by Jean Sasson
I slowly walked to a window seat and sat down. I pressed my head against the small windowpane. After covering myself with a blanket, I closed my eyes. I felt a rush of gladness that I lived in Saudi Arabia rather than Afghanistan. I almost laughed at the irony of such an idea, for there is much danger for women in Saudi Arabia. In my own country, too, fanatical men have the powerful capability to ruin lives.
The year before, an appalling event occurred which again came to my mind. A young woman by the name of Hussah, who was one of Maha’s friends at school, had discovered the enormous power wielded by men over women in the name of religion.
Hussah was an unusually pretty girl with a charming disposition. Her school grades proved her intelligence, and her bubbly personality gained her many friends. Maha often reported that Hussah enlivened dull school days.
Hussah had visited our palace on more than one occasion, and I, too, grew fond of this young woman. My affection for her increased when I learned that her own mother had died the previous year, and that her father’s new wife disliked Hussah. Despite this sadness, Hussah was always smiling and friendly.
When Hussah was three years old, her family had moved to Egypt, where they remained for ten years. In Egypt, Hussah had grown accustomed to more independence than girls are allowed in the inflexible atmosphere of Saudi Arabia. When the family returned to Riyadh, despite her early years of freedom in Egypt, Hussah had accepted Saudi life without complaint. She obediently wore the veil and abaaya in public places, and did not complain about the other restrictions imposed on women.
Inside the safe confines of her family’s compound, Hussah was a normal modern girl. She wore jeans and T-shirts, she chatted for long hours on the telephone, and she spent many hours swimming in the family pool. Hussah had always enjoyed sports activities, and was sad that women in Saudi Arabia are not allowed to compete in events such as the international Olympics. Such a dream is unattainable for Saudi females, so Hussah’s swimming achievements must remain for her pleasure only.
Hussah’s tragic fate arose due to her love of swimming. Hussah often wore bikinis when taking her daily laps, and these costumes displayed the fact that Hussah had been blessed with a voluptuous body.
Unfortunately for Hussah, the family living next door to her home were Islamic fundamentalists. When the eldest son of that family caught a glimpse of the sexy Hussah in her skimpy swimsuit, her life was forever changed.
Although high walls surround every Saudi home, the higher storied home will often have a view of adjacent gardens. Hussah’s family home was a one-story villa, while the neighbor’s home reached three stories. If someone on the third floor should happen to glance out of a certain small window, he or she was rewarded with a view of the bordering garden and swimming pool. While most considerate Muslim neighbors will seal up such a window, this was not the case here.
This young man, Fadi, was studying to become a Mutawwa. After observing Hussah in her swimsuit, he became so incensed that he purchased a long-lens camera and took many photographs of the young woman as she swam in the privacy of her own pool. As fate would have it, on one of the days Fadi was secretly taking photographs, Hussah’s bikini top accidentally loosened. Her full breasts were exposed only long enough for the neighbor to capture that image on film.
Filled with the venom that only the self-righteous possess, Fadi complained to the local religious authorities that Hussah was a wicked sinner who had intentionally exposed her breasts to him. In his fervor, he falsely claimed that Hussah’s eyes had met his, and that she had smiled invitingly just before lowering her swimming costume! He further declared that Hussah’s act had caused him to sin by dreaming of naked vixens. In order to recover his former state of purity, he demanded that Hussah be stoned to death!
If the local authorities had agreed with Fadi, the poor girl would be in her grave. But her father was pressured to believe that the years spent abroad and the small freedoms his daughter had once enjoyed had influenced Hussah to become a flagrant exhibitionist. These men of religion who talked with him believed that education and hobbies for women would ensure the decay of Saudi society.
They generously agreed not to punish Hussah, if her father himself would take certain harsh measures. Hussah was to be removed from school, she was to be forbidden to swim, and most importantly, she should be married within the month. They also insisted that Hussah’s husband should be an older man practiced in controlling wayward females. In fact, these men even had such a husband in mind! They believed that Fadi’s own father would be a good choice, as he already had three wives, and they knew him to be a strict and pious man. He would not allow Hussah opportunities that might bring shame on her family name. Fortunately for Hussah, they reported, this neighbor had seen Hussah’s photograph and had agreed to accept the moral duty of “subduing” this wicked seducer!
No mention was made of the fact that Fadi was obviously a voyeur, or he would have had the decency to turn his eyes away from another man’s private garden. Nor was it acknowledged that the sight of Hussah’s picture might have aroused sexual desire, rather than religious obligation, in Fadi’s father.
At first, Hussah’s father fought for his daughter. But, he was outnumbered. His new wife sided with the Mutawwas, claiming that Hussah was not the pure daughter he believed, and that the girl was sure to ruin the family name with her embarrassing behavior. Overwhelmed by pressure from all fronts, and believing that even a greater punishment would be inflicted on his daughter if he did not submit to religious authorities, Hussah’s father finally agreed to the marriage.
In a moment, Hussah’s life had gone from relative freedom to the greatest oppression. After a quick wedding, Hussah had managed to telephone Maha only once, but the sound of her shaky voice was cut short when the line was abruptly cut.
With the stories of these two women’s lives so utterly ruined uppermost in my mind, I questioned how it was that so many men of the Islamic faith failed to remember that Prophet Mohammed never tired of praising the infinite mercy of Allah? Every chapter of the Koran, except one, begins with the Bismillah, “In the name of God the Compassionate, the Merciful.”
The sad truth was that Afaaf was right. A large number of Muslim men do defame the Prophet and his teachings when they oppress women in his name.
And, what can we women do? In the Muslim world, it is believed that only men may interpret the Koran. Should any woman complain of the way women such as Afaaf or Hussah are treated, that woman would be accused of attacking our faith—an unforgivable crime assuring the severest punishment.
These thoughts were interrupted when I heard Maysa, who in spite of all her efforts had nodded off in her seat, cry out in her sleep. Knowing that the unfortunate Maysa was at that moment witnessing our beloved Prophet as a pig, I knew that her dreams were even more disturbing than my own thoughts. I would not be in Maysa’s situation for all the freedom in the world.
Chapter Ten
Stolen Angels
Our plane soon landed at the La Guardia Airport in New York. Thankfully, we passed through customs and immigration quickly since one of the Saudi officials from our Consulate offices in New York was on hand to guide us through that place and ensure VIP treatment.
Ten limousines stood ready to transport us, and our luggage, to the New York Plaza Hotel. The women were highly excited, so it took long moments for us to decide who would ride with whom, in what car.
Exasperated, Kareem began to shout, telling us that we reminded him of large black birds flitting from one place to another. The other women calmed down and quickly found a place to sit, but I stood aside, and stubbornly refused to enter the limousine until Kareem apologized for his rude remarks.
Kareem saw that I was willing to take a firm stand, so he lifted his shoulders in resignation and said, “I am sorry, Sultana. Now, please, get in the car!”
Somewhat appeased, I sat with Sara and Maysa. I watched as the limousine driver rolled his eyes; obviously, he was unaccustomed to t
he histrionic displays of female Saudi royalty. Despite the disruptions, we were soon on our way to the Plaza Hotel.
Kareem had reserved an entire wing of the grand old hotel that had long been our favorite during our visits to New York City. Time and again, the staff at the Plaza had proven their discretion in providing hospitality to guests from wealthy Middle Eastern countries. Such thoughtful service is not forgotten.
As we drove into the city, I watched with delight as women drivers sped pass us. Such a sight I never tire of when I visit other lands! Women are not allowed to drive in Saudi Arabia, and since this restriction has no basis in our religion, it has always angered me. Years ago, Kareem took me for driving lessons in the desert. I learned to drive, but I have never driven through the streets of my own country. To add insult to injury, a woman of forty years is forbidden to drive in Saudi Arabia, yet boys no more than eight or nine years old are frequently seen at the wheel of a speeding automobile filled with terrified women. Some Bedouin men in my country give their camels better treatment than they do their wives. In Saudi Arabia, it is not an uncommon sight to see baby camels riding in the passenger seat of an air-conditioned truck while veiled women are riding in the open truck base at the back!
Now, watching American women drive confidently through the heavy city traffic lifted my spirits. Surely, while visiting such a country as the United States, I could finally forget about the misfortunes that plague so many females. I could take immediate pleasure in the freedom for women that I saw all around me.
Unfortunately, as happens so frequently in my life, my wish was not to be granted.
The traffic was not heavy, and our automobile ride from the airport to the hotel lasted no more than thirty-five minutes. A second Consulate employee had ensured special security arrangements upon our arrival at the hotel, so we were all escorted directly to our rooms.
We women parted company in the hotel corridor. In a high state of excitement, we agreed we would not give in to jet-lag, but would dress as quickly as possible, and then meet in Sara’s suite before setting off for our long-awaited shopping spree.
Once Kareem and I had inspected our suite and found it to our satisfaction, he turned to me with a smile, and said, “Sultana, I must leave soon, but before I leave, I want to give you a small gift.”
I stared at Kareem in wonder. What now? My husband is a generous man who often showers me with expensive gifts at the most unexpected times.
He then slipped a platinum American Express credit card into my hand. “Sultana, you can use this card to purchase anything you wish up to $500,000 in American dollars.”
He smiled at the expression on my face. “Darling, you have been under such a strain, lately. You deserve to have a good time. But,” he added, “this card will probably not be enough to cover jewelry. Should you find something special you want, just ask the manager to hold it, and I will send one of my bankers tomorrow to complete the purchase.”
I turned the card over in my hands. This would be the first time I had ever been given one. When I shop in Saudi Arabia, never do I pay for my own purchases. In fact, I rarely know the price of the items I purchase. I always leave the details regarding payment to one of our business managers. I was accustomed to merely pointing out what I wanted, knowing that the items would be paid for later. Today, though, I felt pleased that we were not accompanied by one of our business managers and that I would be responsible for charging my own purchases.
Kareem then retrieved a large bundle of American currency of various denominations out of his briefcase and literally stuffed my handbag. Three times he cautioned me not to let strangers see that money; he did not want New York muggers smashing in my head.
Just then Asad knocked at the door, and Kareem rushed out with his brother to attend a business meeting.
I was left alone at last. I telephoned Libby and asked her to come to my room and prepare my bath. After the long plane ride, I needed to freshen up. Later, as I soaked in my bath, I lazily decided that I would shop at Bergdorf Goodman, a favorite department store for many Al Sa’ud women.
Once I was dressed, I joined the other women waiting in Sara’s suite. After lengthy discussions, we decided that Sara and Maysa would accompany me to Bergdorf Goodman. Libby, Betty, and Afaaf stood silently, waiting for our instructions. Generally we would take our servants with us when we go out shopping, but on this day our hearts were so sad for Afaaf that Sara and I decided to surprise them with a cash bonus and the day off. All three women smiled gratefully before leaving to shop on Fifth Avenue.
The seventh woman in our party, Cousin Huda, declined to join us. For her, shopping could wait. Instead, she announced, she planned to remain in her suite and indulge herself in fine food and drink. In fact, already she had ordered three large tins of Beluga caviar, and was now looking forward to an afternoon spent eating caviar, drinking champagne, and watching American soap operas on television.
I stared in amazement at Huda. Why would any woman choose to remain locked in a hotel suite to eat instead of shopping in New York City? We Saudi women remain secluded for so much of our lives that one would think such an opportunity as this would not be missed.
I shrugged but said nothing to convince Huda otherwise. She was not one of my favorite cousins, nor did we have a particularly close relationship. I could not understand her obsession with food, and every conversation with her involved hearing about some special dish or another that she had either prepared or eaten. One story that was repeated in our family with great amusement was that Huda and her husband often flew to France for a single meal!
Only Sara was kind enough to endure her long conversations describing gourmet dishes. For this reason, Huda had attached herself to Sara, and my gentle sister was too kind to pull away. So, I was relieved that Huda was staying behind.
Our walk to Bergdorf Goodman took only minutes, but for me, it was an exhilarating walk, for I never tire of such simple freedoms taken for granted by most of the women of the world. Here I was, in broad daylight, dressed in a form-fitting blue Armani jacket and skirt, walking down a city street crowded with men. Here, women need not fear the sudden appearance of the Mutawwa, the Saudi religious police, with their sticks to strike any woman immoral enough to dress in such provocative attire.
I felt a great gaiety, and not a little vain. I have always been sad that I was not blessed with long limbs, as are my sisters. Yet my legs, although short, are shapely. Now I was well aware that my matching blue high-heeled shoes displayed my legs to a good advantage. A breeze blew through my long wavy hair, which I deliberately tossed as I chatted with Sara and Maysa. I felt exuberant and happy to have the freedom to show my face, display my lovely clothes, and walk the streets of a large city—and all without a hovering male escort!
I thought that Western women are indeed more fortunate than they realize. This thought led me to Afaaf. I knew that she must be enjoying this sweet day of freedom, even more than me.
I glanced at Maysa and smiled. She had not taken particular care with her personal appearance. Yet, an expensive black suit covers many flaws. Sara was dressed more demurely than Maysa or me, in a modest dress of crème silk with a high neck and long sleeves, but as always she looked stunning.
I felt deliciously feminine and pretty when I became aware of several men staring at us as we walked down the street. While my flamboyance drew their initial attention, I noticed that their eyes lingered longest on Sara, who, of course completely failed to notice that we were the focus of so many appreciative glances.
Once we entered the department store, I followed my usual behavior when confronted with such a dazzling display of merchandise: I purchased every item that caught my eye! In a short time I had selected fifteen expensive evening gowns to wear to parties and weddings. There is much competition among us Al Sa’ud women, so I shopped for the newest and most original styles. I did not take the time to try on these dresses. My custom is to buy many, many clothes, and then give away what does not fit
or I do not like.
I was not totally selfish, though; I also found many wonderful gifts for my children and Kareem.
As soon as I informed a clerk that I would take a dozen silk blouses in one style and color, she quickly determined that we were members of the royal family of Saudi Arabia, and called one of the store managers. After that, we were accompanied by the manager as we examined Bergdorf Goodman’s huge collection of designer wear.
Soon, more than ten employees had been summoned to carry our heavy shopping bags. It was evident in the faces around us that our spending spree at Bergdorf Goodman’s was a most exciting event.
Although Sara and Maysa’s purchases together filled no more than five shopping bags, I required more than thirty bags for the items I had selected. Surely, I thought, Kareem would need to replenish my special card with additional funds; I was astonished when the manager said that my total expenditure at Bergdorf Goodman’s amounted to only $388,000.
Sara was not surprised when I told her of Kareem’s gift, as most members of our family are fabulously wealthy, and on our shopping trips we buy anything we desire. Still, our purchases are trifling compared to the real estate and business deals our husbands were conducting even as we shopped.
Maysa had been born into a Palestinian family of modest means, so her reaction was one of disapproval at my extravagance. I overheard her when she murmured, “Multiply your possessions, increase your burdens.” Maysa looked at me and shook her head sadly. “If Allah chooses to bless me with an additional hundred years of life, I will never adjust to the reckless spending that goes on in this family. Really, Sultana, surely by now even you are wearied of buying endless party dresses and fine jewelry?”
I was not offended by her words. Who could be angry with a woman who lived such an exemplary life of selfless generosity? I knew that Maysa preferred to spend her husband’s wealth on the poor. Once I heard that Naif and Maysa supported over eighty Palestinian families living on the West Bank, not only housing, feeding, and clothing them, but also paying for the education of the children.