Princess: A True Story of Life Behind the Veil in Saudi Arabia

teacher even asked Sara if she was a primary
graduate, and shook her head in wonder when she learned that Sara
was not. Our instructor had been fortunate to have a
modern-thinking father who had sent her to England for an
education. Because of her deformity, a club-foot, she had found no
one who would marry her, so she chose a path of freedom and
independence for herself. She smiled as she told us that her
deformed foot was a gift from God to ensure that her mind did not
become deformed too. Even though she lived in the home of our royal
cousin (it was and still is unthinkable for a single woman to live
alone in Saudi Arabia), she earned a salary and made her decisions
about life without outside influence.
    I liked her simply because she was kind and
patient when I forgot to do my lessons. Unlike Sara, I was not the
scholarly type, and I was happy the teacher expressed little
disappointment at my shortcomings. I was much more interested in
drawing than in math, and in singing than in performing my prayers.
Sara sometimes pinched me when I misbehaved, but after I howled in
distress and disrupted the whole class, she left me to my
mischievous ways. Certainly, the instructor truly lived up to the
name given her twenty-seven years before—Sakeena, which means
“tranquility” in Arabic.
    Miss Sakeena told Mother that Sara was the
brightest student she had ever taught. After I jumped up and down
and yelled, “What about me?” she thought for a long moment before
answering. With a smile, she said, “And Sultana is certain to be
famous.” That evening at dinner, Mother proudly passed on the
remark about Sara to Father. Father, who was visibly pleased,
smiled at Sara. Mother beamed with pleasure, but then Father
cruelly asked how any daughter born of her belly could acquire
learning. Nor did he credit Mother with any contribution to the
brilliance of Ali, who was at the top of his class at a modern
secondary school in the city. Presumably, the intellectual
achievements of her children were inherited solely from their
father.
    Even today I shudder with dismay while
watching my older sisters attempt to add or subtract. I say little
prayers of gratitude to Auntie Iffat, for she changed the lives of
so many Saudi women.
    In the summer of 1932, Uncle Faisal had
traveled to Turkey, and while there, he fell in love with a unique
young woman named Iffat al Thunayan. Hearing that the young Saudi
prince was visiting in Constantinople, the young Iffat and her
mother approached him about disputed property that had belonged to
her deceased father. (The Thunayans were originally Saudis but had
been taken to Turkey by the Ottomans during their lengthy rule of
the area.) Smitten by Iffat’s beauty, Faisal invited her and her
mother to Saudi Arabia to sort out the misunderstanding of the
property matter. Not only did he give her the property, he married
her. Later, he was to say it was the wisest decision of his life.
My mother said Uncle Faisal had gone from woman to woman, like a
man possessed, until he met Iffat.
    During the years of Uncle Faisal’s reign,
Iffat became the driving force behind education for young girls.
Without her efforts, the women in Arabia today would not be allowed
in a classroom. I was in awe of her forceful character and declared
I would grow up to be just like her. She even had the courage to
hire an English nanny for her children, who, of all the royal
brood, turned out to be the most unaffected by great wealth.
    Sadly, many of the royal cousins were swept
away by the sudden rush of riches. My mother used to say that the
bedouin had survived the stark emptiness of the desert, but we
would never survive the enormous wealth of the oil fields. The
quiet achievements of the mind and the pious religious beliefs of
their fathers hold no appeal for the vast majority of the younger
Al Sa’uds. I believe that the children of this generation have
decayed with the ease of their lives, and that their great fortune
has deprived them of any ambitions or real satisfactions. Surely
the weakness of our monarchy in Saudi Arabia is bound up in our
addiction to extravagance. I fear it will be our undoing.
    Most of my childhood was spent traveling from
one city to another in my land. The nomadic bedouin blood flows in
all Saudis, and as soon as we would return from one trip,
discussions would ensue as to the next journey. We Saudis no longer
have sheep to graze, but we cannot stop looking for greener
pastures.
    Riyadh was