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

went
into separate bedrooms.
    On the fourth night, I pulled my husband into
my bed. Afterward, with my drowsy head on Kareem’s shoulder, I
whispered that I would be one of the scandalous young wives of
Riyadh who cheerfully admitted I enjoyed sex with my husband.
    I had never been to America and was anxious
to form an opinion of the people who spread their culture
worldwide, yet seemed to know so little of the world themselves.
New Yorkers, with their pushy, rude manners, frightened me. I was
happy when we arrived in Los Angeles, with its pleasant, laid-back
ambience, which feels more familiar to Arabs.
    In California, after weeks of meeting
transported Americans from practically every state in the Union, I
announced to Kareem that I liked these strange, loud people, the
Americans. When he asked me why, I had difficulty in voicing what I
felt in my heart.
    I finally said, “I believe this marvelous
mixture of cultures has brought civilization closer to reality than
in any other culture in history.” I was certain Kareem did not
understand what I meant and I tried to explain. “So few countries
manage complete freedom for all their citizens without chaos; this
has been accomplished in this huge land. It appears impossible for
large numbers of people to stay on a course of freedom for all when
so many options are available. Just imagine what would happen in
the Arab world; a country the size of America would have a war a
minute, with each man certain he had the only correct answer for
the good of all! In our lands, men look no farther than their own
noses for a solution. Here, it is different.”
    Kareem looked at me in amazement. Not used to
a woman interested in the greater scheme of things, he questioned
me into the night to learn my thoughts on various matters. It was
obvious that my husband was not accustomed to a woman with opinions
of her own. He seemed in utter shock that I thought of political
issues and the state of the world. Finally, he kissed me on the
neck and said that I would continue my education once we returned
to Riyadh.
    Irritated at his tone of permission, I told
him I was not aware that my education was up for discussion.
    The planned eight-week honeymoon turned into
ten weeks. Only after a call from Kareem’s father did we
reluctantly drag ourselves back to our families. Like most Saudi
newlyweds, we were going to live in the palace of Kareem’s parents
until our own palace was built.
    I knew that Kareem’s mother looked upon me
with distaste; now it was in her power to make my life miserable. I
thought of my foolish disregard for tradition, which had brought
about her scorn, and cursed myself for thinking so little of my
future by alienating my mother-in-law at our first meeting. I knew
that Kareem, like all Arab men, would never side with his wife
against his mother. It would be up to me to arrive with an olive
branch extended in peace.
    I had an unpleasant shock as the plane
prepared to land in Riyadh. Kareem reminded me of my veil. I
scrambled to cover myself in black and felt a fierce longing for
the sweet scent of freedom that had begun to fade the moment we
entered Saudi airspace.
    With the tightness of dread in my throat, we
entered his mother’s palace to begin our married life. At that
moment, I was unaware that Kareem’s mother so disliked me that she
had already begun plotting ways to bring our happy union to an
end.
     

Chapter Thirteen: Married Life
    If there could be one word that would
describe the Saudi women of my mother’s generation, it would be
waiting. They spent their lives waiting. Females of that era were
banned from education and job opportunities, so there was little to
do but wait to be married, wait to give birth, wait for
grandchildren, and wait to grow old.
    In Arab lands, age brings great satisfaction
for women, for honor is bestowed upon those women who fulfill their
productive duties with many sons and therefore ensure the continued
lineage of the family name.
    My mother-in-law, Noorah, had spent her life
waiting for a daughter-in-law to bestow the honor she felt was now
her due. Kareem was her eldest child, the most beloved son. Saudi
customs of the old days demanded that the wife of the firstborn son
do his mother’s bidding. Like all young women, I knew of this
tradition, but reality tends to fade from my thoughts until the
time I must confront the facts.
    Certainly, desire for male children is common
in much of the world, but no place can