Princess Sultana's Circle

will ever admit. In every
Arab or Muslim society, women’s lives are like soft wax, which men
are allowed to twist and stretch according to their individual
beliefs and desires.
    Since Kareem and Asad did
not return from the Saudi Embassy until late in the evening, we
women alone enjoyed the feast prepared by Jada. Huda, still angry
at my earlier remarks, ate in isolation in her room. Since everyone
was weary from the rigors of our trip, we retired as soon as we had
finished our evening meal.
    The following morning, we
returned to the airport to continue our journey to Saudi Arabia. We
had been out of the Kingdom for only eight days, but for some
reason, the time away seemed endless to me.
    Our airplane landed in
Jeddah, since Maysa and Huda both lived in that city. The rest of
us planned to travel on to Riyadh within the next few days. After
hearing the tragic story of Heidi, I was anxious to gather Maha and
Amani in my arms.
    Before retiring that
evening in our Jeddah palace, Kareem and I relaxed with a few
cocktails. The topic of our conversation staged on the current
crisis between Saudi Arabia and England. Although I attempted to
change the subject more than once, Kareem was infused with anger
that our country was being criticized for upholding our laws—laws
that kept our crime rate substantially lower than most other
countries in the world.
    All the talk of beheadings
distressed me even more than usual, especially because Kareem
compared in great detail the barbaric cruelties of the American
methods of capital punishment, such as the electric chair and gas
chamber, to the quick and more humane method of
beheading.
    Moments after we retired,
Kareem fell into a deep sleep. I, on the other hand, tossed and
turned throughout the night.
    For some reason, my mind
rested on the tragic fate of a young man by the name of Abdullah
Al'Hadhaif, a story which was well-known to every Saudi Arabian. In
August of 1995, Abdullah Al'Hadhaif was only thirty-three years
old, and the father of six young children, when he was executed on
the orders of the Saudi government. Along with many other Saudis,
Abdullah, his two brothers, and his elderly father, had been
arrested for political crimes, involving personal conduct which
offended our government, such as speaking out in the mosques, or
distributing leaflets or audio tapes banned by our
government.
    It was reported that
Abdullah’s aged father had been tortured while imprisoned, and that
his abuse had been so brutal that it had led to a heart attack.
Naturally, this had enraged the sons of the elder Al’Hudhaif, and
none more than the sensitive Abdullah. When Abdullah was released
from prison, he had sought out the secret policeman who had
tortured his father. Once that man’s identity was known, Abdullah
struck back by throwing a container of acid at the man. That man
was injured, but not killed, and was able to identify his
attacker.
    Once again, Abdullah was
thrown into jail. All the festering rage of Saudi authorities
against the protesters focused on this one man. Friends and family
of Abdullah reported that he was brutally tortured to obtain a
confession. Reports said that he had been dipped in corrosive
liquid, to revenge the policeman he had attacked. His bowels were
inflated through his anus, and threats were made that his dear
mother and precious wife would be sexually violated in his
presence.
    Still, Abdullah Al'Hadhaif
refused to sign the confession.
    The fury of his torturers
was further heightened by his stubbornness. One report said that
Abdullah was hung like a slaughtered sheep with his head tied
between his legs. He had been so mercilessly beaten that he was
paralyzed from his waist down.
    I had to admit that the men
of my family can be unbelievably heartless! Abdullah’s ordeal had
ended only when he was beheaded.
    What had been that tortured
man’s final thoughts, I wonder. Had he known fear, and sadness at
the thought he would not live to raise his six children? Or, had he
been relieved that death would soon bring peace from the agony of
his last days? Only God knew the answer to my question.
    Many other harrowing images
now began to plague my mind. I felt certain that the young child
Heidi spent many unhappy hours weeping for her mother. Poor Afaaf
was alone in the world. And, Hussah legally belonged to a cruel
man, as did Munira.
    Unable to sleep, I slipped
from bed to prepare myself a mixture of rum and cola. Nothing would
help but to drink myself