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

is
impossible for him to find the funds to provide middle-class
standards for four separate families.
    Father was planning to marry one of the royal
cousins, Randa, a girl with whom I had played childhood games in
what seemed like another lifetime. Father’s new bride was fifteen,
only one year older than I, his youngest child of my mother. Four
months after the burial of my mother, I attended the wedding of my
father. I was surly, and refused to join in the festivities—I was
awash with pent-up emotions of animosity. After the birth of
sixteen children and many years of obedient servitude, I knew that
the memory of my mother had been effortlessly disregarded by my
father.
    Not only was I furious at my father, I felt
overwhelming hatred toward my former playmate Randa, who was now
going to be the fourth wife, filling the void created by my
mother’s death. The wedding was grand, the bride was young and
beautiful. My anger toward Randa collapsed as my father led her
from the huge ballroom to the marriage bed. My eyes widened as they
saw her worried face. Her lips trembled with fear! As a roaring
flame is instantaneously extinguished, the sight of Randa’s
obvious
    despair quieted and transformed my passion
from black hate to tender commiseration. I felt ashamed of my
hostility, for I saw that she was as the rest of us, helpless in
the face of towering, dominating Saudi manhood.
    Father traveled with his virginal bride on an
extended honeymoon to Paris and Monte Carlo. In my propitious
change of emotion, I waited for Randa’s return, and as I lingered,
I vowed to awaken Father’s new wife to a path of purpose: freedom
for women in our land. Not only would I provide Randa with new
challenges and dreams of power, I knew I would wound Father in the
political and spiritual awakening of his young wife. I could not
forgive him for so easily forgetting the wonderful woman who was my
mother.
     

Chapter Eight: Girlfriends
    Upon their return from their honeymoon,
Father and Randa moved into our villa. Even though Mother was no
longer with the living, her younger children continued to reside in
Father’s villa and his new wife was expected to assume the duties
of a mother. Since I was the youngest child, only one year behind
Randa, the custom seemed ludicrous in our situation. However, there
is no room for maneuvering or change to fit the individual
conditions in Saudi Arabia, so Randa was installed in our home, a
child masquerading as a woman and mistress of our large
household.
    Randa returned from her honeymoon quiet,
almost broken. She rarely talked, never smiled, and moved slowly
through the villa, as though she might cause some injury or harm.
Father seemed pleased with his new possession, for he spent many
hours cloistered in his living quarters with his youthful
bride.
    After the third week of Father’s undivided
attention to Randa, Ali cracked a joke about Father’s sexual
prowess. I asked my brother what he thought of Randa’s feelings in
the matter—to be wed to one so much older, one she did not know or
love. Ali’s vacant expression told me all too clearly not only that
the thought had never entered his head but that such a
consideration would not find fertile ground in his narrow realm of
understanding. He well reminded me that nothing would ever
penetrate that dark sea of egotistic matter that constitutes the
mind of a Saudi man.
    Randa and I held different philosophies. She
believed: “What is written on your forehead, your eyes will see.” I
think: “The picture in your mind will be photographed by your
life.” In addition, Randa was painfully shy and timid, whereas I
greet life with a certain fierceness.
    I noticed Randa’s eyes as they followed the
hands of the clock; she began to fidget a few hours prior to
Father’s usual arrival times for lunch and for the evening meal.
She had orders from my father to eat her meals before his arrival
and then to shower and prepare herself for him. At noon each day
Randa would order the cook to serve her lunch. She would eat
sparingly and then retire to her quarters. My father generally
arrived at the villa around one o’clock, had his lunch, and then
went to his new wife. He would leave the villa around five o’clock
and return to his offices. (In Saudi Arabia, many business workdays
are divided into two shifts: from nine A.M. until one P.M. and,
after a four-hour afternoon break, from five P.M. until eight
P.M.)
    Observing Randa’s pinched look, I