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

affair.”
    Feeling heady with my father’s approval, I
sat on the floor and leaned across his lap. I wanted to hold the
moment forever when he squeezed my shoulders and smiled down at his
amusing daughter. Taking advantage of the intimate scene, I became
brave and asked Father if I could meet Kareem before the
wedding.
    Father turned and looked at Sara; something
in her expression touched his heart. He patted the sofa beside him
and asked her to sit. There were no spoken words among the three of
us, but we communicated through the bond of generations.
    Ali, stunned at the attention given to the
females in the family, leaned against the door frame with his mouth
in a perfect circle; he was struck dumb.
     

     
     

Chapter Eleven: Kareem
    Much to Father’s amazement, and to my bitter
disappointment, Kareem’s family did not break off our engagement.
Instead, Kareem and his father arrived at Father’s office the
following week and politely asked that Kareem be allowed to meet
me, under proper supervision, of course. Kareem had heard of my
unorthodox behavior with his relatives and was decidedly curious to
discover if I was completely mad or just highly spirited.
    Father had not responded to my earlier
entreaty to meet with Kareem, but a request from the man’s family
was a different matter. After discussing the issue at length with
several of the family aunties and my sister Nura, Father gave a
favorable reply to Kareem’s request.
    Wild with joy, I danced around the room when
Father told me the news. I was going to meet the man I would marry
before I married him! My sisters and I were electrified, for it was
just not done in our society; we were prisoners who felt the
ever-present chains of tradition lighten.
    Kareem’s parents and my father and Nura
decreed that Kareem and his mother would come to our villa in two
weeks’ time for afternoon tea. Kareem and I would be chaperoned by
Nura, Sara, two of my aunties, and his mother.
    With this possibility of control of my life
on the horizon, hope was born, a fantasy I dared not imagine only
yesterday. I found myself excited and wondered if I would find
Kareem to my taste. Then I was struck with a new and unpleasant
thought; perhaps Kareem would not like me! Oh, how I wanted to be
beautiful like Sara, so that men’s hearts would throb with
desire.
    Now I stood for hours gazing in the
mirror—cursing my small stature, twisting my short, unruly curls.
My nose seemed too small for my face, my eyes had no luster.
Perhaps it was best to hide me under a veil until the night of the
wedding!
    Sara chuckled at my agony and tried to
reassure me: Men loved petite women, particularly ones with small,
upturned noses and smiling eyes. Nura, whose opinion everyone
respected, said, laughingly, that I was considered very pretty by
all the women in the family. I had just never pursued beauty;
perhaps the time had come for me to enhance my assets.
    Suddenly consumed with yearnings to be
considered a desirable woman, I told Father I had nothing to wear.
For even though we Saudi women veil on the streets, our dark
coverings are discarded the moment we enter the home of a female
friend. Since we cannot awe those of the opposite sex, other than
our husbands, with our carefully selected fashions, we females
attempt to dazzle each other. Here, we really do dress for other
women! For instance, women in my country will arrive at an
afternoon tea party carefully dressed in lace and satin, with their
garments tastefully accented by a display of priceless diamonds and
rubies.
    Many of my foreign friends have been stunned
by the plunging necklines and skimpy clothing hidden under our
dowdy abaayas. I have been told that we Saudi women resemble bright
exotic birds with our choice of attire under our black veils and
abaayas. Without a doubt, we women in black take more time and
effort with our individual clothing under our cloaks than do
Western women, who are free to flaunt their fashionable
clothes.
    Father, delighted that I was displaying an
interest in a marriage he had thought I would disrupt, easily
relented to my pleas. Nura and her husband traveled with me to
London for a three-day shopping spree at Harrods. I took great
pains to tell the Harrods salesladies that I was going to meet my
fiancé the following week. Just because I was a Saudi princess, I
did not want them to assume I was without choices in my life. I
felt disappointed that no one expressed awe or surprise at my