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

life
from the beginning of time, that I became a woman. In the Arab
culture, with so much importance attached to the change from
girlhood to womanhood, every young girl awaits with a combination
of dread and deep satisfaction the sight of her first blood. When
my Western women friends tell me that they did not know what was
happening to them when their first blood appeared, and that they
were convinced they were dying, I am struck dumb with surprise. The
coming of women’s menses is a source of easy conversation in the
Muslim world. Suddenly, at that moment, a child is transformed into
an adult. There is no going back to that warm cocoon of childhood
innocence.
    In Saudi Arabia, the appearance of the first
menses means that it is time to select the first veil and abaaya,
with the greatest of care. Even the shopkeepers, Muslim men from
India or Pakistan, inquire with ease and respect as to the time the
girl-child became a woman. In all seriousness, the shopkeeper will
smile indulgently, and proceed to select the abaaya and veil that
will show the child to her greatest advantage. Even though the only
color for a veil is black, there are many possibilities for fabric
selection and weight of material. The veil can be of thin material,
giving the world a shadowy glimpse of the forbidden face. A
medium-weight fabric is more practical, for one can see through the
gauzy cloth without the rude glances or sharp remarks from the
keepers of the faith. If a woman chooses the traditional thick
black fabric, no man can imagine her features under a facial mask
that refuses to move with the strongest of breezes. Of course, this
selection makes it impossible to examine jewelry in the gold souq
or to see speeding cars after dusk. In addition to this traditional
heavy veil, some of the conservative women choose to wear black
gloves and thick black stockings so that no hint of flesh is
visible to the world. For women with a need to express their
individuality and fashion sense, there are ways to avoid that
endless sea of conformity in dress through creative design. Many
purchase scarves with jeweled decorations, and the movement of
trinkets turns the heads of most men. Expensive eye-catching
decorations are often sewn to the sides and back of the abaaya.
    Younger women, in particular, strive to set
themselves apart by their unique selections. The male shopkeeper
will model the latest designer fashions in veils and abaaya and
show the young girl the stylish way of throwing the scarf cover
over her head to project a look of smart fashion. The method of
tying the abaaya to show the exact amount of foot that is allowed
without being considered risqué is discussed in great detail. Every
young girl experiments to find her own method of wearing the abaaya
with flair. A child enters the store, but a woman emerges, veiled
and, on that day, of a marriageable age. Her life changes in that
split second. Arab men barely glance at the child as she enters the
store, but once she dons her veil and abaaya, discreet glances come
her way. Men now attempt to catch a glimpse of a forbidden,
suddenly erotic, ankle. With the veil, we Arab women become
overwhelmingly tantalizing and desirable to Arab men.
    But I was now in Cairo, not home in Saudi
Arabia, so the full impact of my first blood did little more than
irritate me. Sara and Nura showed me all the things a woman should
do. They both warned me against telling Ali, as if I would, for
they knew he would try to make me veil immediately, even in Cairo.
Sara looked at me with great sadness and gave me a long hug. She
knew that from that day forward I would be considered a threat and
danger to all men until I was safely wed and cloistered behind
walls.
    In Cairo, Ahmed owned a luxurious apartment
that spread over three floors inside the city center. For privacy,
Ahmed and Nura settled in the top floor. The two Filipino maids,
Nura’s three babies, Sara, and I occupied the second floor. Ali,
Hadi, and the Egyptian caretaker stayed on the first floor. Sara
and I hugged each other with delight when we realized Ali and Hadi
were separated from us by an entire floor.
    On our first evening, plans were made for
Ahmed, Nura, Hadi, and Ali to go to a nightclub to watch belly
dancing. Ahmed thought that Sara and I should stay home with the
babies and the Filipino servants. Sara made no protest, but I
pleaded our case so eloquently that Ahmed relented.
    At fourteen, I came alive in the land of the
pharaohs and