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

understand that I was
on the verge of hysterics so she left my side.
    But the woman was unwilling to let the
dreadful happening go unheard, and before the flight had ended I
knew the cause of her despair. Upon hearing her story, my
bitterness further hardened toward the degenerate patriarchal
society that endangers all females, even children, who dare to
tread on the soil of Saudi Arabia, regardless of their
nationality.
    Widad, the woman, was from Lebanon. Because
of the persistence of the heartbreaking civil war of that once
beautiful little country, Saudi Arabia and the Gulf States were
overflowing with Lebanese in search of jobs. Widad’s husband was
one of the fortunate who had been employed as an executive in one
of the many booming businesses in Riyadh. After a favorable
beginning, he had felt secure enough to bring his wife and young
daughter to live in the desert capital.
    Widad had been content with her life in
Riyadh. The war in Lebanon had taken away any desire to return to
the endless shelling and mindless deaths of those innocent there.
She happily settled herself in a land far different from the one
she had known. A spacious villa was rented, furniture was
purchased, lives were reassembled. Widad had been most impressed
with the lack of crime in our country. With severe punishments
meted out to those guilty, few criminals ply their trade in Saudi
Arabia, for a convicted thief will lose his hand, and a murderer or
rapist, his head. With a mind of peace, she had failed to caution
her young daughter of the danger of strangers.
    Two months before, Widad had given a small
woman’s party for a group of friends. As with Saudi women, there is
little for foreign women to occupy themselves with in my land.
Widad served light refreshments and her guests played cards. Two of
the women had brought children, so Widad’s daughter was fully
entertained in the garden.
    After the last guest departed, Widad helped
her two Indian servants to clear the house for her husband’s return
in the evening. The phone rang and Widad chatted much longer than
she had realized. When she glanced through the window, she could
see only darkness. She called out for one of the servants to go and
bring in her child.
    Widad’s daughter was not to be found. After a
frantic investigation, the last guest remembered that the child had
been sitting on the curb, holding her doll. Widad’s husband
returned, and a search of the neighborhood was begun. No one had
seen the child. After weeks of searching, Widad and her husband
could only surmise that their sole child had been abducted and more
than likely murdered. When all hope for her precious daughter was
gone, Widad found she could no longer reside in her villa in
Riyadh. She returned to her family in war-torn Lebanon. To earn a
living for them, her husband remained in his job, in the same
villa.
    Ten days after Widad arrived in Beirut, she
heard a loud pounding on her apartment door. Frightened from the
recent militia battles in her neighborhood, she pretended that no
one was at home until she heard the voice of her neighbor screaming
news from her husband in Riyadh.
    The neighbor had just received a telephone
call from Widad’s husband. The line had been disconnected, but not
before he had taken down an unbelievable message for Widad. She was
to take the boat to Cyprus and go immediately to the Saudi embassy
in that country. Her visa for reentry to Saudi Arabia was waiting.
She should return as quickly as possible to Riyadh. Their daughter
was alive! She had come home.
    Three long days were needed for the boat trip
from Jounieh, Lebanon, to Larnaca, Cyprus, so that her visa could
be stamped for the plane trip to Riyadh. By the time Widad arrived
in Riyadh, the startling truth of their child’s whereabouts was
revealed.
    Once Widad’s husband had recovered from the
shock of driving up to his villa to find his long-lost daughter
standing by the gate, he had taken the child to a medical clinic to
ascertain if she had been raped, for that was his biggest fear.
After a thorough examination, the discovery was chilling. The
physician told the astonished father that his child had not
suffered from sexual assault. However, she had recently undergone
major surgery. Widad’s daughter had been used as a kidney donor,
the doctor told him. The child’s scars were ragged and infection
had set in from filth.
    Speculations were wild among the medical
staff that examined the child, for many questions