Princess Sultana's Circle

Arabia
going the way of Afghanistan caused my heart to pound with fear.
The sad story of Afaaf, Sara’s maid, made one thing quite clear.
Should Saudi Arabia ever be ruled by fundamentalists, Saudi women’s
lives would become even more oppressed.
    Kareem’s voice became
bitter, “Besides, the only reason we’re still in power today is
because the United States needs Saudi oil. One day that need will
be filled by some other fuel source. Already scientists are
starting to find substitutes for the fuel needs of the West. When
that day comes, Saudi Arabia—and our family—will be expendable to
the Americans.”
    Kareem’s face became
blotched with anger. “All American politicians are self-serving.
They’ll throw us to the jackals the moment our usefulness is gone,
in the same manner they discarded Reza Shah Pahlavi.” Kareem looked
at me sadly. “Sultana, my estimate is that within twenty years, we
all will be living in exile.”
    I stared at Kareem. “Even
if we no longer rule,” I whispered, “could we not live in quiet
obscurity in our own country?”
    “ No,” Kareem sighed. “We
will be burdened with our name. A fundamentalist regime will rule.
Saudi Arabia will be too dangerous for any Al Sa’ud. We will be
hated by everyone.”
    I knew that what my husband
was saying was true. We have a saying that “Arabs are either at
your feet or at your throat,” and I knew that in one swift moment
our fortunes would be reversed. We Al Sa’uds’ would rule, or we
would be destroyed; there would be no in-between.
    Kareem shook his head
wearily. “We’ve got no one to blame but ourselves, Sultana. What
have we done to endear ourselves to the religious leaders? Nothing!
What have we done to reassure the business community? Nothing! Our
fathers do not listen to their sons. A few concessions here and
there would do no harm. It would make our position stronger. But,
no. Our fathers are deaf. They can hear nothing but the ghost of
their own father, a man who thought of himself as the hammer, and
his subjects as the nails.”
    I nodded in agreement.
Everyone knew that Grandfather Abdul Aziz, the Bedouin warrior who
had created the Kingdom of Saudi Arabia in 1932, had ruled his
family and the citizens of his country with a firm hand.
    Kareem slapped his hands
together before leaning back in his chair. “It’s hopeless,
Sultana.”
    Tears of sadness began to
roll down my face.
    Kareem searched his pockets
for a handkerchief. He pleaded, “Sultana, please do not
cry.”
    I buried my nose in
Kareem’s handkerchief. I knew that everything he had said was true,
and that one day I would lose the only life I had ever known. This,
because the elders of our family were too stubborn and too foolish
to understand change is often necessary just to maintain the
situation one has. And why couldn’t the Al Sa’uds better control
the current climate of nepotism, corruption, and wasteful outlay
that so enraged the citizens of Saudi Arabia? Every person in the
Al Sa’ud clan was already rich and powerful beyond
imagination.
    Even if they never made
another Saudi Riyal, the members of my family could still live a
hundred lifetimes in unbelievable splendor.
    My tears continued to
flow.
    Kareem whispered, “Sultana,
darling, please stop crying.”
    Much to Kareem’s relief, I
finally managed to control my tears, but nothing could relieve my
fear of what our future would hold.
     

Chapter
Fifteen
    Wadi al Jafi
    Three weeks later our
palace in Riyadh was bustling with excited servants as they rushed
past each other. They were now finishing the chores necessary to
launch our family’s excursion into the desert. Many of them were to
accompany us to the desert, a rare diversion from their routine
lives.
    Combined with the
boisterous activities of the servants were the shouts of
rambunctious workmen who sweated profusely as they loaded furniture
and heavy equipment onto large moving vans.
    Although everyone was
delighted at the prospect of spending time in the desert, members
of my family are never willing to forgo our opulent life style.
Accustomed to luxurious living, we have no desire to emulate the
harsh living conditions endured by our desert ancestors.
    Now, along with Black
Bedouin tents and custom-made furniture, workmen were loading
Persian carpets, silk cushions, luxurious linens, fine china,
crystal glassware, silver cutlery, as well as the more mundane pots
and pans. Specially designed traveling bathroom