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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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Epilogue
The haunting sound that lifts the heart of every Muslim with joy filled
the air. The faithful were being called to pray. "God is great, there
are no other Gods, but God; and Mohammed was his Prophet. Come to prayer,
come to prayer. God is great; there is no God, but God."
It was dusk; the big yellow circle that was the sun was slowly sinking.
For faithful Muslims, the time had come for the fourth prayer of the day.
I stood on the bedroom balcony and watched my husband and son leave our
palace grounds and walk, hand in hand, to the mosque. I saw that many men
were gathering, greeting each other with the spirit of brotherhood.
The turbulent memories of my childhood came back to me, and I was a young
girl again, shut out from the love exclusive to my father and his
treasured son, Ali. Nearly thirty years had passed, yet nothing had
changed. My life had come full circle.
Father and Ali, Kareem and Abdullah, yesterday, today, and tomorrow,
immoral practices passed from father to son. Men I loved, men I detested,
leaving a legacy of shame in their treatment of women.
My eyes followed the movements of my beloved flesh, my most precious
blood; my husband and son entered the mosque hand in hand, without me. I
felt quite the loneliest figure ever to have lived. Epilogue
The haunting sound that lifts the heart of every Muslim with joy filled
the air. The faithful were being called to pray. "God is great, there
are no other Gods, but God; and Mohammed was his Prophet. Come to prayer,
come to prayer. God is great; there is no God, but God."
It was dusk; the big yellow circle that was the sun was slowly sinking.
For faithful Muslims, the time had come for the fourth prayer of the day.
I stood on the bedroom balcony and watched my husband and son leave our
palace grounds and waLk, hand in hand, to the mosque. I saw that many men
were gathering, greeting each other with the spirit of brotherhood.
The turbulent memories of my childhood came back to me, and I was a young
girl again, shut out from the love exclusive to my father and his
treasured son, Ali. Nearly thirty years had passed, yet nothing had
changed. My life had come full circle.
Father and Ali, Kareem and Abdullah, yesterday, today, and tomorrow,
immoral practices passed from father to son. Men I loved, men I detested,
leaving a legacy of shame in their treatment of women.
My eyes followed the movements of my beloved flesh, my most precious
blood; my husband and son entered the mosque hand in hand, without me. I
felt quite the loneliest figure ever to have lived. |
Afterword
At the end of the gulf war of 1991 there was a universal desire for peace
to come to the turbulent Middle East. Endless proposals from leaders of
many nations were presented to those in power in an effort to end the
interminable violence in this part of the world.
Along with a desire for peace, many who care about the Middle East and its
people yearned for change in ancient traditions that have no religious
basis, yet serve to bind the women of the Middle East to the whims of the
men who sired or wed them. While the reality of lasting peace gains
momentum in the diplomatic moves of President George Bush, the elusive
dream of freedom for women in Arab languishes. Western men in power have
little interest in holding high the banner of justice for ones without
political prestige; that is, women.
The Gulf War to free Kuwait also turned out to be a war of sharply growing
conflict between the men and women of Arabia. Where women saw hope for
social change, men felt the danger of any change in a society that
differed little from the way it was two centuries ago. Husbands, fathers,
and sons were unwilling to challenge radical religious forces for women's
rights. The cause of freedom for women in Arabia withered in a backlash
from religious extremists, for the arrival of foreign troops had unleashed
their power. The promise of bitter strife from the men of religion spread
fear throughout the land. Sadly, in 1992, Sultana, along with other Saudi
women, has been forced to retreat to the trenches of yesterday.
Surprisingly, the rich and powerful, for the first time, are now targeted
by the religious police and are suffering raids and arrests like other
Saudis. Ordinary citizens, instead of being concerned over the loss of
freedom for all citizens, laugh with abandon at the thought of the royals
and rich citizens enduring the same fierce scrutiny from the mutawas that
they themselves have always known. Freedom to drive, to toss aside the
veil, or to travel without permission are lost dreams among more
life-threatening concerns, such as the growing menace of regional
religious extremists. Who knows when another opportunity with such
potential for social change as a war will come for the women of Arabia?
As modern societies strive to improve the living conditions of all
peoples, women throughout the world still face the authentic threat of
torture or death under the primitive control of the male sex. The seams of
the cloak of female slavery are sewn with the strong thread of male
resolve to cling to their historic power over women.
In the spring of 1983, I met a Saudi woman who has changed my life
forever. You know her as Sultana. Our mutual attraction and desire for
friendship flourished, for almost instantly we were in harmony. Sultana's
passion for life and her amazing mental capacity altered my Westerner's
incorrect perceptions of the "women in black," whom at that time
I viewed as an incomprehensible species of the human race.
As an American who had lived in a Saudi neighborhood since 1978, I had met
and socialized with many Saudi women. But to my foreign eyes, all
presented the same tainted mask of defeat. Life for the rich merchant
class, or the Royal Family of the cities to which they belonged, was too
comfortable to shift the delicate balance of their lives. The bedouin
women of the villages bore their intolerable life with surprising dignity.
Indeed, upon meeting me, they moaned in sympathy for one such as I who was
'forced" to venture out into the cruel world on my own, without the
protection or guidance of a man. "Haram [what a pity]," they
would say while patting my shoulder and expressing their despair for one
such as 1. Behind the veneer of contentment or sympathy, the truth of
their condition was concealed.
Sultana exposed me to the vociferous wrath that bordered on despair in the
minds of many Saudi women hidden behind the veil. With this new
perspective, I became convinced that Saudi women did little to influence
Saudi culture; instead Saudi culture had created them.
In the fall of 1988, Sultana approached me with the request that I, her
friend, write her life story. Much had transpired in her young life and in
the lives of other Saudi women of her acquaintance that deserved redress,
she believed. But my common sense prevailed. I expressed my doubt of the
ultimate advantage such a risky endeavor would bring for her. Other
thoughts of my personal interests came to mind and valid excuses for my
pacifism sprang to my lips: I loved the Middle East; my dearest friends
were in the area; I knew numerous happy Saudi women.
My doubt and denial had no end, for I had personally wearied of the
constant criticism by Western journalists of the land I now called my
home. Undeniably, the isolation of the Muslims sprouted from endless
negative reports from the world's press. An overabundance of articles and
books censorious of the Middle East were already in print; I did not want
to join the common pattern of 'Arab bashing," committed by many who
took shelter under the economic umbrella of the oil-rich land. I told
Sultana, "No, I do not wish to condemn." My desire was to show
the Arabs in the favored light of understanding, to point out their
kindness, hospitality, and generosity.
Sultana, the princess feminist, forced my eyes upon the naked truth. While
it is true that much good thrives in Saudi Arabia, there could be no
celebration of life in this society until its women were free to live
without fear. Sultana pointed out the conspicuous: "lean, as a woman,
your loyalties are misplaced!" Sultana could not face defeat: She
continued to expound upon the reality of the corruption of her own sex.
She was a better woman than I. She did not flinch from risk of life or
limb for the cause she sought.
As in the story of her life, Sultana overcame all obstacles, including my
stubborn resistance. After I made the tortuous decision to collaborate
with her to write her story, I knew in my heart that I could have taken no
other course. The Christian West and the Islamic East are knitted together
by a bond that can withstand the fear I felt in the conception of this
undertaking. This was a book that was meant to be.
Much has been sacrificed by many people in the writing of this book: peace
of mind for the safety of Sultana and her family; fear for friends still
in Arabia who have no knowledge of the existence of this book; but, most
of all, I face the loss of the love, support, and companionship of
Sultana, the person who has thrilled and inspired me with her fiery
spirit. For the sad fact is, the moment this publication becomes common
knowledge, our paths can no longer cross. My dearest friend will be locked
away from me behind the darkness of silence. This is our loving mutual
decision, I should add. To reveal our association would ensure grave
punishment for many people; most of all, for Sultana.
At our final meeting, in August 1991, a feeling of perverse futility mired
my joy, while I marveled at Sultana's wave of optimism. She felt joyous
hope at the outcome of our endeavor and declared that she would rather
perish than live as one conquered. Her words gave me strength for the
approaching storm: "Until these despicable facts are made public,
there can be no help; this book is like the beginning steps of a baby who
could never run without that first brave attempt to stand on its own.
Jean, you and I will stir the ashes and start a fire. Tell me, how can the
world come to our aid if it does not hear our cry? I feel it deep in my
soul; this is the beginning of change for our women."
Many years of my adult life were spent living in the Middle East. For
three years, I have been reading and rereading Sultana's notes and
diaries. Clandestine meetings have been held with her in many of the major
capitals of the world. I have showed her the final manuscript, which she
read with great delight-and pain. After Sultana read the final sentence of
this book, my friend began to weep. When she composed herself, she said I
had perfectly captured her spirit, her life's experiences, as clearly as
if I had been by her side, as indeed I had for many years. She then asked
that I fill in the blanks of her life not covered in her diaries. Here is
what Sultana wants you to know:
Sultana's father still lives. He maintains four wives and four palaces in
his six favorite cities throughout the world. He has many young children
from his youthful wives. Sadly, his relationship with Sultana has not been
tempered by age. He rarely visits any of his daughters, but takes great
pride in his sons and grandsons.
Ali has not experienced maturity and his habits remain much the same as
those of a spoiled child. His streaks of cruelty are reserved for his
female children, whom he treats as he saw his sisters managed by his
father. Today, Ali has four wives and countless mistresses. Recently, he
was chastised by the king for excessive corruption, but no action was
taken to curb his behavior. Sara and Asad have maintained their wedded
bliss. As of this date, they are the parents of five lively children. Who
knows if Huda's prediction of six will come true. Only Sara, of all
Sultana's sisters, knows of the existence of this book.
The remainder of Sultana's sisters and their families are well.
Omar was killed in a car accident on the road to Dammam. His family in
Egypt is supported by Sultana's father.
Randa's father purchased a villa in the south of France, where Randa now
lives most of the year. She has not remarried after being divorced by
Sultana's father. There is a rumor in the family that Randa has a French
lover, but there is doubt if this is true.
Sultana never again heard from Wafa; she imagines her in a village
surrounded by a large number of children, leading the life so dreaded by
educated young women in Saudi Arabia.
Marci returned to the Philippines and realized her life's ambition, as
Sultana knew she would. She worked as a nurse for a while in Riyadh, but
once wrote Sultana a letter outlining her plans to take a job in Kuwait;
restrictions in Saudi Arabia were too severe to tolerate, she said.
Sultana has not heard from Marci since. She fervently hopes that Marci was
not raped or killed during the Iraqi invasion, the fate of many beautiful
young women.
Huda died years ago. She was buried in the sands of Arabia, far from her
native land of Sudan. Saddest of all, Sameera remains locked in the
woman's room. Tahani heard two years ago that Sameera had gone mad. The
servants reported that she had screamed for days on end and finally began
to speak in a gibberish that none could understand. They occasionally hear
her sobbing, and the food tray is emptied daily, so she still lives. The
family swears that the girl will be released when the old man of the
family dies, but he is in fine health even at an old age. In any case, it
is thought that freedom will no longer benefit Sameera.
Sultana received her master's degree in philosophy two years ago. She does
not work at her profession, but says the knowledge she acquired has given
her an inner peace and a feeling of oneness with the world. In her
studies, she discovered that many other peoples have survived grave
injustices. Human progress is indeed slow, she has found, but brave souls
continue to push forward, and she is proud to be one of them.
Kareem and Sultana are settled into a relationship that is bound by custom
and the mutual love of their children. She regrets that their love never
fully revived after the incident of the second wife.
Six years ago Sultana was stricken with a venereal disease; after much
distress, Kareem admitted that he participated in a weekly adventure of
sex with strangers.
Several of the high-ranking princes send a weekly plane to Paris to pick
up prostitutes for a trip to Saudi Arabia. A madam there selects the most
beautiful girls from all around the world who ply their trade in France.
Each Tuesday they board a plane to Arabia; the following Monday the weary
prostitutes are flown out.
Kareem told of special palaces in the major cities of Saudi Arabia that
house up to a hundred prostitutes. Most of the high-ranking princes of the
Royal Family are invited to participate and to feel free to select any of
the women. For these men, women continue to exist only as objects of
pleasure or as a vehicle to provide sons.
After the scare of the disease, Kareem promised he would avoid the weekly
tryst, but Sultana says she knows that he is weak in the face of such a
feast, and that he continues to indulge himself without shame. Their
wonderful love has vanished except in memory; Sultana says she will stand
with her husband and continue her struggle for the sake of her daughters.
Sultana says that the saddest part of her life continues to be watching
the black forms of her two young daughters, now wrapped in the black
cloaks and veils that, after all the years of rebellion, still cling to a
new generation of young women in Saudi Arabia. As always, primitive
customs determine women's roles in Saudi society.
The presence of the American troops during the Gulf War that gave such
hope of freedom for Sultana has only brought the mutawas greater strength;
they now boast of ruling the king who occupies the throne.
Sultana asked that I tell the reader this: Her defiant spirit still rebels
through the pages of this book. But her rebellion must be kept in secret,
for although she has the heart for all of life's trials, she could not
face the possibility of losing her precious children. Who knows what
punishment might be meted out to the one who speaks out truthfully about
the hidden lives of women in the land of the two holiest shrines of Islam?
Sultana's destiny was formed in January 1902 when her grandfather Abdul
Aziz fought and regained the lands of Saudi Arabia. A dynasty was born.
Princess Sultana Al Satud will remain by the side of her husband, Prince
Kareem Al Saud, in the Royal House of Al Saud of the Kingdom of Saudi
Arabia. |
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