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

on her schoolwork. Even
though I loved her madly, I thought Sara weak. But she surprised us
all during the weeks prior to her wedding. Apparently she carried a
hidden strength for bravery, for she called our father’s office on
a daily basis and left messages for him that she was not going to
marry. She even called the office of the man she was scheduled to
marry and left a hard message with his Indian secretary that she
thought he was an old, disgusting man, and that he should marry
women, not girls. The Indian secretary obviously thought better of
giving such a message to his employer, for seas did not part and
mountains failed to erupt. Determined, Sara called back and asked
to speak to the man himself! He was not in his office. Sara was
informed that he would be in Paris for a few weeks. Father,
wearying of Sara’s behavior, had our telephones disconnected.
    Sara was confined to her room.
    My sister’s reality loomed ahead. The day of
the wedding arrived. The weeks of fretful mourning had done nothing
to diminish Sara’s beauty. If anything, she appeared more
beautiful, almost translucent, a heavenly creature not made for
this world. Because of weight loss, her dark eyes dominated her
face, and her features seemed chiseled. There was no end to Sara’s
eyes, and I could see into her soul through her enormous black
pupils. I saw fear there.
    Our older sisters, various female cousins,
and aunties arrived early on the morning of the wedding to prepare
the bride for the groom. My unwanted presence escaped the attention
of the women, for I sat like a stone in the comer of the large
dressing room that had been converted into a preparation room for
the bride. No less than fifteen women were attending to the various
wedding details. The first ceremony, the halawa, was performed by
our mother and her oldest auntie. All of Sara’s body hair had to be
removed, except her eyebrows and head hair. A special mixture of
sugar, rosewater, and lemon juice that would be spread over her
body was now boiling over a low fire in the kitchen. When the sweet
paste dried on her body, it would be removed, and Sara’s body hair
would be ripped off with the sticky mixture. The aroma was
sweet-smelling, but Sara’s yelps of pain made me shudder in
fear.
    The henna was prepared for the final rinse
through Sara’s luxuriant curls; her hair would now shine with
beautiful high-lights. Her nails were painted bright red, the color
of blood, I reflected, gloomily. The pale pink, lacy wedding gown
hung from the doorway. The requisite diamond necklace with matching
bracelet and earrings were gathered in a pile on the dressing
table. Although sent over weeks ago as a gift from the groom, the
jewels remained unnoticed and untouched by Sara.
    When a Saudi bride is happy, the preparation
room is filled with the sounds of laughter and eager anticipation.
For Sara’s wedding, the mood was somber; her attendants might as
well have been preparing her body for the grave. Everyone spoke in
whispers. There was no response from Sara. I found her oddly
subdued in view of her spirited reactions during the past few
weeks. Later, I understood her trancelike state.
    Father, concerned that Sara would humiliate
the family name by voicing her objections, or even insulting the
groom, had instructed one of the Pakistani palace doctors to inject
her with powerful tranquilizers throughout the day. Later we
discovered that the same doctor had given the groom the
tranquilizers in the form of pills for Sara. The groom was told
that Sara was highly nervous with excitement over the wedding, and
the medicine was prescribed for a queasy stomach. Since the groom
had never met Sara, in the coming days he must have assumed that
she was an unusually quiet and docile young woman. But, then again,
many old men in my country marry young girls; I am sure they are
accustomed to the terror of their young brides.
    The beating of drums signaled the arrival of
guests. At last, the women were finished with Sara. The delicate
dress was slipped over her head, the zipper was raised, and the
pink slippers were placed on her feet. My mother fastened the
diamond necklace around her neck. I loudly announced that the
necklace might as well be a noose. One of my aunties thumped me on
my head and another twisted my ear, but there was no sound from
Sara. We all gazed at her in awed silence. We knew no bride could
be more beautiful.
    A huge tent had been erected in the backyard
for the ceremony.