Princess Sultana's Circle

knew awaited us. The cooks had
been busy preparing our meal since we first arrived.
    Their previous
disagreements now forgotten, all three cooks proudly stood
side-by-side as the procession of food began. Six men carried a
huge brass platter that was at least ten feet long. A small camel
which had been roasting on a spit all day now lay on a mound of
rice on the huge platter. Inside that camel was a lamb, which had
been stuffed with chickens. The chickens, in turn, were stuffed
with boiled eggs and vegetables.
    Servants began to place
bowls of salads, olives, cheeses, and a variety of other dishes
before us.
    Our eating rituals began in
earnest. Kareem uttered the blessing, “Bismillah,” or “in the name
of Merciful Allah.” In his role as host, Kareem began to insist
that Nura’s husband, Ahmed, who was the eldest at our family
gathering, be the first to sample the food.
    Ahmed insisted that, no, he
did not deserve such an honor.
    With mounting fervor,
Kareem’s voice grew louder and louder, as he declared that our
family name would be disgraced if Ahmed were not the first to
sample the food.
    I was hearing but not
listening, for I was so accustomed to such ceremonial rituals that
I usually think nothing of this delay before eating. But on this
occasion, I was faint from hunger. Although I said nothing, the
idea crossed my mind that we Saudis devote too much time to
senseless rites when the outcome is already known. It was a
foregone conclusion that Ahmed would eventually allow Kareem to
convince him to take the first bite.
    Kareem and Ahmed went on
for so long that I thought I might sneak a meatball from a bowl
close to my hand. Just as I eased my hand toward the bowl, Kareem
formed a ball of rice in his palm and handed it to Ahmed. My
brother-in-law finally relented. He tossed the rice ball into his
mouth before tearing off a piece of meat from the carcass of the
camel, and stuffing his mouth.
    This was the signal that
the feast could now begin. Bowls were passed from hand to hand,
while other eager hands reached toward the large platter. Everyone
was so hungry that this was a rare occasion when no conversation
interrupted our eating.
    After we had consumed all
we wanted of the main course, the servants began to bring out tray
after tray of sweets made of cream, nuts, and honey. Although our
stomachs were full, everyone sampled the delicious
sweets.
    Voices rose with the
thanksgiving of “Alhamdulilah,” or “thanks be to God.” Finally,
silver bowls filled with rose water were brought out for everyone
to wash their hands and mouth.
    Our meal was
finished.
    Kareem suggested,
“Everyone, come, let us sit upon the ground by the
campfire.”
    With the disappearance of
the sun, the evening air of the desert was now chilled, so we were
happy to move to congregate around the glowing embers of the big
fire. Even the smallest children joined us. We embarked on the
custom of sharing our history, a favorite activity of all family
gatherings.
    As the servants began to
serve us coffee and tea, and lemonade for the younger children,
various family members began to tell exciting stories in verse of
caravan life and tribal war.
    In the past, Arabs and
Bedouins had frequently raided each other. Such vicious attacks
were considered an honorable way to support one’s tribe. No
warriors were feared more than Al Sa’ud warriors, for they
mercilessly slaughtered their enemies, bragging that in their
raids, they never left a single warrior alive. Those considered
innocent—women, children, and the elderly—found themselves
distributed among the victorious.
    Stirred by these stories,
the older men in our family obviously felt the draw of our past,
for when Ahmed jumped to his feet, calling out for the servants to
bring him his sword, our husbands joined him. Soon our party was
rewarded with the men’s dancing of the ardha, a version of an Arab
war dance.
    I smiled broadly as I
watched Kareem and the other men hopping about and chanting,
brandishing their swords in extravagant movements. Brother Ali
began to sword-joust with Asad, but soon gave way, red-faced and
flustered. Although Ali is much larger than the trim Asad, over the
years, Ali’s flesh has turned to fat, while the highly disciplined
Asad, on the other hand, has retained his healthy
muscle.
    After much gaiety, our men,
breathing hard, returned to sit around the campfire. They lifted
water jugs up into the air and aimed the spouts toward their
mouths.