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

compare with Arab lands,
where every woman must endure boiling tension throughout her
childbearing years, waiting for the birth of a son. Sons are the
sole reason for marriage, the key to satisfaction for the
husband.
    Male children are so treasured that a fierce
bond develops between mother and son. Nothing, other than the love
of another woman, can separate the two. From the moment we were
wed, Kareem’s mother thought of me as her competitor, not as a
welcome member of the family. I was the promise of a wedge between
Noorah and her son; my presence only intensified her pervasive mood
of general unhappiness. Some years before, her life had taken an
abrupt turn that had poisoned her outlook.
    The first wife of Kareem’s father, Noorah had
borne her husband seven living children, three of whom were sons.
When Kareem was fourteen, his father had taken a second wife, a
Lebanese woman of great beauty and charm. From that moment, there
had been no peace within the walls surrounding the palaces of the
two wives.
    Noorah, a mean-spirited woman, was positively
malevolent over her husband’s second marriage. In her hate, she was
driven to consult a sorcerer from Ethiopia—who served the palace of
the king but was for hire to the other royals—and paid him a great
sum to put a curse on the Lebanese woman so that she would be
barren. Noorah, proud of her own productivity, was convinced that
the Lebanese would be divorced if she could not produce sons.
    As it turned out, Kareem’s father loved the
Lebanese woman and told her he did not care whether she gave him
children. As the years passed, it became evident to Noorah that the
Lebanese was not going to give birth or be divorced. Since the
great driving force in Noorah’s life was to rid her husband of his
second wife, she consulted the sorcerer and paid an even larger sum
to bring a cloud of death upon the Lebanese.
    When Kareem’s father heard the idle gossip of
Noorah’s scheming at the palace, he came to her in a rage. He swore
that if the Lebanese woman died before Noorah, he would divorce
Noorah. She would be sent away in disgrace and forbidden contact
with her children.
    Noorah, convinced that the barren womb was a
result of the sorcerer’s power, was now terrified that the woman
would die; surely black magic was unalterable. Since that time,
Noorah was obliged to protect the Lebanese woman. She now spent an
unhappy life trying to save the life of the very woman she had
tried to kill by voodoo.
    It was a strange household. In her
unhappiness, Noorah lashed out at those around her, excluding her
children. Since I was not of her blood and was greatly loved by
Kareem, I was her natural target. Her intense jealousy was evident
to everyone except Kareem, who, like most sons, saw little wrong in
his devoted mother. In her maturity, she had apparently gained
wisdom, for she made a great pretense of affection to me when
Kareem was within hearing distance.
    Each morning I happily walked Kareem to the
gate. Hard at work at his law firm, he would leave by nine, which
is early for anyone, particularly a prince, to begin work in Saudi
Arabia. Few members of the Royal Family arise before ten or
eleven.
    I was certain Noorah watched us from her
bedroom window, for the moment the gate closed behind him, Noorah
would begin to call my name with the greatest urgency. None of the
thirty-three servants employed in her household would do; she would
cry out for me to serve her hot tea.
    Since I had spent my childhood mistreated by
the men of my family, I was in no mood to spend the second part of
my life abused by women, even Kareem’s mother.
    For the present, I remained mute. But
Kareem’s mother was soon to learn that I had faced antagonists much
more fierce than an old woman with dark mental recesses. Besides,
there is an old Arab proverb that says: “Patience is the key to
solutions.” In an attempt to exchange success for failure, I
thought it best to heed the wisdom passed down from generations. I
would be patient and await an opportunity to reduce Noorah’s power
over me.
    Fortunately, I had little time to wait.
Kareem’s younger brother, Muneer, had recently returned from his
studies in America. His anger at being back in Saudi Arabia bit
deeply into the peace of the household.
    Although much has been written about the
enforced monotony of women’s lives in Saudi Arabia, scant attention
has been given to the wasted lives of many of our young men. True,
their lives are