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

even a
dying mother herself. Madeline thought we might succeed with the
old Yemeni.
    “Since the entire family was on a holiday in
Europe, the young Yemeni had been given a two-week leave, and had
returned to Yemen to marry. At this time, the only men on the villa
grounds were the old Yemeni and a gardener from Pakistan.
    “I looked at my watch and Antoine looked at
his watch. Finally, we heard the shuffling of feet as the old man
returned. The gate creaked with a slow swing. I shivered for I had
a feeling I was entering the gates of hell. The old Yemeni grunted
and made a motion with his hands that Antoine was to stay outside
with the car. Only I would be allowed inside.”
    I tensed up as I imagined the fear Marci must
have felt. “How did you dare? I would have called the police!”
    Marci shook her head. “The police do not help
Filipinos in this country. We would be reported to our employer and
then jailed or deported, according to the wishes of your father.
The police in this country are for the strong, not for the
weak.”
    I knew what she said was true. Filipinos were
a notch below us women. Even I, a princess, would never receive aid
if it meant the police had to go against the wishes of the men of
my family. But I did not want to think of my problems at that
moment; I was wrapped up in Marci’s adventure.
    “Go on, tell me, what did you discover
inside?” I imagined the inner workings of a Saudi Frankenstein’s
monster!
    Having the full interest of her mistress,
Marci became enlivened and began to make facial expressions and
describe her experiences with relish.
    “Following his slow steps, I was able to look
all around. The concrete blocks had never been painted. A small
block building nearby had no door, just an open space with a
stringy old rag pulled across the top. Judging from the clutter of
dirty mats, open cans, and garbage smells, I knew the old Yemeni
must live there. We walked by the family pool, but it was empty of
water except for a black, foul residue at the deepest end. Three
tiny skeletons—which looked like the remains of baby kittens—were
lying at the short end of the pool.”
    “Kittens? Oh, my goodness!” Marci knew how I
loved all baby animals. “What a terrible death!”
    “It looked like kittens. I guessed they were
born in the empty pool and the mother cat was unable to get them
out.”
    I shuddered with despair.
    Marci continued. “The villa was large but had
the same coarse look as the wall. Paint had been splashed on the
blocks at some time in the past, but sandstorms had left it ugly.
There was a garden, but the plants had all died from the lack of
water. I saw four or five birds in a cage hanging under a large
tree. They looked sad and skinny, without a song in their hearts to
sing.
    Through the front door, the Yemeni yelled
something in Arabic to an unseen person; he nodded his head at me
and motioned for me to enter. I hesitated at the doorway as the
bad-smelling air rushed over me. With great fear and trembling, I
called out Madeline’s name. The Yemeni turned and walked back to
his interrupted sleep.
    “Madeline came down a long dark hallway. The
light was very dim, and after the bright sunshine outside, I could
barely see her walking toward me. She began to run when she saw it
was really her old friend Marci. We rushed to embrace and I was
amazed to see that she was clean and smelled good. She was skinnier
than when I last saw her, but alive!”
    A feeling of relief flooded my body, for I
had expected Marci to tell me she had found her friend half-dead,
lying on a dirty mat, struggling to give her final instructions to
take her body back to Manila.
    “What happened then?” I was in a rush to
discover the end to Marci’s story.
    Marci’s voice took on the tone of a whisper,
as though her memories were too painful to recall. “After we
completed our cries of greetings and our hugs, Madeline pushed me
toward the long hallway. She held my hand and guided me to a small
room off to the right. Directing me to a sofa, she sat on the floor
facing me.
    "She immediately burst into tears now that we
were alone. As she buried her face in my lap, I stroked her hair
and whispered for her to tell me what had happened to her. After
she stopped her tears, she told me of her life since she had left
Manila one year before.
    “Madeline was met at the airport by two
Yemeni servants. They were holding a card with her name spelled out
in English. She accompanied the two