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Fahd bin Abdul Aziz
Sultan Bin Abdul Aziz
Naef Bin Abdul Aziz
Salman Bin Abdul Aziz
Ahmad Bin Abdul Aziz
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Kareem
Much to father’s amazement, and to my bitter disappointment, Kareem’s
family did not break off our engagement. Instead, Kareem and his father
arrived at Father’s office the following week and politely asked that
Kareem be allowed to meet me, under proper supervision, of course. Kareem
had heard of my unorthodox behavior with his relatives and was decidedly
curious to discover if I was completely mad or just highly spirited.
Father had not responded to my earlier entreaty to meet with Kareem, but a
request from the man’s family was a different matter. After discussing
the issue at length with several of the family aunties and my sister Nura,
Father gave a favorable reply to Kareem’s request.
Wild with joy, I danced around the room when Father told me the news. I
was going to meet the man I would many before I married him! My sisters
and I were electrified, for it was just not done in our society; we were
prisoners who felt the ever-present chains of tradition lighten.
Kareem’s parents and my father and Nura decreed that Kareem and his
mother would come to our villa in two weeks’ time for afternoon tea.
Kareem and I would be chaperoned by Nura, Sara, two of my aunties, and his
mother.
With this possibility of control of my life on the horizon, hope was bom,
a fantasy I dared not imagine only yesterday. I found myself excited and
wondered if I would find Kareem to my taste. Then I was struck with a new
and unpleasant thought; perhaps Kareem would not like me! Oh, how I wanted
to be beautiful like Sara, so that men’s hearts would throb with desire.
Now I stood for hours gazing in the mirror cursing my small stature,
twisting my short, unruly curls. My nose seemed too small for my face, my
eyes had no luster. Perhaps it was best to hide me under a veil until the
night of the wedding!
Sara chuckled at my agony and tried to reassure me: Men loved petite
women, particularly ones with small, upturned noses and smiling eyes. Nura,
whose opinion everyone respected, said, laughingly, that I was considered
very pretty by all the women in the family. I had just never pursued
beauty; perhaps the time had come for me to enhance my assets.
Suddenly consumed with yearnings to be considered a desirable woman, I
told Father I had nothing to wear. For even though we Saudi women veil on
the streets, our dark coverings are discarded the moment we enter the home
of a female friend. Since we cannot awe those of the opposite sex, other
than our husbands, with our carefully selected fashions, we females
attempt to dazzle each other. Here, we really do dress for other women!
For instance, women in my country will arrive at an afternoon tea party
carefully dressed in lace and satin, with their garments tastefully
accented by a display of priceless diamonds and rubies.
Many of my foreign friends have been stunned by the plunging necklines and
skimpy clothing hidden under our dowdy abaayas. I have been told that we
Saudi women resemble bright exotic birds with our choice of attire under
our black veils and abaayas. Without a doubt, we women in black take more
time and effort with our individual clothing under our cloaks than do
Western women, who are fire to flaunt their fashionable clothes.
Father, delighted that I was displaying an interest in a marriage he had
thought I would disrupt, easily relented to my pleas. Nura and her husband
traveled with me to London for a three-day shopping spree at Harrods. I
took great pains to tell the Haffods salesladies that I was going to meet
my fiancee the following week. Just because I was a Saudi princess, I did
not want them to assume I was without choices in my life. I felt
disappointed that no one expressed awe or surprise at my proud
announcement. Those who are file cannot fathom the value of small
victories for those who live on a tether.
While in London, Nura arranged for me to have a cosmetic makeover and a
wardrobe color chart prepared. When told that emerald green was my most
flattering shade, I bought seventeen outfits in that one color. My unruly
hair was pulled back in a smooth twist, and I stared in delicious wonder
at the sophisticated stranger in the storefi-ont windows as I walked
through the shopping districts in London.
Sara and Marci helped me dress on the day of the party. I alternately
cried and cursed at the impossibility of duplicating my London hairstyle
when Huda suddenly appeared at my bedroom door. "Beware," she
cried, her eyes narrowing to slits, "first you will know happiness,
but then unhappiness will come with your new husband." I threw my
hairbrush at her and loudly told her not to spoil my day with her
gibberish. Sara twisted my ear and told me to be ashamed of myself; Huda
was just an old woman. My conscience did not hurt me at all, and I told
Sara so. Sara replied that the reason was that I did not have a
conscience. We sulked with each other until the gate bell rang; then she
hugged me and said I looked lovely in my emerald green dress.
I was actually going to see my future husband in the flesh! The sound of
my pounding heart filled my ears. Feeling all eyes on me watching for my
reaction made me blush, which was ruining the sophisticated entrance I had
planned. Oh, to return to the safety of my childhood!
I had no need for such emotions. Not only was Kareem the most handsome man
I had ever seen; his sensuous eyes caressed my every move and made me feel
quite the loveliest creature on earth. Within minutes of our strained
introduction, I knew he would never call off our engagement. I discovered
in myself a surprising hidden talent, one that is most helpful to women
who must manipulate to achieve their goals. I learned I was a natural
flirt. With the greatest of ease I found myself pursing my lips and
looking at Kareem through lowered lids. My imagination soared: Kareem was
only one of my many suitors.
Kareem’s mother was watching me closely, in obvious distress at my
vampish mannerisms. Sara, Nura, and my aunties were exchanging pained
looks. But Kareem was hypnotized, and nothing else mattered.
Before Kareem and his mother left, he asked if he could call me on the
telephone one evening later in the week to discuss our wedding plans. I
scandalized my aunties by failing to ask their permission first and
replied, "Of course, anytime after nine would be all right." I
gave Kareem a woman’s smile of promise when he said good-bye.
I hummed my favorite tune, a Lebanese love ballad, as Nura, Sara, and my
aunties told me in great detail every wrong move I had made. They declared
that Kareem’s mother was sure to insist the wedding be called off, since
I had practically seduced her son with my eyes and lips. I told them they
were just all jealous because I had the chance to see my husband before
the wedding. I stuck my tongue out at my aunties and told them they were
too old to understand the beatings of young hearts; I left them standing
wide-eyed in shock at my audacity. Then I locked myself in my bathroom and
began to sing at the top of my lungs.
Later, I thought about my performance. Had I not liked Kareem, I would
have ensured that he not like me. I liked him, so I willed him to fall in
love. My actions had been well thought out: If I had found him repulsive
and wanted our engagement canceled, I was going to eat without any
manners, belch in his mother’s face, and spill hot tea in his lap. If
Kareem and his family were still not convinced that I was an unworthy wife
for Kareem, I had thought I might pass gas. Luckily for Kareem and his
mother, they were saved from a shocking aftemoon since I had found him
attractive and pleasing in character. I was so relieved to know I would
not be marrying an old man blunted from life that I thought love would
find fertile ground in our union.
With such pleasant thoughts in my mind, I gave Marci six pretty outfits
from my closet and told her I was going to ask Father if she could go with
me to my new home.
Kareem called me that night. With a great deal of amusement, he told me
]us mother had advised bun against our marriage. She had quivered in
ft" at my boldness and predicted I would bring heartache to her
eldest son and, in turn, disaster to the entire family.
Feeling confident in my newly found female wiles, I tardy replied that he
best consider his mother’s advice.
Kareem whispered that I was the girl of his dreams: a royal cousin,
bright, and of good humor. He declared he could not abide the women his
mother wanted him to wed; they sat fixed like stones and he knew they
tried to anticipate his every wish. He liked a woman with spunk; he would
be bored with the ordinary. He added, in a sexy murmur, that I made his
eyes happy.
Kareem then brought up a puzzling subject; he asked if I had been
circumcised. I told him I would have to ask Father. He cautioned me,
"No, do not ask. If you do not know, then that means you were
not." He seemed pleased with my reply.
In my innocence, I blurted out the question of circumcision at the dinner
table. It was Father’s turn with his third wife on that particular
evening, so Ali was sitting at the head of the table. Aghast at my
question, he put his glass down with a thump and looked to Sara for
comment. I continued to scoop my bread into the dish of hommous, and for a
moment failed to see the anxiety in the eyes of my sisters. When I looked
up, I saw that everyone was ill at ease.
Ali, thinking himself the leader of the family, banged his fist on the
table and demanded to know where I had heard the word. Realizing something
was amiss, I remembered Kareem’s warning and said I had overheard some
of the servants talking.
Ali dismissed my ignorance with a glare in my direction and curtly told
Sara to call Nura in the morning and have her speak to "this
child."
With our mother now dead, Nura, as the eldest, was responsible for my
knowledge of such subjects. She arrived at the villa before ten o’clock
the next morning and came directly to my room. She had been summoned by
Ali. She made a wry face when she said that Ali had informed her that her
performance as eldest daughter was sadly lacking. He, Ali, intended to
notify Father of his observations and displeasure.
Nura sat on the edge of the bed and asked me in a kind voice what I knew
of the relations between a man and a woman. I replied confidently that I
knew all there was to know.
My sister smiled as she spoke. "I fear that your tongue is your
master, little sister. Perhaps you do not know all of life."
As she discovered, I knew plenty about the act of sex.
In Saudi Arabia, as in much of the Arab world, the subject of sex is
considered taboo. As a result, women talk of little else. Discussions
regarding sex, men, and children dominate all female gatherings.
In my country, with so few activities to soothe women’s minds, the main
occupation for women is to gather in each other’s palaces. It is not
uncommon to attend a women’s party each day of the week, excluding
Fridays, which is our religious day. We gather, drink coffee and tea, eat
sweets, lounge on overstuffed sofas, and gossip. Once a woman begins to
veil, she is automatically included in these functions.
Since my veiling, I had listened in fascination as young brides
told of their wedding night; no detail was too intimate to reveal. Some of
the young women shocked the female gatherings by declaring that they
enjoyed sex. Others said they pretended to enjoy their husbands’
advances, to keep them from taking another wife. Then there were those
women who so despised sex that they kept their eyes closed and endured the
assaults of their husbands with dread and repulsion. Significantly, there
were a few that remained silent during such discussions and shied away
from the topic; those were the women who were dealt with in a cruel manner
by the men in their lives, much in the same way that Sara had been
brutalized.
Nura, convinced that I understood the implications of marital life, added
little to my awareness. She did disclose that it was my duty, as a wife,
to be available to Kareem at all times, no matter my feelings at the
moment. I proclaimed that I would do as I willed, that Kareem could not
force me against my inclinations. Nura shook her head no. Neither Kareem
nor any other man would accept refusal. The marriage bed was his right. I
stated that Kareem would be different. He would never use force. Nura said
that no man was understanding about such matters. I should not expect it,
or I would be crushed with disappointment.
To change the subject, I asked my sister about circumcision. Her voice
thin and low, Nura told me that she had been circumcised when she was
twelve years old. She said the rite had been performed on the three
sisters that followed her in age. The youngest six daughters of our family
had been spared the barbaric custom due to the intervention of a Western
physician who spoke for many hours against the ritual with our father.
Nura added that I was blessed not to have endured such a trauma.
I could see that my sister was close to tears; I asked her what had
happened.
For more generations than Nura knew, the women of our family had been
circumcised. Our mother, like most Saudi women, was circumcised when she
became a woman, a few weeks before she was wed. At age fourteen, when Nura
became a woman, Mother followed the only action she knew and arranged for
Nura’s circumcision to be performed in a small village some miles from
Riyadh.
A celebration was held, a feast prepared. A youthful Nura basked m the
attention bestowed upon the one of honor. Moments before the rite, Nura
was told by Mother that the elder women were going to perform a small
ceremony, and that it was important for Nura to lie very still. One woman
beat a drum, other women chanted. ‘Me oldest women gathered around the
frightened child. Nura, nude from the waist down, was held by four women
on a bed sheet that had been spread on the ground. The oldest of the women
raised her hand in the air; with horror Nura saw that she had a razor like
instrument in her hand. Nura screamed. She felt a sharp pain in her
genital region. Dizzy with shock, she was lifted in the air by the women
and congratulated on her coming of age. Thoroughly frightened, she saw
blood pouring from her wounds. She was carried into a tent and her
lacerations were dressed and bandaged.
Her wounds healed quickly, but she did not understand the implication of
the procedure until her wedding night; there was unbearable pain and much
blood. As the condition persisted, she grew to dread sex with her new
husband. Finally, after becoming pregnant, she saw a Western doctor who
was appalled at her scars. He told Nura that her entire external genitalia
had been removed and that, for sure, the sex act would always result in
tearing, pain, and bleeding.
When the physician discovered that three more of Nura’s sisters had been
circumcised and that the remaining six would more than likely suffer the
same consequences, he pleaded with her to arrange for her parents to visit
him in his clinic.
My other three sisters visited the physician. He said our sister Baher was
in much worse condition than Nura, and he did not know how she endured
sexual relations with her husband. Nura had been a witness to our sisters’
ceremonies and recalled that Baher had fought the old women and had
actually managed to run a few yards from her tormentors. But she was
caught and returned to the mat, where her struggles caused much mayhem and
a great loss of blood.
To the doctor’s surprise, it was my mother who had insisted upon the
circumcision of her daughters. She herself had endured the rite; she was
certain it was the will of Allah. Finally, the physician convinced our
father of the utter nonsense of the procedure, as well as of the health
risks. Nura said I had been saved from a custom that was cruel and
useless.
I asked Nura why she thought Kareem would inquire of such a matter. Nura
said I was fortunate that he was a man of the opinion that it was good for
a woman to be complete. She said that many men still insisted upon
circumcision of their brides. It was all a matter of the region you were
from or the opinion of the family in which a girl was bom. Some families
continued the practice while others left it in the barbaric past, where it
belonged. Nura said it sounded to her like Kareem wanted a wife who would
share pleasure, not just be an object of pleasure.
Nura left me with my thoughts. I knew I was lucky to be one of the younger
females in our family. I shuddered when I imagined the trauma Nura and my
other sisters had endured.
I was glad Kareem was concerned for my welfare. I was beginning to
entertain the notion that some women might be happy in my land, in spite
of traditions that do not belong in a civilized society. But, still, the
unfairness of it all lingered in my thoughts. We women of Arabia could
find happiness only if the man ruling us was considerate; otherwise,
sorrow would surround us. No matter what we do, our future is linked to
one prerequisite: the degree of kindness in the man who rules us.
Feeling drowsy, I went back to sleep; I dreamed I was in a beautiful
emerald green wedding gown waiting for my groom, Kareem. He failed to
arrive, and my dream turned into a nightmare and I awoke in a trembling
sweat; I was being pursued by ghoulish old women in black, razors in hand,
screeching for my blood.
I cried out for Marci to bring me cold water. I was in anguish, for I
recognized the meaning of my frightening vision: A major obstacle to
change and relief from our antiquated customs were the women of Arabia
themselves. The women of my mother’s generation were uneducated, and had
little knowledge other than what their men told them to be true; as a
tragic result, such traditions as circumcision were kept alive by the very
people who had themselves suffered under the cruel knife of barbarism. In
their confusion of past and present, they were unwittingly strengthening
the men in their efforts to keep us in ignorance and seclusion. Even when
told of the medical dangers, my mother had clung to the traditional past;
she could imagine no other path for her daughters than the one she herself
had trod, for fear that any shift from tradition would harm their marriage
chances. ‘
Only we modern, educated women could change the course of women’s lives.
It was in our power, within our wombs. I looked to my wedding date with
determined anticipation. I would be the first of the Saudi women to reform
her inner circle. It would be my sons and daughters who would remodel
Arabia into a country worthy of all its citizens, both male and female. |
The Wedding
On the occasion of my wedding, the preparation room was filled with
gaiety. I was surrounded by women of my family; no one person could be
heard, for all were speaking and laughing as a singular and grand
celebration.
I was in the palace of Nura and Ahmed, which had been completed only a few
weeks before my wedding date. Nura was pleased with the outcome and was
anxious for word of her gilded mansion to leak throughout the city of
Riyadh and cause all to exclaim at the monies spent and the glory
accomplished.
I myself hated Nura’s new palace; for romantic reasons, I had wanted to
be wed in Jeddah, by the sea. But my father had insisted upon a
traditional wedding and 1, for once, made no outcry when my demands were
not met. I had decided months ago to hold back my passion except for
matters of paramount importance and to let little irritations slide easily
away. Doubtlessly, I was becoming exhausted with the disabilities of my
land.
While Nura beamed happily, our female relatives were heaping compliments
upon the beauty of the palace. Sara and I exchanged small smiles, for we
had agreed some time ago that the palace was in the worst possible taste.
Nura’s marble palace was enormous. Hundreds of Filipino, Thai, and
Yemeni laborers, supervised by unsmiling German contractors, had worked
around the clock for months to create the monstrosity. The painters, the
woodworkers, the metalworkers, and the architects did not speak with one
voice; as a result, the palace conflicted within itself
The halls were gilded and richly adorned. Sara and I counted 180 paintings
hanging in the entry hall alone. Sara recoiled in dismay and said that the
selections of art were picked by one with little or no knowledge of the
great masters. Garish carpets with embroidered birds and beasts of every
type laid across endless floors. The ornate bedrooms made my soul feel
heavy; I wondered how children of the same blood could so differ in
judgment of style.
While Nura had failed miserably in decorating her home, her gardens were a
masterpiece. Nearly a mile of lakes and lawns decorated with beautifully
arranged flowers, shrubs, and trees encircled her palace. There were many
surprises to delight the eye: sculptures, colorful bird houses, fountains
spouting water, and even a children’s merry-go-round.
I was going to be manied to Kareem in the garden at nine o’clock in the
evening. Nura knew that I loved yellow roses, and thousands of them, flown
in from Europe, were now floating on the lake beside the rose-covered
pavilion where Kareem would come to claim me. Nura proudly announced that
people were already whispering that this was the wedding of the decade.
There are no announcements of engagements and weddings in Saudi Arabia;
these matters are considered extremely private. But gossip of monies spent
and grand occasions staged travels throughout the land, with each section
of the Royal Family striving to outspend the other.
I slapped at my aunties and screamed when the hair on my private parts was
so rudely removed. Yelping in pain, I asked where such a savage custom had
begun. My oldest auntie slapped my face for such impudence. She looked
hard into my eyes and announced that 1, Sultana, was a stupid child, and
that as a daughter of the Muslim faith I should know that the Prophet
recommended, for the sake of cleanliness, that all pubic and armpit hair
should be removed every forty days. I, willful as ever, shouted that the
practice no longer made sense; after all, modem Muslims are equipped with
hot water and soap to wash away our dirt. We no longer had to use the sand
of the desert for such purposes!
My auntie, knowing the futility of arguing with me, continued with her
duties. I shocked all present when I loudly proclaimed that if the Prophet
could speak in this new age of modern amenities, I knew he would end such
a silly tradition. Certainly, I announced loudly, this one issue alone
proved that we Saudis were like uninspired mules; we trod the same weary
track as the mule before us even if it led us to plunge off a cliff. Only
when we evolved as spirited stallions, with a strong will of our own,
would we progress and leave the era of those primitive behind us.
My relatives exchanged worried glances, for they lived in dread of my
rebellious spirit and felt comfortable only with complacent women. My
contentment with the one chosen for my husband was considered nothing less
than miraculous, but until the final ceremony was complete, none of my
relatives would breathe easy.
My dress was made of the brightest red lace I could find. I was a bold
bride, and I took great delight in scandalizing my family, who had begged
me to wear a soft peach or pale pink instead. As was my way, I refused to
relent. I knew I was right. Even my sisters finally admitted that my skin
and eyes were flattered by the bright color.
I was in a happy daze when Sara and Nura lowered the dress over my head
and shoulders and fastened the delicate buttons around my waist.
A moment of sadness came as Nura draped Kareem’s gift of rubies and
diamonds around my neck. I could not escape the image of my mother on the
sad day of Sara’s wedding when I had sat as a child on the floor and
watched her fasten the unwanted jewels around the neck of Sara. It had
been only two short years ago, yet it seemed another life, another
Sultana. I shed my gloom and smiled when I realized Mother must be
watching me from a great distance with a satisfied glow in her eyes. I
could barely breathe in the tight bodice as I leaned down to pick up a
bouquet of spring flowers made entirely of precious stones, especially
designed for the occasion by Sara.
Looking into my sisters’ smiling faces, I announced, "I am
ready."
It was time for my new beginning, another life.
The beating of the drums drowned out the orchestra imported from Egypt.
With Nura on one side and Sara on the other, I made my proud appearance to
the expectant guests, waiting impatiently in the garden.
As with all Saudi weddings, the official ceremony had been conducted
earlier. With Kareem and his family in one part of the palace and I and my
family in another, the religious sheikh had gone from room to room, asking
us if we accepted the other. Kareem and I had not been allowed to say our
words of promise in the other’s presence.
For four days and nights our family had been celebrating. The celebration
would continue another three days and nights after our appearance before
our female guests. Tonight’s ceremony was merely a stage created for the
lovers to bask in the beauty of observance of youth and hope. Our night of
glory.
I had not seen Kareem since the day of our first meeting. Our courtship
had continued, nonetheless, by long hours of playful telephone
conversation. Now I watched Kareem, escorted by his father, walk slowly
toward the pavilion. He was so handsome, and he was going to be my
husband.
For some odd reason, I was fascinated with the beating of his heart. I
watched the tremor of movement in his throat and counted the beats. My
imagination swept me into his chest, to that powerful spot of romance, and
I thought: This heart is mine. 1, alone, have the power to make it beat
with happiness or with misery. It was a sobering moment for a young girl.
Finally, he stood tall and straight before me; I was suddenly overcome
with emotion. I felt my lips tremble and my eyes water as I fought against
the urge to weep. When Kareem removed my face cover, we both burst out
laughing, our emotion and joy were so intense. The audience of women began
to applaud loudly and stamp their feet. In Saudi Arabia, it is rare that a
bride and groom find such obvious pleasure in each other.
I was drowning in Kareem’s eyes and he in mine. I was overcome with the
emotion of disbelief I had been a child of darkness, and my new husband,
instead of being the expected object of dread, was sweet freedom from the
misery of my youth.
Anxious to be alone, we lingered only a short while after the ceremony to
receive the congratulations of our female friends and relatives. Kareem
threw gold coins from small velvet bags toward various groups of merry
guests while I slipped away to change into traveling clothes.
I wanted to speak with my father, but he had hurried from the garden the
moment his role was complete. His mind was relieved; his youngest and most
troublesome daughter of his first wife was now safely wed and no longer
his responsibility. I ached with the desire for a bond between us that had
been in my dreams but never broke into reality.
For our honeymoon, Kareem had promised me we would go anywhere and do
anything I desired. My every wish was his command. With the glee of a
child, I listed all the places I wanted to see and all the things I wanted
to do. Our first stop would be Cairo, and from there on to Paris, New
York, Los Angeles, and then Hawaii. We would have eight precious weeks of
freedom from the scars of Arabia.
Dressed in an emerald green silk suit, I hugged my sisters good-bye. Sara
was weeping so violently that she could not bear to turn me loose. She
kept whispering, "Be brave," and my heart broke for my sister; I
understood too well that the remembrances of her wedding night would never
disappear. With the passing of years, perhaps the thoughts of her
honeymoon would merely fade away.
I covered my designer suit with the black abaaya and veil and snuggled in
the backseat of the Mercedes with my new husband. My fourteen bags had
already been taken to the airport.
For the sake of privacy, Kareem had purchased all the first-class seats on
each flight of our trip. The Lebanese air hostesses wore bright smiles as
they watched our silly behavior. We were as adolescents, for we had never
learned the art of courtship.
Finally, we arrived in Cairo, rushed through customs, and were driven to
an opulent villa on the banks of the ancient Nile. The villa, which
belonged to Kareem’s father, had been built in the eighteenth century by
a rich Turkish merchant. Restored by Kareem’s father to its original
splendor, the villa was laid out into thirty rooms on irregular levels
with arched windows leading to the lush garden. The walls were covered
with delicate dusty-blue tiles, with intricate carved creatures in the
background. I felt seduced by the house itself I told a proud Kareem that
it was a wonderful setting in which to begin a marriage.
The impeccably decorated villa brought the garish decorating defects of
Nura’s palace to mind. I suddenly realized that money did not
automatically bestow artistic discrimination to those of my country, even
in my own family.
I was only sixteen, still a child, but my husband understood the
implications of my youth, and he eased my introduction into the world of
adults with a unique solution. He, as I, disagreed with the manner of
marriage in our land. He said that strangers should not be intimate, even
if those strangers were husband and wife. In his opinion, men and women
should have time to understand the secrets of the other that make desire
grow. Kareem told me that he had decided weeks before that he and I would
have our courtship after our marriage. And, when I was ready for him, I
would be the one to say, "I want to know all of you."
We spent our days and nights playing. We dined, rode horses around the
pyramids, browsed through the crowded bazaars of Cairo, read books, and
talked. The servants were puzzled at such a joyous couple who chastely
kissed good night and went into separate bedrooms.
On the fourth night, I pulled my husband into my bed. Afterward, with my
drowsy head on Kareem’s shoulder, I whispered that I would be one of the
scandalous young wives of Riyadh who cheerfully admitted I enjoyed sex
with my husband.
I had never been to America and was anxious to form an opinion of the
people who spread their culture worldwide, yet seemed to know so little of
the world themselves. New Yorkers, with their pushy, rude manners,
frightened me. I was happy when we arrived in Los Angeles, with its
pleasant, laid-back ambience, which feels more familiar to Arabs.
In California, after weeks of meeting transported Americans from
practically every state in the Union, I announced to Kareem that I liked
these strange, loud people, the Americans. When he asked me why, I had
difficulty in voicing what I felt in my heart. I finally said, "I
believe this marvelous mixture of cultures has brought civilization closer
to reality than in any other culture in history." I was certain
Kareem did not understand what I meant and I tried to explain. "So
few countries manage complete freedom for all their citizens without
chaos; this has been accomplished in this huge land. It appears impossible
for large numbers of people to stay on a course of freedom for all when so
many options are available. Just imagine what would happen in the Arab
world; a country the size of America would have a war a minute, with each
man certain he had the only correct answer for the good of all! In our
lands, men look no farther than their own noses for a solution. Here, it
is different."
Kareem looked at me in amazement. Not used to a woman interested in the
greater scheme of things, he questioned me into the night to learn my
thoughts on various matters. It was obvious that my husband was not
accustomed to a woman with opinions of her own. He seemed in utter shock
that I thought of political issues and the state of the world. Finally, he
kissed me on the neck and said that I would continue my education once we
returned to Riyadh.
Irritated at his tone of permission, I told him I was not aware that my
education was up for discussion.
The planned eight-week honeymoon turned into ten weeks. Only after a call
from Kareem’s father did we reluctantly drag ourselves back to our
families. We planned to live in the palace of Kareem’s father and mother
until our own palace was built.
I knew that Kareem’s mother looked upon me with distaste; now it was in
her power to make my life miserable. I thought of my foolish disregard for
tradition, which had brought about her scom, and cursed myself for
thinking so little of my future by alienating my mother-in-law at our
first meeting. I knew that Kareem, like all Arab men, would never side
with his wife against his mother. It would be up to me to arrive with an
olive branch extended in peace.
I had an unpleasant shock as the plane prepared to land in Riyadh. Kareem
reminded me of my veil. I scrambled to cover myself in black and felt a
fierce longing for the sweet scent of freedom that had begun to fade the
moment we entered Saudi airspace.
With the tightness of dread in my throat, we entered his mother’s palace
to begin our married life. At that moment, I was unaware that Kareem’s
mother so disliked me that she had already begun plotting ways to bring
our happy union to an end.
Certainly, desire for male children is common in much of the world, but no
place can compare with Arab lands, where every woman must endure boiling
tension throughout her childbearing years, waiting for the birth of a son.
Sons are the sole reason for marriage, the key to satisfaction for the
husband. Male children are so treasured that a fierce bond develops
between mother and son. Nothing, other than the love of another woman, can
separate the two. From the moment we were wed, Kareem’s mother thought
of me as her competitor, not as a welcome member of the family. I was the
promise of a wedge between Noorah and her son; my presence only
intensified her pervasive mood of general unhappiness. Some years before,
her life had taken an abrupt turn that had poisoned her outlook.
The first wife of Kareem’s father, Noorah had home her husband seven
living children, three of whom were sons. When Kareem was fourteen, his
father had taken a second wife, a Lebanese woman of great beauty and
charm. From that moment, there had been no peace within the walls
surrounding the palaces of the two wives. Noorah, a mean-spirited woman,
was positively malevolent over her husband’s second marriage. In her
hate, she was driven to consult a sorcerer from Ethiopia-who served the
palace of the king but was for hire to the other royals-and paid him a
great sum to put a curse on the Lebanese woman so that she would be
barren. Noorah, proud of her own productivity, was convinced that the
Lebanese would be divorced if she could not produce sons.
As it turned out, Kareem’s father loved the Lebanese woman and told her
he did not care whether she gave him children. As the years passed, it
became evident to Noorah that the Lebanese was not going to give birth or
be divorced. Since the great driving force in Noorah’s life was to rid
her husband of his second wife, she consulted the sorcerer and paid an
even larger sum to bring a cloud of death upon the Lebanese.
When Kareem’s father heard the idle gossip of Noorah’s scheming at the
palace, he came to her in a rage. He swore that if the Lebanese woman died
before Noorah, he would divorce Noorah. She would be sent away in disgrace
and forbidden contact with her children.
Noorah, convinced that the barren womb was a result of the sorcerer’s
power, was now terrified that the woman would die; surely black magic was
unalterable. Since that time, Noorah was obliged to protect the Lebanese
woman. She now spent an unhappy life trying to save the life of the very
woman she had tried to kill by voodoo.
It was a strange household.
In her unhappiness, Noorah lashed out at those around her, excluding her
children. Since I was not of her blood and was greatly loved by Kareem, I
was her natural target. Her intense jealousy was evident to everyone
except Kareem, who, like most sons, saw little wrong in his devoted
mother. In her maturity, she had apparently gained wisdom, for she made a
great pretense of affection to me-when Kareem was within hearing distance.
Each morning I happily walked Kareem to the gate. Hard at work at his law
firm, he would leave by nine, which is early for anyone, particularly a
prince, to begin work in Saudi Arabia. Few members of the Royal Family
arise before ten or eleven.
I was certain Noorah watched us from her bedroom window, for the moment
the gate closed behind him, Noorah would begin to call my name with the
greatest urgency. None of the thirty-three servants employed in her
household would do; she would cry out for me to serve her hot tea. |
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