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

master to
slave, it is little wonder that by the time he is old enough to
take a mate, he considers her his chattel, not his partner.
    And so it comes to be that women in my land
are ignored by their fathers, scorned by their brothers, and abused
by their husbands. This cycle is difficult to break, for the men
who impose this life upon their women ensure their own marital
unhappiness. For what man can be truly content surrounded by such
misery? It is evident that the men of my land are searching for
gratification by taking one wife after the other, followed by
mistress after mistress. Little do these men know that their
happiness can be found in their own home, with one woman of
equality. By treating women as slaves, as property, men have made
themselves as unhappy as the women they rule, and have made love
and true companionship unattainable to both sexes.
    The history of our women is buried behind the
black veil of secrecy. Neither our births nor our deaths are made
official in any public record. Although births of male children are
documented in family or tribal records, none are maintained
anywhere for females. The common emotion expressed at the birth of
a female is either sorrow or shame. Although hospital births and
government record keeping are increasing, the majority of rural
births take place at home. No country census is maintained by the
government of Saudi Arabia.
    I have often asked myself, does this mean
that we women of the desert do not exist, if our coming and our
passing goes unrecorded? If no one knows of my existence, does that
mean I do not exist? This fact, more than the injustices of my
life, has prompted me to take this very real risk in order to tell
my story. The women of my country may be hidden by the veil and
firmly controlled by our stern patriarchal society, but change will
have to come, for we are a sex that is weary of the restraints of
customs. We yearn for our personal freedom.
    From my earliest memories, aided by the
secret diary I began to keep at the age of eleven, I will try to
give you some portrayal of the life of a princess in the House of
Al Sa’ud. I will attempt to uncover the buried lives of other Saudi
women, the millions of ordinary women not born of the Royal
Family.
    My passion for the truth is simple, for I am
one of those women who were ignored by their fathers, scorned by
their brothers, and abused by their husbands. I am not alone in
this. There are many more, just like me, who have no opportunity to
tell their stories. It is rare that truth escapes from a Saudi
palace, for there is great secrecy in our society, but what I have
spoken here and what the author has written here are true.
     

Chapter One: Childhood
    Ali slapped me to the ground, but I declined
to hand over the shiny red apple just given me by the Pakistani
cook. Ali’s face began to swell with anger as I hovered over the
apple and quickly began to take huge bites and swallow them whole.
Refusing to give in to his male prerogative of superiority, I had
committed a grave act and knew that I would soon suffer the
consequences. Ali gave me two swift kicks and went running for our
father’s driver, Omar, an Egyptian. My sisters feared Omar almost
as much as they did Ali or my father. They disappeared into the
villa, leaving me alone to face the combined wrath of the men of
the house. Moments later, Omar, followed by Ali, rushed through the
side gate. I knew they would be the victors, for my young life was
already rich with precedent. I had learned at an early age that
Ali’s every wish would be fulfilled. Nevertheless, I swallowed the
last bite of the apple and looked in triumph at my brother.
Struggling vainly in the grasp of Omar’s huge hands, I was lifted
into the air and transported to my father’s study. Reluctantly, my
father looked up from his black ledger and glanced with irritation
at his seemingly ever-present, unwanted daughter while holding out
his arms in invitation to that treasured jewel, his eldest son.
    Ali was allowed to speak, while I was
forbidden to respond. Overwhelmed with desire for my father’s love
and approval, my courage was suddenly reborn. I shouted out the
truth of the incident. My father and brother were stunned into
silence at my outburst, for females in my world are reconciled to a
stern society that frowns upon the voicing of our opinions. All
women learn at an early age to manipulate rather than to confront.
The fires in the hearts of the once proud and