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

come, we of the younger
generation had decided to take them by force. We knew that the
religious groups seethed with anger at our mixed gatherings, yet
they made no move to pressure Khalid, our revered and pious
king.
    For such social gatherings the women dressed
with flamboyance, for we had few occasions to show off our jewels
and dresses. Kareem and I were often out until two or three in the
morning. Our routine rarely wavered unless we were out of the
country. An eternal question haunted me: Was this all there was? I
could deny the facts no longer. I, the fiery Sultana, had become an
ordinary, dull, and listless Saudi woman, with little of real
importance to occupy my days. I hated my lazy and luxurious life,
but was unsure as to the steps I could take to change my rut of
boredom.
    After the relaxing foot massage, I had an
urge to walk through the gardens. In planning our own gardens, I
had used Nura’s lovely grounds as a reference. Nothing gave me as
much peace as a stroll in the cool shade of the small forest so
vigorously watered and tended by a crew of twelve men from Sri
Lanka. We lived in the middle of one the world’s harshest deserts,
yet our homes were surrounded by lush, green gardens. Because of
endless sums of money paid for plentiful water trucked in from the
seaports for the four waterings each day, we wealthy Saudis could
escape the stark red sands that were waiting for the slightest
chance to encroach upon our cities and erase our memory from the
earth. In time, the desert would win, but for now, we were the
masters of our land.
    I stopped to rest in the gazebo specially
built for Maha, our eldest daughter, who would soon celebrate her
fifth birthday. She was a dreamer and spent hours upon hours hidden
in the midst of the vine-covered contraption, playing complicated
games with imaginary friends. She reminded me so of myself at a
young age. Fortunately, she did not share the heavy revolutionary
personality of her mother, for Maha enjoyed her father’s love and
felt no need to rebel.
    I picked at the flowers overhanging Maha’s
favorite spot. She had left an assortment of toys in an unruly
pile. I smiled and wondered how she could be so completely removed
from her younger sister’s character traits, for Amani, who was now
three, was a child of perfection, much in the same manner as her
Aunt Sara.
    As I thought of my children, my depression
came to me, fierce and strong. I remembered to thank God for my
healthy son and two daughters, but tears welled in my eyes when I
thought again about the fact that I would have no more
children.
    The year before, during a routine examination
at the King Faisal Specialist Hospital and Research Centre here in
our city, I had been diagnosed with breast cancer. Kareem and I
were shocked, for we thought of illness as belonging only to the
aged. I had remained disease-free all of my life and had borne my
last two children with ease. The doctors were certain I was now
clean of the killer cells, but I had lost one breast. Further, I
was also warned not to become pregnant.
    As a precaution against desire for more
little ones that would overrule common sense, Kareem and I made a
decision for me to undergo sterilization. My fears had been so
great that I might not live to see my three children grow that my
mind was little troubled at the time by the thought of having such
a small family. In Saudi Arabia, rarely does a woman stop producing
children; age removes the pangs of giving birth, nothing else.
    The sound of Kareem’s voice interrupted my
deep and troubled thoughts. I watched him as he walked briskly
across the thick grass. We had suffered many arguments over the
past year, for our lives were stressed by my illness. I made a
sudden resolve to become the old Sultana, the girl who used to make
her husband laugh with great joy and abandon. I smiled at his long,
athletic legs bound by the tightness of his thobe. The sight of him
still gladdened my heart.
    When he came closer I recognized that trouble
was on his mind. I tossed around the possibilities, for I knew my
husband’s moods; it would take many moments for him to reveal his
burden. I gestured with my hand for him to sit beside me. I wanted
to sit as closely as our rigid customs allow, which meant our limbs
could touch through our clothing so long as no one could see.
    Kareem disappointed me when he settled at the
farthest corner of the gazebo. He did not return my smile of
welcome. Some harm had come to the