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

traditions that do not belong in a civilized society. But,
still, the unfairness of it all lingered in my thoughts. We women
of Arabia could find happiness only if the man ruling us was
considerate; otherwise, sorrow would surround us. No matter what we
do, our future is linked to one prerequisite: the degree of
kindness in the man who rules us.
    Feeling drowsy, I went back to sleep; I
dreamed I was in a beautiful emerald green wedding gown waiting for
my groom, Kareem. He failed to arrive, and my dream turned into a
nightmare and I awoke in a trembling sweat; I was being pursued by
ghoulish old women in black, razors in hand, screeching for my
blood.
    I cried out for Marci to bring me cold water.
I was in anguish, for I recognized the meaning of my frightening
vision: A major obstacle to change and relief from our antiquated
customs were the women of Arabia themselves. The women of my
mother’s generation were uneducated, and had little knowledge other
than what their men told them to be true; as a tragic result, such
traditions as circumcision were kept alive by the very people who
had, themselves, suffered under the cruel knife of barbarism. In
their confusion of past and present, they were unwittingly
strengthening the men in their efforts to keep us in ignorance and
seclusion. Even when told of the medical dangers, my mother had
clung to the traditional past; she could imagine no other path for
her daughters than the one she herself had trod, for fear that any
shift from tradition would harm their marriage chances.
    Only we modern, educated women could change
the course of women’s lives. It was in our power, within our wombs.
I looked to my wedding date with determined anticipation. I would
be the first of the Saudi women to reform her inner circle. It
would be my sons and daughters who would remodel Arabia into a
country worthy of all its citizens, both male and female.
     

Chapter Twelve:
    On the occasion of my wedding, the
preparation room was filled with gaiety. I was surrounded by women
of my family; no one person could be heard, for all were speaking
and laughing as a singular and grand celebration.
    I was in the palace of Nura and Ahmed, which
had been completed only a few weeks before my wedding date. Nura
was pleased with the outcome and was anxious for word of her gilded
mansion to leak throughout the city of Riyadh and cause all to
exclaim at the monies spent and the glory accomplished.
    I myself hated Nura’s new palace; for
romantic reasons, I had wanted to be wed in Jeddah, by the sea. But
my father had insisted upon a traditional wedding and I, for once,
made no outcry when my demands were not met. I had decided months
ago to hold back my passion except for matters of paramount
importance and to let little irritations slide easily away.
Doubtlessly, I was becoming exhausted with the disabilities of my
land.
    While Nura beamed happily, our female
relatives were heaping compliments upon the beauty of the palace.
Sara and I exchanged small smiles, for we had agreed some time ago
that the palace was in the worst possible taste.
    Nura’s marble palace was enormous. Hundreds
of Filipino, Thai, and Yemeni laborers, supervised by unsmiling
German contractors, had worked around the clock for months to
create the monstrosity. The painters, the woodworkers, the
metalworkers, and the architects did not speak with one voice; as a
result, the palace conflicted within itself.
    The halls were gilded and richly adorned.
Sara and I counted 180 paintings hanging in the entry hall alone.
Sara recoiled in dismay and said that the selections of art were
picked by one with little or no knowledge of the great masters.
Garish carpets with embroidered birds and beasts of every type laid
across endless floors. The ornate bedrooms made my soul feel heavy;
I wondered how children of the same blood could so differ in
judgment of style.
    While Nura had failed miserably in decorating
her home, her gardens were a masterpiece. Nearly a mile of lakes
and lawns decorated with beautifully arranged flowers, shrubs, and
trees encircled her palace. There were many surprises to delight
the eye: sculptures, colorful birdhouses, fountains spouting water,
and even a children’s merry-go-round.
    I was going to be married to Kareem in the
garden at nine o’clock in the evening. Nura knew that I loved
yellow roses, and thousands of them, flown in from Europe, were now
floating on the lake beside the rose-covered pavilion where