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

of women gathered around the nursery
window had no voice in their destiny.
    I was eighteen years old at the time of my
first child’s birth. I met girls as young as thirteen nursing their
young. Other young women no more than my own age were delivering
their fourth or fifth infant.
    One young girl intrigued me. Her black eyes
were dulled with pain as she gazed at the mass of screaming
infants. She stood so quiet for such a lengthy time that I knew her
eyes did not see what was before her; instead she was immersed in a
drama far from the spot on which we were standing.
    I learned that she was from a small village,
not distant from the city. Normally, women in her tribe gave birth
in their homes, but she had been in labor five long days and
nights, and her husband had driven her to the city for medical
assistance. I befriended her over a period of several mornings and
discovered that she had been married at the age of twelve to a man
of fifty-three. She was the third wife, but much favored by her
husband.
    Mohammed, our beloved Prophet of Islam,
taught that men should divide their time equally among their wives.
In this case, the husband was so occupied with the charms of his
young bride that to please their husband, wives numbers one and two
frequently agreed to lose their turns for mating. The young girl
said her husband was a man of great power and did “it” many times a
day. Her eyes widened as she moved her arm up and down in the
pumping motion for added effect.
    Now she was frightened, for she had given
birth to a daughter, not a son. Her husband would be angry when he
came to claim them for the trip back to the village, for the
firstborns of the other two wives had been sons. Now, with
foreboding, she sensed that she would be scorned by her
husband.
    She recalled little of her childhood, which
now seemed ages ago. She had been raised poorly and experienced
little but hard work and sacrifice. She described how she had
helped her numerous brothers and sisters to herd the goats and
camels and tend to a small garden. I was anxious to know her
feelings of men and women and life, but since she was sadly lacking
in education, I did not receive the answers I was seeking.
    She was gone before I could say good-bye. I
felt cold from the thought of her bleak life and wandered back to
my suite in a despondent state.
    In a fit of anxiety over the safety of his
son, Kareem had posted armed guards at the door of my suite. When I
had made my morning walk to the nursery, I was surprised to see
guards standing in front of another room. I thought that another
princess must be in the ward. I eagerly asked a nurse to tell me
the name of the princess. A crease formed on her brow when she told
me that I was the only princess in the hospital.
    She told me the story, but not before she
advised me that she was absolutely scandalized. Then she proceeded
to insult all the people on earth before she described the
happenings in Room 212. She said that nothing of the sort would
ever happen in her country, that the British are quite civilized,
thank you, and that they make the rest of the world seem simply
barbaric.
    My imagination could not take me to such
depths of anger, so I implored her to tell me what was happening
before Kareem paid his afternoon visit.
    The day before, she told me, the hospital
staff had been dismayed to see a young girl about to deliver,
shackled in leg irons and handcuffs, escorted to the maternity ward
by armed guards. A group of angry mutawas, followed by the
frightened administrator, had accompanied the guards; they, not the
administrator, had appointed a physician to her case.
    To the physician’s consternation, he had been
informed that the girl had been tried in the Shari’a (the law of
God) courts and found guilty of fornication. Since this was a crime
of Hudud (a crime against God), the penalty was severe. The
mutawas, clothed in self-righteousness, were there to bear witness
to the appropriate punishment.
    The physician, a Muslim from India, made no
protest to the mutawas, but he was incensed at the role he was
forced to play. He told the staff that the usual punishment for
fornication was flogging, but in this instance, the father had
insisted upon death for his daughter. The girl was to be guarded
until she delivered, at which time she was to be stoned to
death.
    The nurse’s chin quivered in indignation as
she reported that the girl was no more than a child. She guessed
her age at fourteen or