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

mother-in-law had frantically
located Kareem in the office of a client and hysterically reported
that I was going to kill her unborn grandchild.
    Our child was saved by mere moments. I would
have to reward Marci.
    Kareem herded me into the house with curses.
In our room he covered me with kisses and we wept and made our
peace. It had taken a series of mishaps to lead us to our peak of
happiness. Miraculously, all had ended well.
     

Chapter Fourteen: Birth
    The most complete and powerful expression of
life is birth. The acts of conceiving and birthing are more
profound and beautiful than any miracle of art. This I learned as I
waited for our first child with such great joy and happiness.
    Kareem and I had meticulously planned the
birth. No detail was too small to take into account. We made
reservations to travel to Europe four months before the expected
date of arrival. I would give birth at Guy’s Hospital in
London.
    As with so many carefully laid plans, minor
occurrences prevented our departure. Kareem’s mother, blinded by a
new veil made of thicker fabric than usual, sprained her ankle when
she stumbled over an old bedouin woman sitting in the souq; a close
cousin on the verge of signing an important contract requested that
Kareem postpone his departure; and my sister Nura frightened the
family with what the doctor thought was an appendicitis attack.
Once we were past these crises, false labor pains began. My
physician forbade me to travel. Kareem and I accepted the
inevitable and set about making arrangements for our child to be
born in Riyadh.
    Unfortunately, the King Faisal Specialist
Hospital and Research Centre that would offer us royals the latest
medical care had yet to open. I would give birth at a smaller
institution in the city, best known for harboring germs and for its
lackadaisical staff.
    Since we were of the Royal Family, we had
options not available to other Saudis. Kareem arranged for three
rooms in the maternity ward to be converted into a royal suite. He
hired local carpenters and painters. Interior decorators from
London were flown in, tape measures and fabric samples in hand.
    My sisters and I were guided through the unit
by the proud hospital administrator. The suite glowed a heavenly
blue with silk bed covers and drapes. An elaborate baby bed with
matching silk coverlets was fastened with heavy bolts to the floor,
in the event that a member of the negligent staff might carelessly
tip the bed and toss our precious child to the floor! Nura bent
double with laughter when told of the precaution and warned me that
Kareem would drive the family insane with his schemes to protect
our child.
    I sat speechless when Kareem advised me that
a staff of six would soon arrive from London to assist me in the
birth. A well-known London obstetrician, along with five highly
skilled nurses, had been paid an enormous fee to travel to Riyadh
three weeks prior to the estimated delivery date.
    Since I was a motherless child, Sara moved
into the palace toward the end of my pregnancy. She watched me as I
watched her. I observed her carefully, absorbing the sad changes in
my dear sister. I told Kareem I feared she would never recover from
her abhorrent marriage; her quiet moods were now a permanent
component of what had once been a thoroughly cheerful and joyous
character.
    How unfair life could be! I, by my very
aggressiveness, could have better dealt with an abusive husband,
for bullies tend to be less forceful in the face of someone who
will stand up to them. Sara, with her peaceful soul and gentle
spirit, had been an easy target for the arrogance of her untamed
husband.
    But I was thankful for her smooth presence.
As my body swelled, I became jittery and unpredictable. Kareem, in
his excitement over fatherhood, had lost all his good sense.
    Due to the presence of Kareem’s brother Asad
and various cousins who came and went at will, Sara had been
careful to veil when she left our apartments on the second floor.
The single men of the family were housed in another wing, but they
roamed the palace at all hours. After Sara’s third day in our home,
Noorah sent word through Kareem that there was no need for her to
veil when she entered the main living areas of the villa or the
gardens. I was pleased for any loosening of the tight restraints on
women that so encumbered our lives. Sara was apprehensive in the
beginning, but soon shed the excess covering of black with
ease.
    One late evening Sara and I were