now I know what I’m designed or.
“Is that you again? Do you have someone buried here?” the ladywith golden rings asked. I had allen asleep reading the New Yorker.What a pleasant way o being woken up! Such delicate voice wouldgive lie to any dead body and it really lited me up. “Oh, ma’am! Iwas just reading something.”
“Shall I ask you something?”
“Please!”
“Did you know my mom?”
I roze! Delshad was her mother. I should have known. These aristo-cratic ingers must have been inherited rom a princess. “I wish I did.”I had my mask o politeness on.
“Why do I eel like I know you then?” she began looking or some-thing in her hand bag. It was a designer. I didn’t know the brand.I don’t have a good relationship with ashion but I’m sure she wasa pro. With that body o her, you must have had good tailors anddesigners to shine like a super model. When you are chubby, youdon’t get to wear everything that is been designed or skinny girls.
“Well, I hang around here much oten.” I mumbled.
“Hanging around here? For the un o it? Really?”
“I’m a writer. It’s my hobby, hanging around watching people andlistening to random conversations. It’s been weeks I’m coming here. Ihave a strong eeling or this lady.”
A teardrop ell on her coat. She closed her eyes and cried harder.
“Did I upset you? I didn’t mean to.” I touched her strong shoulders.
“I’m ine. I just believe that you are the one who destiny has senther.”
“Me?”
“My mother had gone through lots o Hardships, she raised 8 kids.Love broke her big heart. She would always tell me that she wishedshe had someone write the story o her lie. Maybe it’s her will thatkeeps you here.”
I am not a real believer but who doesn’t like to be chosen or a bigthing? “She carried a past deserving respect, that’s what has beencarved on her grave stone.”
“She was a about sacriice. She worked like a man, raised her kids allby hersel. She deinitely deserves respect. I have written the poemscarved on the grave. She was the love o my lie.” she smiled.
“Was she as cheerul and un as her name oers? Delshad, a cheer-
ul heart!”
“Wow! You impressed me! Her mom let her alone as a little kid. Shegrew up having no parents. Never had a chance to be happy hersel but she always made others happy.”
What about her last name? I like the combination o the words thatmake up her name. What role does Porgou really play on her lie?”
She was never an extrovert. She was helpul but never conined inanyone. That’s how I’m trying to be, a private person but it’s diicultto be someone like my mother.”
“Do you have a picture o her? I’m dying to see this princess.”
“Princess?” another smile. She looked into her handbag and instantlyound the requested picture.
“You look just like her. I coness I’m amazed by the resemblance,hands o a princess.”
“Yeah, my grandather got married to a Russian girl. I’m biracial.
Despite a wealthy lie, she experienced poverty at early age. She wasalmost 15 when she got married.”
Another “child bride” I think. Iran is an exhibition o child brides andmy princess is one o the many.
Story AnthologyWhy was she so interested in her lie story being written?
“So much betrayal she aced in lie. She tried to keep everyonehappy but she didn’t get any love in return. She stuck to her kidstrying to raise them as good as possible.”
“What about your ather then?”
“He’s still alive.” she said, rolling her eyes.
“Did they love each other?” I knew the answer.
“Delshad loved him like mad but my ather let her or anotherwoman.”
She stopped right there. But I didn’t give up.
“Did Delshad go or another marriage?” I knew the answer to thistoo.
“Well she had already had a ailed marriage. It’s a long story.”
“Shall I hear it? I love stories, especially long ones.”