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

desperately trying to think of a course of
action when the doorbell rang. I saw Ali answer the door to an
Egyptian woman, about forty years of age. He handed the woman
fifteen Egyptian pounds and asked her if she had more daughters.
She said that she did and that she would return tomorrow. Hadi
ushered out the weeping child. The mother, showing no emotion, took
the child, who was limping, tears streaming down her face, by the
hand and closed the door behind her. Ahmed did not seem surprised
when Nura, angry, told him the story. He pursed his lips and said
he would find out the details. Later, he told Nura that the mother
herself had sold her child, and that there was nothing he could do.
Even though caught in this shameful act, Hadi and Ali acted as
though nothing had happened. When I sneered at Hadi and asked him
how he could be a religious man, he laughed full in my face. I
turned to Ali and told him that I was going to tell Father he was
attacking young girls, and he laughed even harder than Hadi. He
leaned toward me and said, “Tell him. I do not mind!” He said that
Father had given him the name of a man to contact for the same type
of service. He smiled and said young girls were more fun, and
besides, Father always did the same sort of thing when he came to
Cairo.
    I felt as though I had been electrocuted; my
brain felt burned, my mouth hung open, and I stared blankly at my
brother. I had my first thoughts that all—All—men are wicked. I
wanted to destroy my memory of that day and lapse once again into
the innocence of the mists of my childhood. I walked softly away. I
came to dread what I might discover next in the cruel world of men.
I still cherished Cairo as a city of enlightenment, but the decay
brought by poverty caused me to rethink my earlier notions. Later
in the week, I saw the Egyptian mother knocking on doors in the
building, with another young girl in tow. I wanted to question her,
to discover how a mother could sell her young. She saw my
determined look of inquiry and hurried away.
    Sara and I talked with Nura for long hours
about the phenomenon, and Nura sighed and said that Ahmed told her
it was a way of life in much of the world. When I shouted
indignantly that I would rather starve than sell my young, Nura
agreed, but said it was easy to say such things when the pangs of
hunger were not in your stomach.
    We left Cairo and its woes behind us. Sara
finally had the opportunity to realize her visions of Italy. Was
her radiant look worth the travail that had freed her to come here?
She dreamily proclaimed that the reality soared above her
fantasies. We toured the cities of Venice, Florence, and Rome. The
gaiety and the laughter of the Italians still ring in my ears. I
think their love of life one of the earth’s great blessings, far
overshadowing their contributions to art and architecture. Born in
a land of gloom, I am consoled by the idea of a nation that does
not take itself too seriously.
    In Milan, Nura spent more money in a matter
of days than most people earn in a lifetime. It was as if she and
Ahmed shopped in a frenzy, with a deep desire to fill some lonely
void in their lives.
    Hadi and Ali spent their time buying women,
for the streets of Italy were filled, by day or by night, with
beautiful young women available to those who could pay. I saw Ali
as I always had, a selfish young man, concerned only with his
pleasure. But Hadi, I knew, was far more evil, for he bought the
women yet condemned them for their role in the act. He desired
them, yet hated them and the system that left them free to do as
they would. His hypocrisy was to me the essence of the evil nature
of men. When our plane touched down in Riyadh, I prepared myself
for more unpleasantness. At fourteen, I knew that I would now be
considered a woman, and that a hard fate awaited me. As precarious
as my childhood had been, I had a sudden longing to cling to my
youth and not let go. I had no doubt that my life, as a woman,
would be a perpetual struggle against the social order of my land,
which sacrifices those of my sex. My fears regarding my future soon
paled with the agony of the moment. I arrived home to discover that
my mother was dying.
     

Chapter Seven: Journey’s End
    Our one certainty in life is death. As a
staunch believer in the words of the Prophet Mohammed, my mother
felt no apprehension at the end of her life’s journey. She had
followed the pure life of a good Muslim and knew her just reward
awaited her.