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

veiled women who propositioned
him at the ground-floor elevator.
    The lives of Wafa and Nadia were spared by
the fact that their hymens were intact. Neither the Morals
Committee nor the Religious Council, and especially not their
fathers, believed their unlikely fabrication that they had simply
asked the men for a ride when their driver was late. I guess it was
the best story they could concoct, considering the
circumstances.
    The Religious Council questioned every man
who worked in the area and found a total of fourteen who said they
had been approached by two veiled women. None of the men confessed
that they had participated in any activities with them. After three
months of bleak imprisonment, due to the lack of hard evidence of
sexual activity, the committee released Wafa and Nadia to their
respective fathers for punishment.
    Surprisingly, Wafa’s father, the unbending
man of religion, sat with his daughter and questioned her as to the
reasons for her misdeeds. When she cried and told him her feelings
of rejection and hopelessness, he expressed sorrow at her
unhappiness. In spite of his regret and sympathy, he informed Wafa
that it was his decision that she should be removed from all
further temptations. She was advised to study the Koran and to
accept a simple life preordained for women, far removed from the
city. He arranged a hasty marriage with a bedouin mutawa from a
small village. The man was fifty-three, and Wafa, seventeen, would
be his third wife. Ironically, it was Nadia’s father who was
gripped with a fearsome rage. He refused to speak with his daughter
and ordered her confined to her room until a decision was made as
to her punishment.
    A few days later, my father came home early
from the office and called Randa and me into his sitting room. We
sat disbelieving when he told us that Nadia was going to be drowned
in her family’s swimming pool, by her father, on the following
morning, Friday, at ten o’clock. Father said that Nadia’s entire
family would witness her execution.
    My heart fluttered with fear when Father
asked Randa if she or I had ever accompanied Wafa or Nadia on their
shameful undertakings. I moved forward and started to voice my
denials when Father shouted and shoved me back into the sofa. Randa
burst into tears and told him the story of that day so long ago
when we had purchased my first abaaya and veil. Father sat
unmoving, eyes unblinking, until Randa had finished. He then asked
us about our women’s club, the one with the name of Lips. He said
that we might as well tell the truth, that Nadia had confessed all
our activities days ago. When Randa’s tongue froze, Father removed
our club papers from his briefcase. He had searched my room and
found our records and membership lists. For once in my life, my
mouth was dry, my lips locked as with a chain.
    Father calmly put the papers back into a pile
on the briefcase. He looked clearly into Randa’s eyes and said, “On
this day I have divorced you. Your father will send a driver within
the hour to take you to your family. You are forbidden to contact
my children.”
    To my horror, Father turned slowly to me.
“You are my child. Your mother was a good woman. Even so, had you
participated in these activities with Wafa and Nadia, I would
uphold the teachings of the Koran and see you lowered into your
grave. You will avoid my attention and concentrate on your
schooling while I will work toward a suitable marriage.” He paused
for a moment, coming close and looking hard into my eyes. “Sultana,
accept your future as one who obeys, for you have no alternative.”
Father stooped for the papers and his case and, without looking at
Randa or me again, left the room.
    Humiliated, I followed Randa to her room and
numbly watched as she gathered her jewels, her clothes, and her
books into an unruly pile on the large bed. Her face was wiped
clean of emotion. I could not form the words that were loose in my
head. The doorbell rang too quickly, and I found myself helping the
servants carry her things to the car. Without a word of farewell,
Randa left my home, but not my heart.
    At ten o’clock the next morning, I sat alone,
staring yet unseeing out my bedroom balcony. I thought of Nadia and
imagined her bound in heavy chains, dark hood gathered around her
head, hands lifting her from the ground and lowering her into the
blue-green waters of her family swimming pool. I closed my eyes and
felt her body thrashing, her mouth gasping for air,