Z and his wife welcomed me in so happily. I have always loved his wife. She absolutely amazes me! She married Z very young, but knows just how to handle him. She is always patient and calm, attributes I do not have at all! He always knows when she's angry, and she doesn't have to say anything at all!
Anyway, I had my bag holding the lengha in my lap as we made small talk. Once we had exhausted the topics of weather and how my trip went, I turned to N (Z's wife) and told her that I had brought a lengha to show her. I told her I wanted to know if it was good or not and that I had found it on the internet. I pulled it gently out of the bag and she looked politely over the beading and embroidery with me. She smiled and looked at Z and we discussed how heavy the lengha was. Z was smiling from ear to ear and I knew that now he would ask the question that I needed him to ask.
"So then it's good news," he said.
I took a deep breath, and though this was how I expected the conversation to go, there were still tears trying to ruin my voice. "Well, we had planned for good news," I said. "But it appears that I have brought this dress for nothing. He has changed his mind again."
Z became serious and asked me what I meant. Z was one of the few people who knew the whole story of what happened with M in Pakistan.
I told Z that M had changed his mind again and that he was just too scared. I told him that we had already gone through this several times and that I just did not think that it was ever really going to happen and that I couldn't continue to live this way. "I will talk to him," he said, and that was that. N looked very sad for me and reassured me that Z was going to take care of things.
When M got home, I told him about my visit with Z, and M knew what to expect. Immediately after M got home, Z was calling him to come and talk. They went out together and were gone for two hours.
When M came back he was happier. He told me all about their conversation and laughed about it with me. The long and short was that Z basically asked him if he was crazy and what was wrong with him. M thought it was funny that someone besides me felt so strongly about his getting married. I could not help but think, here M was, sharing his "secret" conversation with me, as he did everything that happened in his life.
We were living in two different countries and yet we spoke to each other multiple times daily. We shared everything, but he couldn't seem to get over the fear of what had happened to him in Pakistan enough to make it "permanent." We were best friends, but so far, that was not enough.
Monday, July 27, 2009
Monday, July 13, 2009
Negotiations
I stepped off the plane and got my luggage. I was going back and forth in my head about how the visit was going to go. M picked me up at the airport, late as always, and helped me put my bags in the trunk. On the ride home he held my hand and I watched the now familiar shopping malls and bus stops go past my window. I stared out the window, worried and making sure not to turn towards M.
You know what? There is just no way to maintain your dignity and at the same time ask a man if he still plans to marry you this week. I couldn't believe that after all this time I was still in a situation where I just had no idea of where I stood. I knew that M loved me, but it just didn't seem like enough any more. What point is there to being 'in love' if it is impossible to even live in the same country with the person? In our situation, the only way to live in the same country was to get married.
We got home and had dinner. It was the next day before we discussed our plans. M was still unsure. It was maddening to me! It was his comment this day that got me started. He said, "You have your parents and K [my best friend.] I have no one to get advice from. I have no one to advise me."
You may remember Z from my earlier post. Z was a friend of M's from way back. They immigrated to Canada around the same time and were even from the same town in Pakistan. He and his two brothers were roommates to M in his earlier years in Canada, and the four had never moved away from living on the same street in their town in Canada. The two often gave each other advice and I had visited his home often to see his two small children and wife. Z had long been asking M why it was that we were not getting married and had in fact been one of the first people M discussed our April plans with. Z encouraged him. Z told him that he knew "better than anyone else" how M was when I was not there. He had told M, "you are depressed all of the time, until she gets here."
It was my opinion that it was time to enlist help. I called my dad. My dad and M had always gotten along ever since I tricked M into meeting him, more on that at another time. My dad had studied Hindi (Urdu's, for lack of a better term, 'sister' language??) for years long before I ever met M and for this reason, M found him intriguing. M also had a lot of respect for him because of all the help and advice he had given me while M was in Pakistan. I asked my dad to come all the way to Canada, not to watch me get married, but in case, I was getting married. I called him so that M could talk with him. (M actually had requested it too.)
My second action was to make a visit to Z and his wife. I had the week off but M had to go to work. I picked up my lengha, walked up the four flights of stairs to Z's house and knocked on the door. I had never visited them on my own, but this was important and I was nervous. I went up the stairs under the pretense of showing M's wife my bargain ebay purchase.
You know what? There is just no way to maintain your dignity and at the same time ask a man if he still plans to marry you this week. I couldn't believe that after all this time I was still in a situation where I just had no idea of where I stood. I knew that M loved me, but it just didn't seem like enough any more. What point is there to being 'in love' if it is impossible to even live in the same country with the person? In our situation, the only way to live in the same country was to get married.
We got home and had dinner. It was the next day before we discussed our plans. M was still unsure. It was maddening to me! It was his comment this day that got me started. He said, "You have your parents and K [my best friend.] I have no one to get advice from. I have no one to advise me."
You may remember Z from my earlier post. Z was a friend of M's from way back. They immigrated to Canada around the same time and were even from the same town in Pakistan. He and his two brothers were roommates to M in his earlier years in Canada, and the four had never moved away from living on the same street in their town in Canada. The two often gave each other advice and I had visited his home often to see his two small children and wife. Z had long been asking M why it was that we were not getting married and had in fact been one of the first people M discussed our April plans with. Z encouraged him. Z told him that he knew "better than anyone else" how M was when I was not there. He had told M, "you are depressed all of the time, until she gets here."
It was my opinion that it was time to enlist help. I called my dad. My dad and M had always gotten along ever since I tricked M into meeting him, more on that at another time. My dad had studied Hindi (Urdu's, for lack of a better term, 'sister' language??) for years long before I ever met M and for this reason, M found him intriguing. M also had a lot of respect for him because of all the help and advice he had given me while M was in Pakistan. I asked my dad to come all the way to Canada, not to watch me get married, but in case, I was getting married. I called him so that M could talk with him. (M actually had requested it too.)
My second action was to make a visit to Z and his wife. I had the week off but M had to go to work. I picked up my lengha, walked up the four flights of stairs to Z's house and knocked on the door. I had never visited them on my own, but this was important and I was nervous. I went up the stairs under the pretense of showing M's wife my bargain ebay purchase.
Sunday, July 5, 2009
The End of the Road
I started my student teaching in January, 2006. I was assigned to teach Spanish in a middle school. This particular school district only taught Spanish I in Middle school and had two different versions. They allowed seventh graders the option of starting Spanish 1 in seventh grade and taking the second half in eighth grade or just taking Spanish 1 as a full year subject in the eighth grade. My supervising teacher had been teaching for more than 40 years and so she had a cake walk schedule: six classes of 7th grade Spanish I (part 1.) This easy workload (as compared to a friend of mine who taught German I, II, III, IV and V in a high school, even though her desired post graduation job was teaching ESL) really helped me out in my already stressful life, since I was, in essence, working two full time jobs and finishing up graduate work too boot.
I took trips to see M for Christmas, and each three day weekend I was allowed. . . I saw him again in February and then had to wait for Spring Break in April. M and I had been calling mosques all around his town trying to find one that would allow us to get married. I could tell M was still scared of getting married, and the fact that his mosque still would not perform the marriage did not help. Finally, I found a mosque on the other side of the city that would perform the marriage. It made me very excited to hear the imam sound so accepting of the idea. I had begun to believe I would never find a mosque that would accept us.
The plan was that we would get married during my Spring Break. I started looking for something to wear as a surprise for M. We had been talking marriage so long that I actually had bought a white wedding dress (big mistake!) but this was not an appropriate occasion for this and my life was not conducive to planning a big reception in Canada. My family is also not able to travel frequently or on short notice. I looked over and over for a lengha to wear for M after the marriage.
*For those who may not be familiar, lengha is a traditional outfit in Pakistan for basic receptions after marriage. The traditional colors are red and gold, but people wear all different styles and colors.*
It was surprising to me that lenghas are VERY expensive. The majority that I found were more expensive than any of the American wedding dresses I looked at, and much more expensive than the one that I had bought. . . And so, I did something typically 2006 American, and looked on Ebay. Much to my surprise, I found several gorgeous ones, but as is typical of Ebay, they were usually used and altered and had only one available. It took months to find one that was my size and I liked (and could win at auction. . . )
I ended up with a gorgeous (to me) pink one with two layers and heavy red/gold embroidery. The shirt left much to be desired, it was not well kept and not as had been described, and there was no dupatta or covering for the head. I also did not have the typical jewelry, but since I was doing this as a surprise, it would have to do. Typically the jewelry and lengha purchase is up to the groom anyway, so I felt I was going above and beyond!
Just before my trip M started backing out. He started talking about postponing our plans until the next visit. We had already done this since November, and I had already been feeling abandoned since then. This was the last straw. I could not take it anymore. I was patient with M on the phone as we discussed his idea. I told him that it was not an option. I explained that it was completely up to him, but that I could not live like this anymore, travelling to visit every chance I got and being otherwise alone. I told him that I knew he wasn't happy this way, and that I already knew he was feeling guilty about meeting me anyway. I knew what 'boyfriend/girlfriend' was considered in Islam, and I had been doing it for too long.
My parents had taken time off of work to come and see us get married, I told them to scrap their original plans and I would let them know if they needed to come at all. I packed the lengha in my luggage carefully, convinced this would be my last trip to see M. I knew we weren't getting married, and I knew I would never see him again.
I took trips to see M for Christmas, and each three day weekend I was allowed. . . I saw him again in February and then had to wait for Spring Break in April. M and I had been calling mosques all around his town trying to find one that would allow us to get married. I could tell M was still scared of getting married, and the fact that his mosque still would not perform the marriage did not help. Finally, I found a mosque on the other side of the city that would perform the marriage. It made me very excited to hear the imam sound so accepting of the idea. I had begun to believe I would never find a mosque that would accept us.
The plan was that we would get married during my Spring Break. I started looking for something to wear as a surprise for M. We had been talking marriage so long that I actually had bought a white wedding dress (big mistake!) but this was not an appropriate occasion for this and my life was not conducive to planning a big reception in Canada. My family is also not able to travel frequently or on short notice. I looked over and over for a lengha to wear for M after the marriage.
*For those who may not be familiar, lengha is a traditional outfit in Pakistan for basic receptions after marriage. The traditional colors are red and gold, but people wear all different styles and colors.*
It was surprising to me that lenghas are VERY expensive. The majority that I found were more expensive than any of the American wedding dresses I looked at, and much more expensive than the one that I had bought. . . And so, I did something typically 2006 American, and looked on Ebay. Much to my surprise, I found several gorgeous ones, but as is typical of Ebay, they were usually used and altered and had only one available. It took months to find one that was my size and I liked (and could win at auction. . . )
I ended up with a gorgeous (to me) pink one with two layers and heavy red/gold embroidery. The shirt left much to be desired, it was not well kept and not as had been described, and there was no dupatta or covering for the head. I also did not have the typical jewelry, but since I was doing this as a surprise, it would have to do. Typically the jewelry and lengha purchase is up to the groom anyway, so I felt I was going above and beyond!
Just before my trip M started backing out. He started talking about postponing our plans until the next visit. We had already done this since November, and I had already been feeling abandoned since then. This was the last straw. I could not take it anymore. I was patient with M on the phone as we discussed his idea. I told him that it was not an option. I explained that it was completely up to him, but that I could not live like this anymore, travelling to visit every chance I got and being otherwise alone. I told him that I knew he wasn't happy this way, and that I already knew he was feeling guilty about meeting me anyway. I knew what 'boyfriend/girlfriend' was considered in Islam, and I had been doing it for too long.
My parents had taken time off of work to come and see us get married, I told them to scrap their original plans and I would let them know if they needed to come at all. I packed the lengha in my luggage carefully, convinced this would be my last trip to see M. I knew we weren't getting married, and I knew I would never see him again.
Monday, June 29, 2009
Separation Grind
We did not immediately get married, and I settled into a routine. I went to school, volunteered at my rescue squad and worked every available shift to make extra money to take trips to see M. I kept my eyes peeled for cheap airfares, signed up for a frequent flier program, and got used to driving each time I could not find a good fare.
*As a side note, any students who might be reading, check out www.studentuniverse.com for really good airfares. You have to book a minimum of two weeks ahead of time and have to keep your eyes peeled because the fares change daily, but I got some monster good deals during that period of my life since I was working on my Master's and full time in school.*
The fact that M and I were not yet married and therefore could not start his immigration process really began to get me angry. Every spare moment I had was dedicated to either finding ways to travel to be with him, actually travelling or working so that I would be able to travel. I was beginning to get exhausted and started to blame M. After all, we could start if he could just get over being petrified of marriage after his Pakistan ordeal. On reflection, I may have been being selfish, but I knew he wasn't going to get better until things were settled. He was still horribly depressed, and this on top of everything else really stressed me out.
On the up side, school was really interesting, but didn't consume much of my time. The most difficult scheduling for that semester (Fall, 2005) was doing 30 hours of high school observation. The next semester, however, I knew was going to be absolutely crazy. The culminating project for my Master's in Teaching was a full-time (unpaid) student teaching assignment at a middle school. I would be required to work the same hours as a teacher, including all after-school assignments and parent meetings, and somehow manage to keep up with my "M travel" and work enough to keep a roof over my head. The way I did this was by working 14 hour night shifts on Friday and Saturday nights and a 10 hour day shift on Sunday. My saving grace was the November/December horse racing assignments.
That sounds funny, right? . . . an ambulance at a horse race. . .well, we were to take care of any jockeys that fell off. For this, we were payed overtime pay, 1.5 times our normal rate, no matter if it was midway through shift or if we came in specially for it. These were basically snooze assignments. We would sit on the field, watch the race, or read, whatever, and wait for something to happen. Thankfully, usually, nothing did.
Anyway, exhausted as I was, I continued all of these assignments and waited, impatiently, for M to wake up.
*As a side note, any students who might be reading, check out www.studentuniverse.com for really good airfares. You have to book a minimum of two weeks ahead of time and have to keep your eyes peeled because the fares change daily, but I got some monster good deals during that period of my life since I was working on my Master's and full time in school.*
The fact that M and I were not yet married and therefore could not start his immigration process really began to get me angry. Every spare moment I had was dedicated to either finding ways to travel to be with him, actually travelling or working so that I would be able to travel. I was beginning to get exhausted and started to blame M. After all, we could start if he could just get over being petrified of marriage after his Pakistan ordeal. On reflection, I may have been being selfish, but I knew he wasn't going to get better until things were settled. He was still horribly depressed, and this on top of everything else really stressed me out.
On the up side, school was really interesting, but didn't consume much of my time. The most difficult scheduling for that semester (Fall, 2005) was doing 30 hours of high school observation. The next semester, however, I knew was going to be absolutely crazy. The culminating project for my Master's in Teaching was a full-time (unpaid) student teaching assignment at a middle school. I would be required to work the same hours as a teacher, including all after-school assignments and parent meetings, and somehow manage to keep up with my "M travel" and work enough to keep a roof over my head. The way I did this was by working 14 hour night shifts on Friday and Saturday nights and a 10 hour day shift on Sunday. My saving grace was the November/December horse racing assignments.
That sounds funny, right? . . . an ambulance at a horse race. . .well, we were to take care of any jockeys that fell off. For this, we were payed overtime pay, 1.5 times our normal rate, no matter if it was midway through shift or if we came in specially for it. These were basically snooze assignments. We would sit on the field, watch the race, or read, whatever, and wait for something to happen. Thankfully, usually, nothing did.
Anyway, exhausted as I was, I continued all of these assignments and waited, impatiently, for M to wake up.
Wednesday, June 17, 2009
Slow Changes
The divorce certificate arrived in November 2005, seven months after M sent the divorce. I went for my Thanksgiving break and we got it notarized. I thought that this would be the end of all our problems and that we would just immediately get married. M was not thinking the same thing. M was still reeling from his last "marriage" and felt like nothing should be rushed. He was getting a little more to himself but was still much more gun-shy than the man I once knew. Before his trip M was almost cocky, now he was hesitant about each new move. He had the urge to study everything and wanted to just 'let things happen' without any forward motion from his direction. For this reason marriage, among other things were difficult.
M again sought counsel about marriage from the Imam of his mosque, who did not even listen to his question and basically sent him away. He tried instead the gentleman who handled marriage ceremonies at his mosque. This man actually yelled at M. The man demanded to know why M would want to marry a non-Muslim. M could not even try to reason with him, he was too embarrassed by the man's reaction. M never tried to speak with either man again. M had attended this mosque for more than eight years, but when he needed assistance and counsel, no one would listen, except for Uncle.
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M had arrived in January and since then had not been able to find consistent work. In April, as soon as the divorce was declared and sent, he managed to find agency work. It was not always the same place, but it was daily work and gave him some money to work with. After a month of showing he was dependable, the agency sent him to work in a factory as a temp for a long term assignment. This gave him a bit of consistency and a higher wage, but ended after only three months and though his supervisor wanted to hire him permanently, the contract they had with the temporary agency prohibited it. And so by November, it was just temp work again moving from place to place to place and working for meager pay after trudging through Canadian winter snow and riding the bus.
M hated riding the bus more than anything. Riding the bus meant walking a fair distance through the snow, and added about 45 minutes to what would normally be a 15 minute drive. When you have to be at work at 7:00 am, this is a significant hardship, at least for my friend M. I was trying to find solutions to this problem and it came in the form of my own car-lust. I wanted a different car. I had long been wanting a change and fell in love with a little sporty Cougar. They were not very new, and thus were pretty cheap. I wanted one and that meant that I would no longer need my older 1999 Contour. I thought it would be a cool idea for M to have a car and for me to have my Cougar. That November M got his divorce and his Contour.
Getting up 45 minutes later than before somehow made living in a motel, working temp jobs for crappy pay and 700 miles of separation a little more tolerable.
M again sought counsel about marriage from the Imam of his mosque, who did not even listen to his question and basically sent him away. He tried instead the gentleman who handled marriage ceremonies at his mosque. This man actually yelled at M. The man demanded to know why M would want to marry a non-Muslim. M could not even try to reason with him, he was too embarrassed by the man's reaction. M never tried to speak with either man again. M had attended this mosque for more than eight years, but when he needed assistance and counsel, no one would listen, except for Uncle.
**********************************************************
M had arrived in January and since then had not been able to find consistent work. In April, as soon as the divorce was declared and sent, he managed to find agency work. It was not always the same place, but it was daily work and gave him some money to work with. After a month of showing he was dependable, the agency sent him to work in a factory as a temp for a long term assignment. This gave him a bit of consistency and a higher wage, but ended after only three months and though his supervisor wanted to hire him permanently, the contract they had with the temporary agency prohibited it. And so by November, it was just temp work again moving from place to place to place and working for meager pay after trudging through Canadian winter snow and riding the bus.
M hated riding the bus more than anything. Riding the bus meant walking a fair distance through the snow, and added about 45 minutes to what would normally be a 15 minute drive. When you have to be at work at 7:00 am, this is a significant hardship, at least for my friend M. I was trying to find solutions to this problem and it came in the form of my own car-lust. I wanted a different car. I had long been wanting a change and fell in love with a little sporty Cougar. They were not very new, and thus were pretty cheap. I wanted one and that meant that I would no longer need my older 1999 Contour. I thought it would be a cool idea for M to have a car and for me to have my Cougar. That November M got his divorce and his Contour.
Getting up 45 minutes later than before somehow made living in a motel, working temp jobs for crappy pay and 700 miles of separation a little more tolerable.
Friday, June 12, 2009
Obsession
I am not a patient person, I am actually quite obsessive. I can obsess about anything. I usually turn it into a good thing, again by learning everything I can about whatever is going on. In my obsession about getting M to live with me in the United States, I began researching everything about immigration that I could. Google was again my best friend. I found legal websites and forums where there was a ton of information.
I found out that in order to overcome the Expedited Removal from that day at the border, we would have to file a special waiver and wait for it to be approved before being given a visa. I reasearched waivers in depth during this period. I spent every extra moment trying to find instructions on how to compile evidence for the waiver, how it would be filed, statistics on wait time and approval rates. I was completely obsessed. I couldn't have M, so I had to have something to fill my time.
My secondary obsession, only secondary because I had absolutely no control over it, was getting M motivated an getting a copy of that divorce certificate. After much nagging, M began calling his father (over and over again) to get him working on a divorce certificate. This was another aspect of my research, I knew that M needed a copy of the union council certificate.
*Cultural note* In Pakistan, smaller towns are divided up with Union Councils. . .think equivalent of a Town Council or a Board of Supervisors only with a lot more leverage. The Union Council maintains divorce records and tries to set up arbitration to prevent a divorce. This is in addition to many other duties . . .
Unfortunately, M's family felt that the council would not give a certificate because of the influence of the girl's family. For this reason, M's father and brother enlisted the help of an attorney, who drew up a paper for M to get signed and notarized in Canada. This letter was written on something called "Rupee Paper" and had Government of Pakistan watermarks on it. The attorney assured M's family that this was "exactly" what was necessary to prove divorce. He claimed to have had clients successfully use it for U.S. Immigration in the past. I, on the other hand, assured M that it was not what was needed and even showed him the information on the Department of State website.
M believed the attorney.
I found out that in order to overcome the Expedited Removal from that day at the border, we would have to file a special waiver and wait for it to be approved before being given a visa. I reasearched waivers in depth during this period. I spent every extra moment trying to find instructions on how to compile evidence for the waiver, how it would be filed, statistics on wait time and approval rates. I was completely obsessed. I couldn't have M, so I had to have something to fill my time.
My secondary obsession, only secondary because I had absolutely no control over it, was getting M motivated an getting a copy of that divorce certificate. After much nagging, M began calling his father (over and over again) to get him working on a divorce certificate. This was another aspect of my research, I knew that M needed a copy of the union council certificate.
*Cultural note* In Pakistan, smaller towns are divided up with Union Councils. . .think equivalent of a Town Council or a Board of Supervisors only with a lot more leverage. The Union Council maintains divorce records and tries to set up arbitration to prevent a divorce. This is in addition to many other duties . . .
Unfortunately, M's family felt that the council would not give a certificate because of the influence of the girl's family. For this reason, M's father and brother enlisted the help of an attorney, who drew up a paper for M to get signed and notarized in Canada. This letter was written on something called "Rupee Paper" and had Government of Pakistan watermarks on it. The attorney assured M's family that this was "exactly" what was necessary to prove divorce. He claimed to have had clients successfully use it for U.S. Immigration in the past. I, on the other hand, assured M that it was not what was needed and even showed him the information on the Department of State website.
M believed the attorney.
Thursday, May 14, 2009
The Divorce
In my mind it took quite a bit of time for M and Uncle to get the divorce letter written. M thought of it as a very complex document and had no idea whatsoever in how to write it. For this reason he allowed Uncle to write the letter and he would simply read it for accuracy. The letter had to be very specific, Uncle told him, for the sake of the girl. It was comforting to me that they took this into consideration, but I still wanted him to legalize it specifically in Canada.
The Canadian divorce would be viewed much more favorably here in the states as well as in Canada. I had already read how divorces from Pakistan were eyed suspiciously be U.S. Immigration because of the supposed ease of obtaining fake certificates and the prevalence of 'fake' so called 'green-card' marriages from that country. I must have been 'warned' by 'friends' a million times about being careful of my Pakistani fiancee since he might have another wife waiting for him in Pakistan. . .especially hurtful since, haha *insert horrified, hurt face* on me, technically he did, and I hadn't told any of them. (Some of my friends had even told me they were worried when I took my first trip to Canada to visit, that I would find him there with a whole other family. . .)
M's reaction to this suggestion was not good. The cheapest attorney we could find in Canada to handle this was about $2,000 and wait times ranged upwards of a year, even with an unconsummated, short marriage with no compicating financial entanglement or children, etc. . .Divorce in Pakistan, on the other hand, was simply the cost of the postage and the notary stamp. Since rukhsati had not taken place (the girl never left home and the marriage was not consummated) divorce would be almost immediate on the receipt of the letter. This uncomplicated version of divorce was probably another reason U.S. Immigration frowns on these certificates.
As if the situation couldn't just be this simple, it was further complicated by the fact that M would have to obtain an official copy of the divorce certificate from Pakistan. This would be completely impossible from the U.S. or Canada, so he would have to rely on his family *insert malicious laugh here* to obtain the official documentation. You can well imagine how keen they were on helping out with this matter.
And so, Uncle wrote the letter, M recopied it, so as the divorce would be from him, it was signed and notarized and copies were sent to all involved parties, Union Council, the family of the woman in Pakistan, and M's family. This was not the end of the story, since the union council and the woman's family wanted to try arbitration. I got more than one panicked call from M about some family member or another calling to threaten his family, with what social outcasting I was never told, if the divorce went through. As far as M was concerned, religiously and legally for Pakistan, the divorce was already done. The letter was final and since he had written it a specific way (3 talaqs) it would not be undone. Now, we just had to wait for the legal certificate.
The Canadian divorce would be viewed much more favorably here in the states as well as in Canada. I had already read how divorces from Pakistan were eyed suspiciously be U.S. Immigration because of the supposed ease of obtaining fake certificates and the prevalence of 'fake' so called 'green-card' marriages from that country. I must have been 'warned' by 'friends' a million times about being careful of my Pakistani fiancee since he might have another wife waiting for him in Pakistan. . .especially hurtful since, haha *insert horrified, hurt face* on me, technically he did, and I hadn't told any of them. (Some of my friends had even told me they were worried when I took my first trip to Canada to visit, that I would find him there with a whole other family. . .)
M's reaction to this suggestion was not good. The cheapest attorney we could find in Canada to handle this was about $2,000 and wait times ranged upwards of a year, even with an unconsummated, short marriage with no compicating financial entanglement or children, etc. . .Divorce in Pakistan, on the other hand, was simply the cost of the postage and the notary stamp. Since rukhsati had not taken place (the girl never left home and the marriage was not consummated) divorce would be almost immediate on the receipt of the letter. This uncomplicated version of divorce was probably another reason U.S. Immigration frowns on these certificates.
As if the situation couldn't just be this simple, it was further complicated by the fact that M would have to obtain an official copy of the divorce certificate from Pakistan. This would be completely impossible from the U.S. or Canada, so he would have to rely on his family *insert malicious laugh here* to obtain the official documentation. You can well imagine how keen they were on helping out with this matter.
And so, Uncle wrote the letter, M recopied it, so as the divorce would be from him, it was signed and notarized and copies were sent to all involved parties, Union Council, the family of the woman in Pakistan, and M's family. This was not the end of the story, since the union council and the woman's family wanted to try arbitration. I got more than one panicked call from M about some family member or another calling to threaten his family, with what social outcasting I was never told, if the divorce went through. As far as M was concerned, religiously and legally for Pakistan, the divorce was already done. The letter was final and since he had written it a specific way (3 talaqs) it would not be undone. Now, we just had to wait for the legal certificate.
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