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

the sitting
room. I would have smiled but for my painful jaw. Noorah was
crumpled in a comer of the sitting room, crying out for Allah to
save her beloved Muneer from the wrath of the king and the men of
religion.
    Noorah saw me and instantly quieted. After
long moments of silence, she looked at me with contempt and said,
“Kareem has promised me he will divorce you. He agrees that ‘Who
grows up on a habit will die with it’ (Arab proverb), and you have
grown up wild. There is no place for such a one as you in this
family.” Noorah, expecting tears and pleas, which are common from
those deemed helpless, searched my face closely when I replied that
I myself was going to demand a divorce from her son. I declared
that Marci was at that very moment packing my bags; I would leave
her oppressive home within the hour. As an added insult, I called
over my shoulder that I was going to influence my father into
calling for Muneer to be made an example for those who so disdain
the laws of our faith. Her precious son would more than likely be
flogged or jailed, or both. I left Noorah with her jaw hanging in
fear.
    The tables had turned. My voice rang with a
confidence I did not feel. Noorah had no way of knowing if I
possessed the behind-the-scenes power that could accomplish my
threats. She would celebrate if her son divorced me; she would be
mortified if I were the one to seek a divorce. It is difficult, but
not impossible, for a woman in Arabia to divorce her husband. Since
my father was a prince closer in blood to our first king than
Kareem’s father, Noorah had a moment of fear that I could be
successful in my claim to call for Muneer’s punishment. She had no
knowledge that my father would more than likely turn me out of our
home for my imprudence, and that I would have nowhere to turn.
    Appropriate actions to follow my bold threats
were required. When Marci and I appeared at the door loaded with
traveling cases, the household broke open like an explosion. By
coincidence, Muneer, located at the home of a friend and ordered
home, had just arrived with one of the drivers. Unaware of the
seriousness of his predicament, he swore when I informed him that
his mother had brought about the pending divorce of her eldest
son.
    A wave of perverse optimism swept through my
body as Noorah, incited into action by the possibility of my
vociferous wrath, insisted I not leave the house. The double crisis
had impaired Noorah’s resolve; she emerged thoroughly weakened in
our bitter feud. After much pleading on her part, I reluctantly
remained.
    I was sleeping when Kareem returned,
exhausted from an evening of mortification. I overheard his appeal
to Muneer to consider the name of their father before committing
acts that were forbidden. I did not have to strain to hear Muneer’s
insolent response, accusing Kareem of helping to oil the mammoth
machine of hypocrisy that was the Kingdom of Saudi Arabia.
    King Faisal was revered by most Saudis for
his dedicated and devout style of life. Within the family itself,
he was held in deep respect by the elder princes. He had led our
country from the dark days of King Sa’ud’s rule into a position of
regard and even admiration from some quarters. But there was a deep
divergence between the elder princes and the younger princes within
the family.
    Devoured by desire for unearned wealth, these
young men of the family hated the king, who cut their allowances,
prohibited their entry into illegal businesses, and chided them
when they strayed from the path of honor, There was not even a
flicker of compromise between the two camps and trouble
continuously brewed. That night, Kareem slept a great distance from
me in our large bed. I heard him through the night as he tossed and
turned. I knew he was plunged in dark thoughts. I had a rare touch
of guilt as I pondered the severity of his troubles. I decided that
if my marriage survived that day’s grievous wounds, I would temper
my attitude.
    The next morning, a new Kareem emerged. He
failed to speak or acknowledge my presence. My good intentions of
the previous night vanished into the pale morning light. I told him
in a loud voice that I thought a divorce best. In my heart I longed
for him to appeal for peace.
    He looked at me and replied in a dry,
frightening voice, “Whatever you think, but we will settle our
differences when this family crisis is behind us.” Kareem continued
to shave, as if I had said nothing out of the ordinary.
    This new foe,