There is much to say about the publishing industry today; one of which is to state how and what gets published, as well as the why and when. The debate about female participation in literature is not new. We can glimpse over films like The Wife -where the woman writes, and her husband gets the Nobel Prize as he continues to cheat his way through life-just to mention one.

While a lot has changed and continues to improve in the publishing world, travelling back in time all the way to medieval Andalus shows us a different scene. On a bustling street where copies of books from Baghdad, Cairo, Fes and Tunis are being bound and sold, there stands a man, reciting his verses about unrequited love for a woman he had seen one passing on the street. A few meters away, from a small house we hear a woman’s voice throwing words back in perfect rhymes, rebuking his thoughts. He gets red angry and throws an insult; she smiles and sings a witty line to prove how childish his anger is. This scene is nothing out of the ordinary in the 12^th century when the many streets of Andalus were filled with women poets in constant engagement with poetry and the higher arts.

As the evening draws, another small house at the edge of Cordoba is lit up. The warm yellow light fills the cobbled street, its light reflecting on the river Guadalquivir. A sweet murmur linger in the air, floating form the house, followed by a few notes of lute music. Then it all quiets into an anticipation. A voice starts reading and gentle claps nudge her along as her voice becomes braver and more passionate. Wallada is not shy, she is reading her poems with pride and confidence.

Wallada bint al Mustakfi established her own life, artfully crafting a life of authority and self-referencing. She defied all stereotypes of Muslim women in Andalus and, in fact, the world today. The most curious fact, however, is that her artistic flair easily fit into a society where authorship and learning was encouraged on every level, regardless of race or gender. Wallada was a beautiful princess with light skin and blue eyes that made her special in every aspect amongst the darker skinned andalusis. Some estimate around 60,000 female poets who were successfully running or participating in the regular activities of literary salons; but most of their work has been perished, except a few that survived in al-Maqqarī’s (c. 1617/1968) famous book, Nafḥ al-ṭīb.

Wallada was also known for her tormenting affair with Ibn Zaydoun and there is a small statue in Cordoba encapsulating some of the better days of their love and affection, which quickly turned into hatred as their relationship progressed. This, as we know from scarce historic sources, was to do with their fiery characters that prevented them to actually love one another.

It was not unknown at the time that women and men spoke in poetry. A poem was recited to the lover and the response was given in a poetic form, also. Talking was not what we do today- it was recitation of verses, rhymes and rhythms.

A poem was written about her:

Wallada would be such a noble prize for a collector,

 If she could but differentiate between a veterinarian and a

 druggist.

They said, “Abu Amir now embraces her.”

 I replied, “Moth are often drawn close to the fire.”

 You have blamed us for being succeeded by him

 With the one we love, yet there is no shame in this.

 It was a tasty meal; we ate the sweetest morsels,

 and left some for the Mouse.

And a response came in the following form:

“You are deformed by birth… unsurpassed in stupidity, cruel by nature, hard of

hearing, boorish in response, despicable in appearance, clumsy in coming and

going… endowed with putrid breath, possessed of abundant defects, and

renowned for your vices! Your speech is stutter, your conversation a mutter, your

discourse a clutter! Your laugh is cackle, and your gait a scamper! Your wealth is

beggary, your religion heresy and your learning bragger!

But the rebuttal continues in description: “whose pond is a trickle and whose well has gone dry, whose energy is gone and whose remaining strength enables him to do nothing but fart?!”

This is more than a bit of banter; it is a full on fiery conversation with depth and offence which tells us about the character of poets and poetesses of Andalus.

Her former lover Ibn Zaydoun was attacked by several short invective poems, in which Ibn Zaydun was portrayed as a homosexual:

” Your nickname is musaddas or the man with sue faces. It is a name which never will leave you, even when life leaves you. You are a homosexual, a weak person, a whoremonger, an insignificant person, a cuckold and a thief. Ibn Zaydun slanders me injustly, in spite of his excellence, and in me is no fault; He looks askance at me, when I come along; it is as if I have come to castrate ‘All. Because of his love for the rods in the trousers, Ibn Zaydun, in spite of his excellence. If he would see a penis in a palm tree, he would belong to the birds called abdbil.

There are also a few love poems from her hand in which she herself takes the initiative to continue the relationship with Ibn Zaydoun. She is the one who wants to pay a visit to her lover, which apparently is contrary to established custom, as we see when we read other poetesses. Wallada said in her love poem;-”’ When the evening descends, await then my visit, because I see the night is the one who keeps secrets best [is the best keeper of secrets]. I carry a love for you, which – if the sun would have fell a similar love, she would not rise; and the moon, he would not appear; and the stars, they would not undertake their nightly travel”.

The female literary scene in fascinating the say the least in medieval Andalus but one thing is for sure, women hardly lacked the audacity of creating poems and documenting their lives. And thank God for that!