Princess

by Jean P. Sasson

  We young, modern-thinking Saudi couples embraced the subtle relaxation of the severe restrictions upon women as the years of efforts by King Faisal and his wife Iffat for women’s education and freedom proved successful. Along with our education came a determination to change our country. A few women no longer covered their faces, discarding their veils and bravely staring down the religious men who dared to challenge them. They still covered their hair and wore abaayas, but the bravery of these few gave hope to us all. We royals would never be allowed such freedom; it was the middle class that showed their strength.

  Schools for women were now opening without public demonstrations of disapproval by the mutawas. We felt certain that women’s education would eventually lead to our equality. Unfortunately, the punishment of death for women among the uneducated fundamentalists still occurred. One small step at a time, we grimly reminded each other.

  Suddenly, over a six-month period, Kareem and I became the owners of four new homes. Our new palace in Riyadh was finally completed. Kareem decided his new son would grow more hardy if he inhaled fresh sea breezes, so we purchased a new villa by the seaside in Jeddah. My father owned a spacious apartment house in London only four streets away from Harrods, and he offered the property, at a grand bargain, to any of his children who might be interested. Since my other sisters and their husbands already owned apartments in London, and Sara and Asad were in the process of purchasing an apartment in Venice, Kareem and I eagerly seized the opportunity to have a home in that colorful city so loved by Arabs. And finally, as a special three-year wedding anniversary gift for presenting him with a precious son, Kareem bought me a lovely villa in Cairo.

  Upon the occasion of Abdullah’s birth, the family jeweler had flown to Riyadh from Paris to bring a selection of diamonds, rubies, and emeralds that he had designed into seven distinctive necklace, bracelet, and earring sets. Needless to say, I felt richly rewarded for doing what I had wanted to do.

  Kareem and I spent as much time as possible in Jeddah. Happily, our villa was located on a coveted spot frequented by the Royal Family.

  We played backgammon as we watched our son, surrounded by Filipino maids, paddle in the warm blue waters that teemed with exotic fish. Even we females were allowed to swim, though we kept our abaayas tight around us until we were up to our necks in water. One of the servants relieved me of the abaaya held high with my hand so that I could swim and splash with abandon. I was as free as it was possible for a woman to be in Saudi Arabia.

  It was the end of March, not a hot month of the year, so we did not linger long after the midday sun. I told the servants to gather our laughing baby and rinse him under the specially made portable hot shower. We watched him as he gurgled and kicked his short, fat legs. Our smiles were broad with pride; Kareem squeezed my hand and said he felt guilty for feeling such happiness. I accused him later of bringing us, and all Saudis, bad luck by voicing his joy with life.

  Most Arabs believe in the evil eye; never do we speak aloud of our joy with life or of the beauty of our children. Quite possibly, some evil spirit will hear and steal the object of our joy or cause us some grief by taking away a loved one. To ward off this evil eye, our babies are protected by blue beads pinned to their clothing. As enlightened as we were, our son was no exception.

  Moments later, we recoiled in horror as Asad ran toward us with the words, “King Faisal is dead! Murdered by one of the family!” Struck dumb, we sat quivering as Asad told us the scanty details he had learned from a royal cousin.

  At the root of our uncle’s death was a dispute about the opening of a television station that had occurred nearly ten years before. King Faisal had always stood firm for the progress of modernization for our backward land. Kareem said he had heard him say once that whether we Saudis liked it or not, he was going to pull us, kicking and screaming, into the twentieth century.

  The problems he faced with the extremely religious citizens were a continuation of vexing situations encountered by our very first ruler and Faisal’s father, Abdul Aziz. These men of religion fought furiously against the opening of the first radio station, and our first king overcame the objections by ordering the Koran read over the airwaves. The religious ones could find little fault in such a speedy method of spreading God’s word. Years later, when Faisal strove to provide television stations to our people, he, like his father before him, encountered much opposition from the Ulema (the religious sheikhs).

  Tragically, members of the Royal Family joined in such protests, and in September 1965, when I was but a child, one of our cousins was shot and killed by the police as he led a demonstration against a television station a few miles outside Riyadh. The renegade prince, with his followers in tow, had stormed the station. This episode ended in a rifle battle with the police, and he was killed. Nearly ten years had passed, but hate had bubbled in the younger brother of the prince until he had now retaliated by shooting and killing his uncle, the king.

  Kareem and Asad flew to Riyadh. Sara and I, along with various female royal cousins, congregated within the confines of a family walled palace. We all wailed and shouted our grief to each other. There were few female cousins who did not love King Faisal, for he was our sole chance for change and ultimate freedom. He alone had the prestige with both the religious men and royal factions of our land to further the cause of women. He felt our chains as his own, and beseeched our fathers to stand behind him in his quest for social change. Once I myself heard him say that even though there are separate roles for men and women, as directed by God, no sex should rule with unquestioned supremacy over the other. With a quiet voice he said that he would know little happiness until each citizen of his land, both male and female, was the master of his or her own fate. He believed that only through the education of our women would our cause be enforced, for our ignorance has surely kept us in darkness. Certainly, no ruler since Faisal has championed our plight. Looking back, our short but heady climb to freedom began its slippery descent the moment his life exploded with the bullets of deceit from his own family. Sadly, we women knew that our one chance for freedom was buried with King Faisal.

  Each of us felt anger and hate for the family that had bred such a one as our cousin, Faisal ibn Musaid, the slayer of our hopes and dreams. One of my cousins shouted out that the slayer’s father himself was not right in his mind. He, who had been born prominent in the scheme of Saudi royalty, a half-brother of King Faisal himself, had shunned all contact with family members and responsibility of the throne. One son had been a fanatic, willing to die to prevent the innocent installment of a television station, and another son had killed our beloved and respected King Faisal.

  No pain could be worse than the thought of Saudi Arabia without such wisdom to guide us. Never before or since have I witnessed such national grief. It was as if our entire land and all its people were swathed in agony. The best leadership our family had to offer had been struck down by one of our own.

  Three days later, Sara’s daughter surprised her mother by entering the world as a breech baby. Little Fadeela, named for our mother, joined a nation in mourning. Our grief was so deep that recovery was sluggish, but little Fadeela revived our minds and we recalled the message of joy through her new life.

  Sara, in her fear for her daughter’s future, convinced Asad to sign a document that said their daughter would be free to choose her husband without family interference. Sara had suffered a troubling nightmare that she and Asad were killed in an airplane crash and her daughter was raised in the rigid manner of our generation. Sara, staring pointedly at Asad, said she would commit murder rather than see her daughter wed to a man of evil schemes. Asad, still wild with love for his wife, comforted her by signing the paper and by establishing a Swiss bank account in the baby’s name for one million dollars. Sara’s daughter would have the legal and financial means to escape her personal nightmares should necessity arise.

  Ali returned from the United States for the summer holiday and, if it were possible, he was
even more obnoxious than I recalled. He made a great point of telling us of his escapades with American women and announced that, yes, it was true, just as he had been told, they were all whores!

  When Kareem interrupted and stated that he had met many women of high morals when he was in Washington, Ali laughed and suggested that much had changed. He declared that the women he had met in bars took the initiative and proposed sex before he had had the opportunity even to bring up the subject.

  Kareem told him that was the issue; if a woman was alone in a bar, she was more than likely looking for a one-night stand or a good time. After all, women were free in America, the same as men. He advised Ali to attend church or cultural events, where he would be surprised at the conduct of the women. Ali was adamant. He said that he had tested the morals of women from all walks of life in America; they were all definitely whores, in his experience.

  Like most Muslims, Ali would never see or understand the customs and traditions of another religion or land. The only knowledge most Arabs have of American society comes from the content of low-grade American movies and trashy television shows. Most important, Saudi men travel alone. Because of their forced seclusion from female companionship, their only interest lies in foreign women. Sadly, they seek out only women who work in bars as strippers or prostitutes. This slanted view distorts Saudis’ opinions of the morality of the West. Since most Saudi women do not travel, they believe the stories told by their husbands and brothers. As a result, the vast majority of Arabs truly believe that most Western women are promiscuous.

  Admittedly, my brother was handsome in an exotic way that would attract many of the opposite sex, but I knew without a doubt that every woman in America was not a whore! I told Kareem that I longed for the opportunity to travel with Ali. What fun it would be to stand behind him and hold up a sign that proclaimed: THIS MAN SECRETLY DISDAINS YOU AND HOLDS YOU IN CONTEMPT! IF YOU SAY YES TO THIS MAN, HE WILL BRAND YOU A WHORE TO THE WORLD!

  Before Ali left to return to the States, he told Father he was ready to acquire his first wife. Life without sex was a hardship, he said, and he would like a woman to be available to him each time he returned to Riyadh for the holidays. Most important, it was time for him, Ali, to have a son. For without sons, a man has no value in Saudi Arabia, and is scorned by all who know him.

  His new wife could not live with him in the United States, of course, but rather would live in Father’s villa, carefully guarded by Omar and the other servants. Ali said he must be free to enjoy the relaxed morals of America. His only requirement for his wife—other than virginity, of course—was that she be young, no more than seventeen years of age, exceptionally beautiful, and obedient. Within two weeks, Ali was engaged to a royal cousin; a wedding date was set for December, when he would have more than a month between school terms.

  Observing my brother, I recognized my good fortune in having wed a man like Kareem. Doubtless, my husband was far removed from perfection, but Ali was a typical Saudi male; to have such a one as him as your master would make life a grinding affair.

  Prior to Ali’s return to the States, our family gathered at our villa in Jeddah. One evening, the men had too much to drink and became argumentative. After dinner, the volatile issue of whether women should drive automobiles came out into the open for debate. Kareem and Asad joined Sara and me in our push for a change in the silly custom that had no basis whatsoever in Islam.

  We brought up the example of women piloting planes in industrial nations while we were not allowed to drive an automobile! Many Saudi families could not afford more than one driver, and where did that leave the family when he was on an errand? What would happen if a medical emergency occurred when the driver was unavailable? Did Saudi men think so little of their women’s abilities that they would rather twelve- and thirteen-year-old boys drive (which is common in Saudi Arabia) than adult women?

  Ali, Father, and Ahmed thought the very topic maddening. Ali declared that women and men would be meeting in the deserts for sexual misadventures! Ahmed worried about the veil’s hindrance to visibility. Father brought up the possibility of car accidents, and the vulnerability of the female on the street while awaiting the traffic officer. Father looked around the room for confirmation from his other sons-in-law that a woman behind the wheel of an automobile would endanger herself and others in the process. My other sisters’ husbands busied themselves refreshing their drinks or going to the bathroom.

  Finally, with brash confidence, as if he had the one bright idea that would win the argument, Ali said that since women are more easily influenced than men, they would imitate the youth of our land, who raced their cars through the streets. Naturally, the women would have no thoughts except to emulate them and this would, as a result, cause our already soaring accident rate to climb.

  My brother still infuriated me! Ali mistakenly believed that I had left my youthful impulses behind, but his smug look gave rise to my temper. To everyone’s complete surprise, I leaped at Ali, grabbed a handful of his hair, and began to pull as hard as I could. It took both Kareem and Father to force me to release my grasp. My sisters’ loud laughter rang throughout the room while their husbands stared at me with a combination of awe and fear.

  Ali tried to make peace with me the following day before he departed for the States. My hate was so reckless that I purposely maneuvered him into a conversation about marriage and the insistence of our men that their wives be virgins while they, themselves, tried to sample as many women as possible. Ali took the conversation seriously and proceeded to quote the Koran and enlighten me on the absolute necessity of the virginity of females. The old Sultana of many sly tricks came back to me with ease.

  I shook my head sadly and sighed a deep sigh. Ali asked what was in my heart. I told him that for once he had convinced me. I agreed with him that all females should be virgins when they wed. I added, with a hidden malice he did not see, that the nature of our young girls had so changed that rarely was a real virgin to be found among them. At Ali’s questioning look, I said that certainly there was little misconduct from Saudi women while in Arabia, for what woman wants to lose her life? But when our females traveled, I asserted, they sought out sexual partners and gave their most precious gift to strangers.

  Ali became enraged at the thought of any man other than himself, a Saudi, deflowering a Saudi virgin! He inquired, with great agitation, as to where I had learned such information. With a look of appeal on my face, I begged my brother not to reveal our conversation, for surely Father and Kareem would be scandalized. But I admitted to him that we women discussed such issues, and that it was a known topic: The day of the virgin was leaving our land!

  Ali puckered his lips and sank deep in thought. He asked me what these young girls did on their wedding night; for if there was no blood, a girl would be disgraced and returned to her father. In Arabia, bloodied sheets are still proudly handed to the mother-in-law of the bride so that she can show friends and relatives that a woman of honor and purity has joined her family.

  I leaned closer and told Ali that most young women had surgeries to repair their hymens. I added that most young women gave their virginity over and over again to unsuspecting males. It was simple and easy to fool a man. There were plenty of physicians who skillfully performed the operation in Europe, and a few who were known for the service in Saudi Arabia.

  Then, to Ali’s total horror, I whispered that if, by some chance, the girl could not have a repair job in time for her marriage, it was a simple affair to place the liver of a sheep inside her prior to the sex act. The husband could not tell the difference. It was a sheep liver he was deflowering, and not his wife!

  A new fear engrossed my self-centered brother. He immediately placed an urgent call to a physician friend; holding the telephone, his face became pale when the friend admitted that such operations were possible. As far as the sheep liver, the physician had not heard of it, but it sounded like a viable scheme immoral women would discover sooner or later.

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bsp; Obviously disturbed, Ali returned twice to the villa on that day, asking my advice as to how he could best guard against such trickery. I told him there was no way, unless he had kept company with his new bride day and night since the day she was born. He, Ali, would just have to accept the possibility that the one he wed might very well be human and have committed mistakes in her youth.

  A worried and despondent Ali returned to the States. When I told Kareem, Sara, and Asad of my joke, Sara could not control her glee. Kareem and Asad exchanged looks of worry and glanced at their wives with new thoughts.

  Ali’s wedding remained on schedule. His young bride was achingly beautiful. How I pitied her. But Sara and I laughed aloud when we saw that Ali was frantic with worry. Later, my husband reprimanded me for my mischief when Ali confessed to him that he, Ali, was now dreading the act of sex. What if he had been tricked? He would never know and would be forced to live in doubt with this wife and all future wives.

  The worst possible nightmare for a Saudi male would be to follow another in an act of sex with the women he had wed. If the woman was a prostitute, there was no shame, but his wife represented his family name, bore his sons. The very thought that he might have been misled was more than my brother could bear. I readily admitted to my husband that I had wicked moments and acknowledged without hesitation that I would have to face up to many sins on my day of judgment. Yet, on Ali’s wedding night, I smiled with a satisfaction I had never known. I had discovered and exploited Ali’s greatest fear.

  Chapter Seventeen: The Woman’s Room

  Nura’s hand was shaking as she retrieved the Koran, our holy book. She pointed out a section to me. With increasing emotion, I read aloud the passage:

  “ ‘If any of your women are guilty of lewdness