Princess Sultana's Circle

Mohammed
Defamed
    Several days after Omar had
departed Saudi Arabia for Egypt, Kareem
told me that he and Asad must travel to New York City. Important business matters needed their
attention. Knowing that I was still
grieving over the plight of the young women in Faddel’s harem, Kareem thought that I needed some new
experiences to occupy my mind, and
suggested that I accompany him.
    At first I was not anxious
to leave Saudi Arabia, and I was insulted that Kareem did not seem
to trust me to remain alone in Saudi Arabia. If my husband believed
that I might renew my efforts to obtain those young women’s
release, once he had left the country, he was wrong. Nothing I
could say or do could convince Kareem that I was resigned to the
hopelessness of the situation. Although I desperately wanted to
help those girls, I am not totally devoid of common sense. I fully
understood that, when dealing with young girls who had been sold by
their own parents and now lived in a country where the government
sees no wrong in such a situation, I was, indeed, helpless to
resolve the problem.
    When I learned that Sara,
along with two of our cousins, Maysa and Huda, were going on the
trip to New York, I changed my mind and became eager to accompany
them.
    Since school had reopened
after the Ramadan holiday, Sara and I agreed that our children
would remain behind in Riyadh with our eldest sister
Nura.
    When the day came for us to
depart, our party flew on one of our private jets to London. After
a brief stopover in that city, we continued on with our journey to
the United States.
    Including the three maids
who were accompanying us, Afaaf, Libby, and Betty, there were seven
women on the plane. To pass the time, we began to entertain each
other with amusing stories, but our laughter ceased when Maysa
changed the tone by sharing one particular story that we found to
be horrifying.
    Maysa is a Palestinian who
is married to Naif Al Sa’ud, one of my favorite cousins. Although
lively and attractive, Maysa could not be called beautiful, but she
is highly popular with everyone who meets her. As a child born in
Hebron, in occupied Palestine, Maysa’s childhood had been full of
incident. Over the years, our family had heard many stories from
Maysa about fleeing refugees, street battles with Israeli soldiers,
and her younger brothers’ participation in the more recent
Intifada, the Palestinian uprising against the Israelis.
    The Palestinian Arabs have
always been more attuned to women’s rights than have the desert
Arabs. Recognizing Maysa’s intelligence, her parents made many
sacrifices so that their daughter could be educated. Maysa was sent
to Beirut to be schooled at the prestigious American University of
Beirut. It was there that she met my cousin, Naif. The vivacious
Maysa easily captured Naif’s heart. Deeply in love when they
married, they enjoy a happier union than most married couples in my
land. Although Maysa and Naif have only one child, a daughter, Naif
has never indicated the slightest interest in taking a second wife
for the purpose of enlarging his family.
    Maysa is a caring person
who always concerns herself with the problems of others. If she is
not worried about the starving babies in embargoed Iraq, then she
is thinking about earthquake victims in Iran or in
China.
    A few weeks previous to our
trip, Maysa had returned from her annual visit with her Palestinian
family in the Arab city of Hebron. While on that visit, Maysa had
witnessed the most heinous sight imaginable to the eyes of a
Muslim.
    Maysa’s voice now quivered
as she related what she had seen. “I knew that day we should not
have gone out! There had been unrest for several weeks, and I did
not want to take a chance that my dear mother might be struck by a
wayward stone! But Mother was restless, and insisted that we would
walk only to the corner of our street, and then back. We wanted
only a breath of fresh air, nothing more!
    “ By the time we arrived at
the end of our street, we were relieved to see that all was quiet.
So, we decided to walk one street further.” Maysa slapped her
forehead with her hand. “That was our mistake!”
    Maysa then became agitated
at the very memory.
    “ We saw a young woman
running ahead of us, nailing posters to the walls. We thought the
woman was a brave Palestinian demonstrator putting up signs of
protest against the Israelis!”
    Maysa slapped her forehead
once more, only harder this time. “How were two naïve women to