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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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Escape
Unlike most Saud husbands, kareem kept his family's passports and papers
within easy reach of his wife.
Already I was a master at duplicating his signature. His personal seal was
stored on top of his desk in his home study.
By the time I had gathered my thoughts and returned to the house, Kareem
was no longer in evidence. So he was a coward too. I knew with certainty
that he would stay at his father's
palace for a night or two.
A sudden thought of Noorah came to mind. I seethed with anger as I
imagined my mother-in-law's pleasure at my predicament. More than likely,
she had already selected the second wife
for her eldest son. Until that moment I had not considered who the new
wife would be; perhaps she was a youthful royal cousin, for we royals tend
to wed royalty.
I calmly packed a traveling case and emptied our hidden safe of hundreds
of thousands of dollars. Like most of the royals, Kareem had plans for the
possibility of revolutionary fervor, which
often springs to life unexpectedly in lands ruled by monarchies. We had
talked of his plan to buy our lives should the populous weak ever
overthrow the strong. I uttered a murderous prayer
for our Shiite minority in the Eastern Province to overthrow our Sunni
leaders; a vision of Kareem's head skewered on a post brought a smile to
my grim countenance.
After packing my wealth of jewels in a small travel bag, I prepared my
travel papers with utmost ease. Finally I was ready.
I could not trust any of my sisters, for they might be tempted to divulge
my plan to their husbands. And men stick together; Kareem would be
notified immediately. I called for my most
trusted maid, for I suspected she would be the first questioned by Kareem,
and told her I was going to Jeddah for a few days and to please advise my
husband of my plans, should he
inquire.
I telephoned my favorite of the family's pilots and advised him that we
would be flying to leddah within the hour; he was to meet me at the
airport. I called the servants in Jeddah and
informed them that I would be visiting a friend in the city; perhaps I
would come by the villa for a visit. Should Kareem call and request to
speak to me, they should tell him that I was at the
home of a friend and would call him back at my first opportunity.
My deceitful actions were an attempt to keep Kareem from my true travel
plans as long as possible. As I was driven to the airport, I watched, in
wonder, at the mass of Thursday evening
traffic in Riyadh. Our city was filled with foreign workers, for we Saudis
could not bring ourselves to work at menial jobs. One day the
underprivileged would weary of our ill-treatment; our
carcasses would make food for the packs of wild dogs that roamed our
cities.
When the American pilot saw the black shadow that was me walking in his
direction, he grinned and waved. He had taken me on many journeys, and was
a warm reminder of the open and
friendly pilots who had flown my mother and me to Sara's side so many
years before. The memory caused my heart to flutter and to ache for the
healing embrace of my mother.
When I boarded the plane, I told the pilot that our plans had changed; one
of the children had become ill in Dubai, and I had just received a
telephone call from Kareem advising me that I
should go to our child instead of to Jeddah. He, Kareem, would follow
tomorrow if it was a real emergency.
I lied with the greatest of ease when I told the pilot that we, of course,
imagined that our youngest was simply homesick and that my presence would
soothe her feelings. I laughed when I
said that they had been away for three weeks, much too long for the little
one.
Without questioning me further, the pilot changed his flight plans. He had
flown for our family for many years and knew us as a happy couple. He had
no reason to doubt my orders.
Once we arrived in Dubai, I told the pilot to stay at his usual hotel, the
Dubai Sheraton. I would call him tomorrow or the day after to advise him
of my plans. I told him he should consider
himself off duty, for Kareem had said he would not need him or the plane
for several days. We owned three Lear jets; one was always on standby for
Kareem's use.
The children were ecstatic at the unexpected sight of their mother. The
headmaster of the British summer camp shook his head in sympathy when I
reported that their grandmother was
gravely ill. I would be taking the children, that very night, back with me
to Riyadh. He hurried off to his office to locate their passports.
When I shook the man's hand in farewell, I mentioned that I could not
locate the servants who had accompanied the children to Dubai. They had
not answered the telephone in their room; I
imagined they were eating their dinner meal. Would he call them in the
morning and tell them I would have the pilot, Joel, waiting for them at
the Dubai Sheraton? They should go
immediately and present the pilot with this note. With that, I handed the
headmaster an envelope addressed to the American pilot.
Inside the note, I apologized for using him in such a deceptive manner, I
added a postscript to Kareem describing my duplicity of the pilot. I knew
Kareem would have a flash of anger at the
pilot, but it would pass when he considered the circumstances. The pilot,
Joel, was a favorite of Kareem's. He was sure not to lose his job.
The children and I climbed into the waiting limousine, which sped to the
airport; a direct flight to London was departing within the hour. I would
use whatever lie I could muster to obtain four
seats on the plane.
As it turned out, I did not have to damage my soul with God further. The
flight was almost empty; most people were returning to the Gulf at the end
of the hot summer, not departing. The
children were sleepy and asked few questions; I told them they would be
surprised at the end of the journey.
As the children slept, I nervously turned the pages of a magazine. Nothing
on the pages penetrated my thoughts; I was considering my next move with
great care. The remainder of my life
would depend upon the events of the next few weeks. Slowly, the feeling
overcame me that someone with a purpose was staring directly at me. Had my
flight from Kareem already been
discovered?
I looked across the aisle. An Arab woman of thirty or so years of age was
staring hard at me. She cradled a sleeping three-or four-year-old girl in
her arms. I was relieved to see that my
mental intruder was a woman, and a mother, for Saudi men would never put
such a one in their employ. Her piercing glower was a puzzle, so I stood,
threaded my way around the serving
cart, and sat in the empty seat beside her. I asked her what her trouble
was; had I offended her in some manner? Her granite face came to life and
she practically spat her words at me: "I
was at the airport when you arrived; you, and your brood." She
glanced with contempt at my children. "You practically ran over me
and my child as you checked in at the ticket counter!"
She looked with black malice into my eyes when she emphasized my
nationality in her next insulting sentence: "You Saudis think you can
buy the world!" My warped day had sapped my
strength; I surprised myself even more than I surprised the woman when I
burst into tears. Through my sobs, I patted her shoulder and told her I
was sorry. I had a great tragedy in my life
and catching this flight was of utmost importance. With tears streaming
down my face, I returned to my seat.
The woman was of a sympathetic nature, for she was unable to remain far
from my side after my show of emotion. She carefully placed her daughter
in the seat and knelt in the aisle
beside me.
My body stiffened and I turned away, but she maneuvered her face close to
mine and said, "Please, I apologize. I, too, have had a great
tragedy. If I tell you what happened to my daughter
in your country, more than likely at the hands of some of your countrymen,
you will understand my great bitterness."
Having absorbed more horror than most people endure in a lifetime, I felt
no desire to carry yet another image of injustice in my comprehension.
Unable to trust my voice, I mouthed the
words "I am sorry." She seemed to understand that I was on the
verge of hysterics, so she left my side.
But the woman was unwilling to let the dreadful happening go unheard, and
before the flight had ended I knew the cause of her despair. Upon hearing
her story, my bitterness further
hardened toward the degenerate patriarchal society that endangers all
females, even children, who dare to tread on the soil of Saudi Arabia,
regardless of their nationality.
Widad, the woman, was from Lebanon. Because of the persistence of the
heartbreaking civil war of that once beautiful little country, Saudi
Arabia and the Gulf States were overflowing with
Lebanese in search of jobs. Widad's husband was one of the fortunate who
had been employed as an executive in one of the many booming businesses in
Riyadh. After a favorable
beginning, he had felt secure enough to bring his wife and young daughter
to live in the desert capital. Widad had been content with her life in
Riyadh. The war in Lebanon had taken away
any desire to return to the endless shelling and mindless deaths of those
innocent there. She happily settled herself in a land far different from
the one she had known. A spacious villa was
rented, furniture was purchased, lives were reassembled. Widad had been
most impressed with the lack of crime in our country. With severe
punishments meted out to those guilty, few
criminals ply their trade in Saudi Arabia, for a convicted thief will lose
his hand, and a murderer or rapist, his head. With a mind of peace, she
had failed to caution her young daughter of the
danger of strangers.
Two months before, Widad had given a small woman's party for a group of
friends. As with Saudi women, there is little for foreign women to occupy
themselves with in my land. Widad
served light refreshments and her guests played cards. Two of the women
had brought children, so Widad's daughter was fully entertained in the
garden.
After the last guest departed, Widad helped her two Indian servants to
clear the house for her husband's return in the evening. The phone rang
and Widad chatted much longer than she
had realized. When she glanced through the window, she could see only
darkness. She called out for one of the servants to go and bring in her
child.
Widad's daughter was not to be found. After a frantic investigation, the
last guest remembered that the child had been sitting on the curb, holding
her doll. Widad's husband returned, and a
search of the neighborhood was begun. No one had seen the child.
After weeks of searching, Widad and her husband could only surmise that
their sole child had been abducted and more than likely murdered. When all
hope for her precious daughter was
gone, Widad found she could no longer reside in her villa in Riyadh. She
returned to her family in war-torn Lebanon. To earn a living for them, her
husband remained in his job, in the same
villa
Ten days after Widad arrived in Beirut, she heard a loud pounding on her
apartment door. Frightened from the recent militia battles in her
neighborhood, she pretended that no one was at
home until she heard the voice of her neighbor screaming news from her
husband in Riyadh.
The neighbor had just received a telephone call from Widad's husband. The
line had been disconnected, but not before he had taken down an
unbelievable message for Widad. She was to
take the boat to Cyprus and go immediately to the Saudi embassy in that
country. Her visa for reentry to Saudi Arabia was waiting. She should
return as quickly as possible to Riyadh. Their
daughter was alive! She had come home.
Three long days were needed for the boat trip from Jounieh, Lebanon, to
Larnaca, Cyprus, so that her visa could be stamped, and then the plane
trip to Riyadh. By the time Widad arrived
in Riyadh, the startling truth of their child's whereabouts was revealed.
Once Widad's husband had recovered from the shock of driving up to his
villa to find his long-lost daughter standing by the gate, he had taken
the child to a medical clinic to ascertain if she
had been raped, for that was his biggest fear. After a thorough
examination, the discovery was chilling. The physician told the astonished
father that his child had not suffered from sexual
assault. However, she had recently undergone major surgery. Widad's
daughter had been used as a kidney donor, the doctor told him. The child's
scars were ragged and infection had set
in from filth.
Speculations were wild among the medical staff that examined the child,
for many questions arose as to donor-typing and surgical procedures. It
was unlikely that the child had undergone
surgery in Saudi Arabia; at that time such an operation was not common in
the kingdom.
When the police investigated, they suggested that the child had been taken
to India by a rich Saudi who had a child in need of a kidney transplant.
Perhaps this person had abducted more
than one child and had selected the one most suitable. No one could
determine the events that led to the surgery, for the child could recall
only a long black car and a bad-smelling
handkerchief held by a big man. She had awakened to severe pain. Isolated
in a room with a nurse who could not speak Arabic, she saw no other
persons. The day of her release, she was
blindfolded, driven for a long time, and unexpectedly dropped at her door.
Without a doubt, whoever had abducted the child was wealthy, for when her
father had jumped from the car and seized his daughter in his arms, she
was clutching a small bag filled with
more than twenty thousand dollars in cash, along with many pieces of
expensive jewelry.
Understandably, Widad despised my land and the oil riches that had shaped
a people who considered their wealth the conqueror of all of life's
obstacles. Sacred body parts were taken
from innocent children and cash left to neutralize the anger of those
injured! When Widad saw my look of utter disbelief at her story, she
rushed to bring me her sleeping child and exposed
the long red scar that showed clearly the moral depths to which some men
will stoop.
I could only shake my head in horror.
Widad gazed at her sleeping daughter with rapt love; her return was
nothing short of a miracle. Widad's parting words erased the fragile pride
I still had left in my nationality: "You, as a
Saudi woman, have my sympathy. In my short time in your country, I saw the
manner of your lives. For sure, money may smooth your paths, but such a
people as the Saudis will not
endure." She paused for a moment of reflection before continuing:
"While it is true that financial desperation leads foreigners to
Saudi Arabia, you are still hated by all that have known you."
I last saw Widad at the London airport, clinging fiercely to her precious
child. After scheduled medical appointments in London for her daughter,
Widad was willing to risk the bombs of
Lebanese enemies over the hypocrisy and inconceivable evil of those of my
land, the Saudis. The children and I stayed overnight in London. We
crossed the Channel in a ferry and arrived
in France the following day. From there we went by train to Zurich. I left
the children in a hotel for a few hours while I emptied my son's Swiss
bank account. With a draft for more than six
million dollars in hand, I felt secure.
I hired a driver with a car to take us to Geneva; from there we flew back
to London and then on to the Channel Islands. There, I deposited the money
in an account in my name and kept the
cash from the safe in Riyadh for our expenses. We then flew to Rome, where
I hired another driver to take us back to Paris.
In Paris, I hired a full-time housekeeper, a driver, and a bodyguard.
Then, under an assumed name, I rented a villa on the outskirts of Paris.
After such a confusing trail, I felt secure that
Kareem would never find us.
A month later, I left the children in the care of the housekeeper while I
flew to Frankfurt. There, I entered a bank and said that I was from Dubai
and wanted to make a large deposit.
Escorted into the bank manager's office and given preferential treatment,
I removed large sums of money from my bag and laid the cash upon the
manager's desk.
While he stared in shock at the money, I said that I needed to make
a-telephone call to my husband, who was away on business in Saudi Arabia.
I was, of course, more than willing to pay
for the call and laid five hundred dollars in his hand. The manager
quickly got to his feet and practically clicked his heels together as he
told me to take as much time as I needed. He closed
the door and said he would be three offices down the hallway if I needed
him. I telephoned Sara. I knew her baby had been born by now, and she
would more than likely be at home. I
breathed a sigh of relief when one of the servants answered and said yes,
the mistress was at home.
Sara screamed in relief when she heard my voice. I quickly asked her if
her telephone lines were tapped and she said she was not certain. In a
rush of words she added that Kareem was
out of his mind with worry. He had traced me from Dubai to London, but had
lost all evidence of us from that point. He told the family what had
happened and was truly filled with deep
regret. He wanted nothing more than for me and the children to come home.
Kareem had said we must talk.
I asked Sara to give my husband a brief message, I wanted him to know that
I found him despicable; he would never see us again. Furthermore, I had
made arrangements for citizenship
for the children and me in another country. Once I was fully protected in
a new land, I would advise my sisters of my new life, but Kareem must
never know where I was. And, as an added
worry for ECareem, I told Sara to let him know that Abdullah, his son, no
longer wanted contact with his father.
With that, I left the subject of Kareem behind. With delight, I learned
that Sara had a new baby son and that the rest of my family was in good
health. She said Father and Ali were furious
and insisted I return to Riyadh and adhere to Kareem's every wish, as was
my duty. I had expected nothing more from those two of my very blood.
Sara tried to soothe me and asked if it would not be better to accept a
new wife rather than to live my life as a refugee. I asked her if she
would consider such an arrangement with Asad.
Her silence was my answer. After the call was made, I shoved my money back
into my bag and slipped out of the bank without further notice from the
eager manager. I felt a twinge of
regret for my trickery, yet I knew I could not risk a call from a pay
phone, for an operator might well announce the country calling to hidden
tape machines linked to Kareem.
In deep contemplation of Sara's words, I felt a smile grow across my face.
My plan was working. But I thought it best to let Kareem suffer additional
agony. He would need some time to
recognize that I would never accept the multiple-wife existence, no matter
the ultimate price.
Actually, the children knew nothing of the drama in our lives. I had told
them a convincing tale of their father's business taking him to the Orient
for many months.
Instead of remaining in Riyadh to suffer boredom, he had thought we would
enjoy a pleasant time in the French countryside. Abdullah was curious as
to why he received no calls from his
father, but I kept him occupied with his lessons and numerous social
activities; young minds adapt more easily than we could ever imagine. Our
two daughters were still babies unable to
consider dire circumstances. They had spent their lives traveling; the
missing link was the absence of their father. I did my best to compensate.
I consoled myself by considering the alternatives. Life for my children in
Riyadh with their parents in constant turmoil was unacceptable in my mind.
Life without their mother would be
unnatural. For if Kareem brought another woman into our lives, the murder
of my husband was a real possibility. What good would I be to the children
without my head, for it would surely
be parted from my body after I took the life of their father! For a moment
I considered the sharp blade of the executioner's sword and shuddered at
the thought that I might one day feel that
coldness. I knew I was fortunate to be a royal, for I, like Ali so many
years ago, could ease through difficult legal and ethical situations
without the interference of the men of religion. Were I
not of royal blood, the pounding of stones would end my life for such
actions. But we royals keep our scandals inside our walls; no one outside
the family would know of my defection. Only
Kareem could call for my death, and no matter my actions, I knew with
certainty that my husband did not have the stomach to call for my blood.
I called Sara once a month. During this lengthy absence from my family and
country, my days and nights were restless. But I knew there was gain to be
had; my determination and
patience would alter Kareem's plans of cluttering our lives with other
wives.
Five months after my departure I agreed to speak with Kareem over the
telephone. I flew to London to place the call. Our conversation convinced
me that Kareem was desperate with
desire to see me and the children. He would now enter the second stage of
my carefully laid trap.
We made plans to meet in Venice the following weekend. My husband was
stunned to see me accompanied by four hefty German bodyguards. I told
Kareem I no longer trusted his word;
he might have hired thugs to kidnap me and bundle me off to Riyadh to face
the unjust way our legal system-dealt with disobedient wives! His face
began to redden. He swore, he blushed
with shame; I thought perhaps he was angered by his inability to control
his wife.
Our impasse ended with a compromise. I would return to Riyadh only if
Kareem signed a legal document stating that so long as he and I were wed,
he would not take another wife. If he
were to break his word, I was to be given a divorce, custody of our
children, and half of his fortune. In addition, I was to retain, under my
control, the monies I had taken out of our son's
account in Switzerland Kareem would replace Abdullah's funds. In addition,
he would deposit one million dollars in each of our daughters' names in a
Swiss bank account. I would keep, in
my possession, our passports with updated papers stating we could travel
without restrictions.
I told Kareem that after he signed the necessary papers, I would remain in
Europe with the children for an additional month. He had been warned of my
determination; perhaps his desire
for me would fade after consideration. I was not interested in replaying
the same song twice. Kareem winced at my words, delivered with a hardness
he had seldom heard. I accompanied
Kareem to the airport. My husband was not a happy man. I walked away less
content than I had anticipated after the biggest gamble of my life had
produced such a stunning victory. I had
found that there is little joy derived from forcing a man to do what is
right.
One month later I called Kareem to hear his decision. He confessed that I
was his strength; his life. He wanted his family back, with everything as
it was before. I bluntly told him that surely
he could not expect to sever our love with the cold knife of indifference
and then expect that a seamless union would remain in our grasp. We had
been among the most fortunate of
couples with love, family, and unlimited wealth. He was the destroyer of
all that, not I.
I returned to Riyadh. My husband was waiting, with trembling lips and a
hesitant smile. Abdullah and my daughters went wild with joy at seeing
their father. My pleasure slowly grew from
the happiness of my children.
I found I was a stranger in my home, listless and unhappy. Too much had
happened for me to go back to the Sultana of a year ago. I needed a real
purpose, a challenge. I decided I would
return to school; there were now colleges for women in my country. I would
discover the normalcy of life and leave behind the mindless routines of a
royal princess.
As far as Kareem was concerned, I could only wait for time to erase the
bad memories of his behavior. I had undergone a transition in the fight to
save my marriage from the alien presence
of another woman. Kareem had been the supreme figure in my life until he
weakened our union with talk of wedding another. A substantial part of our
love was destroyed. Now he was
simply the father of my children and linle more.
Kareem and I set about to rebuild our nest and provide our children with
the tranquillity we so valued for our young. He said he keenly felt the
loss of our love.
He valiantly tried to redeem himself in my eyes. He said that if I
continued to sit in judgment of his past behavior, we and the children
might well lose the enjoyment of our future. I said little
but knew it was true.
The trauma of our personal war was past, but the taste of peace was far
from sweet. I reflected often on the emotional scars I had acquired in
such a short lifetime; sadly, all my wounds
had been inflicted by men. As a result, I could hold not even one member
of the opposite sex in high esteem. |
The Great White Hope
Suddenly, it was august 1990.
A glittering dinner party was in progress at our villa in Jeddah when we
heard the horrifying news that two of our neighbors were locked in a
death-defying struggle across the border in the tiny country of Kuwait.
Kareem and I were entertaining twenty guests from our exclusive circle
when the news was shouted out from the top of the stairwell by our son,
Abdullah, who had been listening to the BBC (British Broadcasting
Corporation) on his short wave radio. After a long, dry silence, a
disbelieving roar rose throughout the room.
Few Saudis, even those royals involved in the negotiations between Kuwait
and Iraq, had really believed that Saddam Hussein would invade Kuwait.
Kareem had been present at the conference that ended in a stalemate on
that very day, August 1, 1990, in Jeddah. The crown prince of Kuwait,
Sheik Saud Al-Abdullah AlSalem Al-Sabah, had just returned to Kuwait with
the hope that war could be averted.
When our son cried out that Iraqi troops were advancing on Kuwait City,
the seriousness of the attack was evident. I wondered if the huge family
of Al Sabahs would escape with their lives. As a mother, my thoughts were
with the innocent children.
I watched Kareem's face across the crowded room.
Underneath his calm facade, he was furious. The Iraqis had gone against
their word; as a result, the leaders of our government had played a role
in minimizing the danger. His brown eyes had a glow that caused a shiver
to run down my spine. I knew that he, along with other Al Sa'uds present,
would soon leave for a hastily called family conference.
I had heard Kareem speak often of the barbarity of the Baath regime in
Iraq. He had said many times that the Iraqis were by nature aggressive and
prone to violence in their private lives. He thought that might explain
their national acquiescence to a brutal police state.
I myself knew little of the true politics of the area, for Saudi news is
heavily censored and our men reveal little of their political activities
to their wives. But Kareem's opinion was justified by a story I had heard
from an Iraqi. Several years ago, while dining out in London, Kareem, Asad,
Sara, and I had listened in complete fascination as a casual Iraqi
acquaintance bragged of killing his father over a misunderstanding about
money.
The son had sent the father his earnings from an investment in Paris. The
widowed father had become enamored with a village woman and had spent the
son's earnings on the purchase of expensive gifts for his mistress. When
the son returned to Iraq to visit, he discovered that his money had been
squandered. He knew what he had to do, which was to shoot his father to
death.
With a loud shout, Kareem had protested the unbelievable act. The Iraqi
was surprised at my husband's bewilderment and disbelief, and responded:
"But he had spent my money! It was mine!" As far as the man was
concerned, he had had a reasonable cause to take the life of his father.
His act was so unthinkable and repulsive to Kareem that, departing from
his usual mild manner, he jumped toward the man and told him to leave our
table. The Iraqi left in a rush. Kareem muttered that such attitudes were
not uncommon in Iraq, but social acceptance of murdering one's father
found great doubt in his mind. Kareem, like all Saudi men, revered his
father and showed him much respect. He would not think of raising his
voice or even presenting his back to his father. I had seen Kareem leave a
room backward on numerous occasions.
Like most Arabs, I am sorry to acknowledge, I am a heavy smoker, yet I was
never allowed to smoke in front of Kareem's father.
Kareem, as a member of an outdated monarchy, was acutely interested in the
movements of the Middle East that had ousted royals from their throne. As
Arab history unfolded, kings were unceremoniously dumped, and quite a
number had ended with their bodies riddled with bullet holes. As a royal,
Kareem felt fear at the possibility of unrest visiting our land.
In addition, like most Arabs, Kareem felt great shame at the never-ending
spectacle of Muslim fighting Muslim. For the most part, we Saudis laid
down our arms when our country was bonded from the land of tribes to a
kingdom united. Bloodletting is not the manner our men chose to fight our
enemies; purchasing power is considered the civilized method of victory.
But for now, our lives were erupting with the insanity of the drama of
real war. While our men rushed to intrude on the momentous decisions of
diplomacy, we women called for Abdullah to bring his wireless radio to the
sitting room. The news was sparse, but appeared to be going from bad to
worse for the unfortunate Kuwaitis. Before we retired, we learned that
Kuwait was occupied; our country was being invaded by thousands of war
refugees. We Saudis felt ourselves out of harm's way and gave no thought
to our personal safety or to danger for our country.
The following week would shake our confidence in our observations. As
Saddam's soldiers drew near to our borders, rumors filled our country that
he had in mind to swallow two neighbors in one meal! Streams of Saudis
joined the Kuwaitis in the exodus from the eastern area of our country. We
received frantic telephone calls from nervous family members with the news
that Riyadh was crowded with thousands of panicked people. Soon, many
Saudis felt Riyadh to be unsafe; the planes and roads to Jeddah were
jammed. Madness had erupted in our quiet kingdom.
Sara and I were thrilled to hear that Kuwaiti women, who are allowed to
drive and go unveiled, were even driving across our roads and into the
streets of our capital. No Western women could ever imagine our mixed
emotions. We were crashing into a storm, and while our glee was mixed with
wonder, at the same moment we were frothing with jealousy that our Arab
sisters were driving automobiles and exposing their naked faces in our
land! Were our essentials of life, the veil and Saudi customs, now
considered nothing more than clutter so easily dismissed in the heat of
hostility?
Life had been easy for these Kuwaiti women, in stark contrast with our
heavy endurance of male mastery.
The sting of envy bubbled through our veins. While sympathetic for these
women who had lost their country, their homes and loved ones, we were
undeniably swollen with resentment at the ones who had exposed the
ridiculousness of our puritanical situation. How we hungered for the
rights they had assumed with such ease!
There was a rumor a minute in those dark days of August. When Kareem told
me that the latest rumor was true, that our king had agreed for foreign
troops to travel to our land, I knew our lives would never again be the
same.
With the arrival of the American troops, Saudi feminists' most ambitious
dreams felt the spark of life. No Saudi had ever imagined seeing women in
military uniforms-guarding that ultimate bastion of male dominance that is
Saudi Arabia. It was unthinkable! Our men of religion were aghast and
spoke with heavy tidings of the coming harm to our land.
The disruption to our lives can never be measured. No earthquake could
have shaken us more.
While I was happy at the turn of events, and felt the change would be
beneficial, many Saudi women raged with contempt. There were those I
deemed silly who fretted with the possibility of these foreign women
stealing their husbands! I suppose such a worry was real, for most Saudi
women endure their husbands' trips abroad with trepidation, few believing
their spouses would remain faithful in the midst of Western blonde
temptations. Many of my friends reassured themselves with the thought that
only a prostitute or a woman with little else to promote herself would
consider such degradation as shared living quarters with strange men.
Saudi women whispered that they had read that these American women were
allowed in the armies solely to service the men and keep them from sexual
deprivation.
Our emotions were in conflict over these superwomen who came and went at
will in a country not their own. We had known little of American female
soldiers, for our country censors all news of women who control their
destinies from the citizens of Saudi Arabia. And during our infrequent
travels abroad, our paths led us to shopping districts, not military
bases. When Asad brought Sara uncensored copies of American and European
magazines and newspapers, we were astonished to see that the women
soldiers were quite attractive. Many were mothers. Our understanding could
not let us imagine such freedom. Our modest goals involved only the acts
of uncovering our faces, driving, and working. Our land now harbored those
of our sex perfectly prepared to meet men in battle.
We women of Arabia were on an emotional roller coaster. One moment we
hated all the foreign women, both Kuwaiti and American, in our land. At
the same moment, the Kuwaiti women warmed our hearts with their show of
defiance of our centuries-old tradition of male supremacy. While
conservative, they had not completely succumbed to the insane social
custom of male dominance. Yet moments of jealousy came and went as we
realized that they had somehow lifted the status of all Muslim women by
their very attitude while we Saudi women had done little to elevate our
lives other than to complain. Where had we gone wrong? How had they
managed to discard the veil-and obtain freedom to drive at the same time?
We felt the agony of envy, yet we were ecstatic too. Confused at the
happenings around us, we women met daily to dissect the shift of attitudes
and the sudden universal awakenings to the plight of Saudi women. In the
past, few women dared express their desire for reform in Islamic Saudi
Arabia, for the hope of success was so dim and the penalties too severe
for challenging the status quo. After all, our country is the home of
Islam; we Saudis are the "keepers of the faith." To cover our
shame at our forced repressions, we spoke proudly to our Kuwaiti sisters
of our unique heritage: We Saudi women hold high the symbols of Muslim
belief the world over.
Then, suddenly, middle-class Saudi women threw down their shackles. They
faced the fundamentalists head-on and called out for the world to free
them in the same instant they freed the besieged Kuwaitis! Sara caused me
to tremble when she rushed into the palace screaming. My only thought was
that of chemicals invading the air my children were breathing! Had an
enemy plane filled with chemical bombs escaped the detection of the forces
guarding our land? I stood still, holding my breath, undecided as to where
to go or what to do. Any moment I would more than likely be writhing on
the floor, thinking my last thoughts. I cursed myself! I should have
followed Kareem's wishes and taken our young ones to London, far from the
possibility of painful slow deaths for those I had carried in my womb.
Sara's words finally penetrated my fear and the news she told rung as a
celebration in my ears. Asad had just called her; Saudi, yes, Saudi women
were actually driving automobiles up and down the streets of Riyadh! I
cried out with joy; Sara and I hugged and danced. My youngest daughter
began to sob in fear when she came into the room and saw her mother and
auntie rolling and screaming on the floor. I soothed her fears when I
grabbed her in my arms and assured her our silly nonsense was a result of
great happiness; my prayers had been answered. The American presence was
going to alter our lives in a wonderful, wonderful way! Kareem burst
through the door with a dark look in his eyes. He wanted to know what the
trouble was; he could hear our cries in the garden.
Did he not know? Women had broken the first of the unyielding
barriers-they were claiming their right to drive! Kareem's response
sobered our reaction. I knew his opinion on the matter; there is no
mention of such in our religion, he would say. He, like many other Saudi
men, had always thought it absurd that Saudi women were not allowed to
drive.
With a weary tone, my husband now voiced the unthinkable. "This is
exactly the type of action that we did not want you women to take! We have
been battling the fanatics for every concession! Their biggest fear is
that our decisions will result in women moving toward more privileges.
What is more important to you, Sultana," he cried out, "to have
soldiers to protect our lives from the Iraqi menace, or to choose this
time to drive?"
I was furious with Kareem. Many times he had protested against the silly
custom that chains Saudi women to their homes. And now, his fear of the
men of religion brought his cowardly soul to the surface. How I yearned to
be wed to a warrior, a man with the hot flame of righteousness to guide
his life.
In a temper, I hotly replied that we women could not be "beggars with
conditions." What luxury to be able to pick our time and place! We
had to take what small opportunities were presented. Now was our time too,
and Kareem should stand by our side. Surely, the throne would not be
toppled over the mere fact that women drove in our streets!
My husband was angry at all women at that moment and told me in a hard
voice that this incident would delay women's causes for decades. He told
us our joy would turn to sorrow when we witnessed the punishment meted out
to those so foolish. The proper time will come for women to drive, he
warned, but this was not the moment for such drama. His words hung in the
air as he made his retreat. A man had spoken! Kareem had stolen our small
moment of pleasure. I hissed like a cat at his back and Sara's lips
trembled as she held back her smile. She dismissed Kareem's words with
contempt. She reminded me that the men in our family talked
sympathetically about women's rights, but in reality they were little
different than the extremists.
All men liked a heavy hand on the heads of their women. Otherwise, we
would have seen some lifting of our heavy burdens. Our husbands and father
were of the Royal Family that ruled the land; if they could not help us,
who could?
"The Americans!" I said with a smile. "The Americans."
Kareem's words proved to be true. The forty-seven brave young women who
demonstrated against the informal ban on driving became the scapegoats of
every grievance the mutawas considered. They were women of the middle
class, women who were teachers of other women or students-our thinkers and
doers. As a result of their bravery, their lives were devastated by their
actions: passports taken, jobs lost, and families harassed.
While shopping in a local mall, Sara and I overheard young religious
students as they aroused Saudi men against these women by saying they were
leaders of vice and made their living as prostitutes; they had been
denounced in the mosque as such by men who had reason to know! My sister
and I lingered at a store window to hear the young men loudly proclaim
that the temptations transported from the West would cause the honor of
all Saudis to disintegrate!
I wanted to meet with the women, to share in their glory. When I proposed
my idea to Kareem, his reaction violently closed the possibility. He
threatened to have me shut in the house should I attempt such an outrage.
At that moment, I hated my husband, for I knew he was capable of
fulfilling his threat; he was suddenly wild with fear for our country as
well as of the havoc we women could bring to the Royal Family. Within a
few days I built my courage and tried to locate those brave women. I
returned to the mall. When I saw throngs of men in a circle, I told my
Filipino driver to go to them and say he was a Muslim (there are a number
of Muslim Filipinos in Saudi Arabia) and request the paper with the
telephone numbers of the "fallen women." He was to say that he
wanted to call their fathers or their husbands to protest the behavior of
their daughters or wives.
He returned with the paper; I warned him against telling Kareem.
Fortunately, unlike Arab servants, the Filipinos tend to avoid our family
conflicts and make no mention of our small freedoms to our husbands. The
paper listed thirty names and telephone numbers. My hand shook as I dialed
the first number. Only three calls were answered in weeks of constant
dialing. No matter what I said, I was told that I must have the wrong
number. The harassment had been so insistent that the families chose
either denial or not to answer their phones.
On his way out of the country, Ali came by to visit. He and his family of
four wives and nine children were traveling to Paris for a few weeks. My
brother claimed he wanted to fight the Iraqis, but his plate was filled
with business responsibilities that were indeed more irnportant to our
country than another man in uniform. He, Ali, must do his duty and leave
Saudi Arabia. I knew my brother was going to wait out the war in safety. I
had no desire on that day to confront his cowardice; I merely smiled and
wished him a good trip. The topic of the women drivers was introduced when
Ali hinted slyly that one of the protestors had been put to death by her
father for shaming the family. The father had thought that by executing
his daughter, the religious fanatics would leave him and the remainder of
the family in peace. Ali actually smiled; how I hated this brother of
mine. He was well suited to a land that kept women at his feet. He would
fight to the end to keep women in a lowly position, for a man such as he
would be terrorized by a woman of strength and character.
When I questioned Kareem, he claimed not to know of the incident, but told
me to put it out of my mind. This was not our affair. He mentioned that he
would not be surprised, since the families of the women had suffered along
with the troublemakers. He smugly said, "I told you so,"
reminding me of his prediction on the day of the protest. I felt that
Kareem had tricked me with his past talk of free women; surely he now was
little advanced over Ali in his thinking. Was there not one man in my
country who desired women's bonds loosened?
The rumor of the death of the young woman held fast in our land, and to
this day, her fate has not been denied or confirmed; it hangs over us
women, a veiled threat of the ultimate sacrifice awaiting those with
courage.
The war we so dreaded came and went. Our men fought and died, but I heard
from Kareem that many of our soldiers had not fought bravely. In fact, the
allies had found it necessary to invent tactics to ensure that we Arabs
were not offended when the truth about our warriors was revealed. My
husband blushed when he told of Saudis running away from, instead of
toward, the enemy. Our only pride in our military was for the prowess of
our pilots, who performed with honor.
Asad gave his opinion that we should not feel shame but relief at this
assessment. A strong military would be a risk to our very heads; the
throne could not survive a precise military machine. In the Arab world, a
capable military overthrows monarchies; for truly, people desire a voice
in the policies of their land. Our family had seen such happenings and
maintained a family-run organization of men unwilling to fight. Certainly,
our ruling family is sly and purposely keeps the Saudi soldier slovenly
and far from his peak.
In the end, events of the war served to abort our confidence in legendary
social change for the women of Saudi Arabia. The fight that brought forth
Western eyes from around the world to probe the disorders of our society
ended all too quickly. The fading power of our enemy, Saddam, lifted the
interest in our plight and transferred the whispered pledges of help to
the distressing predicament of the Kurds, who were languishing in the
mountain snows.
At the end of the war, our men tended to their prayers with great
diligence, for they had been saved from the threat of invading armies-and
free women.
Who is to say which threat gave them the most worry? |
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