For the Love of Nadia - My daughter was kidnapped by her father and taken to Libya. This is my heart-wrenching true story of my quest to bring her home. Sarah Taylor
was dancing, drinking and a buffet dinner. I felt happier than I had ever been in my life; Fawzi seemed to feel the same way.
Everything was perfect and I was looking forward to a long and contented life with this lovely man.
I was thrilled to be married and to begin with we were reasonably happy, although we were really strapped for cash. I had given up my job at the Trafford Centre but was still working for the Inland Revenue. Fawzi was studying English at various colleges and working at the pizza takeaway in the evenings, which brought in a little money, but I was basically keeping a roof over our heads. Fawzi claimed to be paying the Council Tax and would contribute when he could; he’d occasionally buy the food shopping or treat us to a takeaway, but it wasn’t much.
I don’t know what would have happened if we’d both held down normal jobs and were able to enjoy a proper routine, but within a few months cracks started to appear in our relationship. I’d go out to my office in Preston every morning while Fawzi was working most evenings in Whiston, so it was only at weekends that we were able to spend any time together. At weekends when Fawzi wasn’t at work, I tried to persuade him to take us out for the day or do something different together, but, as he was working late during the week, he always seemed to be tired and not up to going out. I tried to be sympathetic and maybe every other weekend we would go into Wigan for a few drinks, then head home for a takeaway but, over the next few months, Fawzi began to act differently. He became distant and started to spend more time going out with his friends.
Fawzi was at home very little and, even when I was alone with him, he just wasn’t relaxed – it was like he was nervous of something, or just didn’t want to be with me. For some reason, he was preoccupied and I could never work out why, so I just put it down to his culture, in which all the men spend time together and all the women are either at home or in the company of other women. Perhaps he was just getting used to married life and this was how it was going to be for a little while. So, for the time being, I thought I could cope with this existence and hoped it would improve when we had children.
Having a baby was something we had already talked about and, now we were married, we could get going! I was desperate for a child and Fawzi agreed with me that it should be sooner rather than later in case I did have problems conceiving. But I tried my best not to dwell on this as I knew it would be much harder for me to become pregnant if I was stressed, but naturally I couldn’t help worrying. A baby was what I wanted most and knowing there was a possibility of being denied this through no fault of my own was at times unbearable.
Looking back, I probably already knew that the relationship wasn’t working out and believed that starting a family might improve things; I thought having a baby might change Fawzi and the way he related to me. I know it’s an archetypal response and a little naïve, but that’s the way I felt – I longed for a loving relationship and a normal family life. I had visions of the three of us going out together, just a regular family, doing everyday family things. That was all I wanted – it didn’t seem too much to ask.
Before Fawzi and I were married I was using Depo-Provera as a form of contraception. I’d been having injections for a few years, but, as soon as Fawzi and I were married, I stopped taking it. My doctor advised that it might take me a while to conceive as a result of this method of contraception, irrespective of my medical history. My periods had stopped and so he prescribed medication to start them off again.
In September 2002, it seemed the impossible had happened: I thought I might be pregnant. I couldn’t believe it and assumed I must be mistaken, but I did a home test and the result was positive. It’s impossible to put into words how elated I felt. Maybe my dream was going to come true, after all. I told Fawzi that I might be pregnant but warned that it hadn’t yet been confirmed by the doctor. He didn’t react at all. Fawzi was never one to show any enthusiasm, but I was surprised by his lack of emotion. Perhaps he hadn’t realised how accurate these home tests were. When I asked him if he was happy, he just said, ‘Yeah.’
I went straight down to the surgery and was told to ring back a few days later. I don’t know how I managed to get through those seventy-two hours, which seemed like a lifetime, but finally I was able to telephone my doctor and very nervously ask what the results were.
‘Positive, I’m glad to say,’ was her response. I wanted to scream with joy, but I was at work and somehow managed to contain myself. It was still early days, so I kept it quiet.
‘How many weeks pregnant am I?’
‘Four,’ the doctor replied.
I felt so proud of myself. After all the fears of not being able to have a baby, I had done it. We had done it! I rang Fawzi immediately.
‘Fawzi, listen, I’ve had the pregnancy results back. It’s positive. I’m pregnant!’
There was a slight pause before he responded, ‘Oh, all right.’
‘Do you have anything else to say?’
Fawzi hesitated: ‘Yes, that’s good – very good.’
I was really upset when I put the phone down – I was so excited and he seemed so disinterested. I’d been expecting something more than this. Still, maybe he had just woken up; perhaps he was in a bad mood. Supposing he was with a friend and couldn’t speak. Maybe it was as much of a shock for him as it was for me. Possibly he needed some time to mull over the news and get used to the idea of being a dad. When I get home it will be different, he’ll make much more of a fuss, I thought.
By the time I arrived home from work, I was sure he would be there to greet me with flowers, hug me and make sure I was feeling okay. He wasn’t working that night, so perhaps we could celebrate with a romantic dinner.
I couldn’t have been more mistaken.
As I entered the house, he greeted me with a quick hug and a peck on the cheek, and then said he was going out.
I confronted him: ‘I’m pregnant! Don’t you have anything to say?’
After hesitating for a moment, Fawzi said: ‘That’s great, I’ve got to go – I’m late for work.’
And, with that, my husband was out the door.
I was shocked and upset: how could he be so cruel? Didn’t he know how much this meant to me? But then I became angry: I can’t make him want the baby as much as I do, and, if he really isn’t interested, then there’s nothing I can do, but, whatever happens, I’m having this baby – with or without his involvement.
I couldn’t wait to tell Mum and Dad the news. Their reaction was naturally much more positive. They were, of course, ecstatic as they were sure I would never be able to have children and were thrilled for me. I didn’t have to spell out Fawzi’s reaction to them. They knew exactly what he was like and weren’t surprised at his lack of interest.
Despite my previous health problems, I was really well during pregnancy and from day one I was blooming. I was very healthy and suffered no morning sickness. Completely on a high, I was excited the whole time. One thing that I remember about being pregnant was that, for some reason, I had a craving for melon and yoghurt. Late one night, I was so desperate that I sent Fawzi to the twenty-four-hour Tesco. I ate a whole melon and several cartons of yoghurt as soon as he got back!
Another thing that sticks in my mind was the fact that Fawzi didn’t come with me for my first scan, which started an argument between us. He didn’t see it as important and refused point blank to accompany me. Good old Mum came along with me instead but, when I got back to the house, Fawzi didn’t even ask how I’d got on, let alone want to see the photo of the scan I’d brought home with me.
How could he treat his expectant wife like this?