Princess Sultana's Circle

ill-mannered women. This
display made me reflect on what would have been the reality of my
own life had our ancestors not abandoned the desert for the city.
In the Bedouin culture, a woman’s status depends only on her youth,
beauty, and ability to produce sons. Certainly, a Bedouin woman of
my age who had suffered the loss of a breast and the ability to
bear children would be cast aside by her husband. Undoubtedly, I
would have become the servant of an insensitive beauty such as
Faten!
    For the first time in a
long time, I acknowledged that Saudi Arabians are taking some small
progressive steps toward improving the lives of Saudi women. I felt
a rare moment of gratitude for my current status.
    When an embarrassed Sara
threatened to veil her face again if she was not left alone, the
women cried out that they would sit quietly for the pleasure of
looking at Allah’s most perfect creation.
    Faten could take no more!
Her lip curled in anger as she glared at Sara, and cursed her. “A
pox on you! May Allah disfigure your face!”
    We were all speechless with
shock at this uncivilized behavior.
    In dignified silence, Sara
rose to leave. Faten mistook Sara’s movement as a challenge. Her
wide-set eyes grew wild, her nostrils flared, and the skin of her
face rose and fell in angry rhythm. This wild Bedouin woman
advanced toward my gentle sister with the clear intent of
violence!
    Frightened, Sara froze in
place, her hand poised at her throat.
    Since Sara’s unfortunate
first marriage, when she was brutalized at the hands of a cruel
husband, everyone in our family is determined to offer Sara
unconditional physical protection.
    Nura moved forward to
shield Sara, but she was not as fast as her youngest
sister.
    I stepped in front of Sara
just as Faten’s hand reached out for her. I felt a sharp tug on my
face. The crazy Bedouin woman had twisted my nose!
    I had once heard my father
say that, “He that does not make a Bedouin fear him, will soon fear
the Bedouin.” Quite obviously, this woman would understand nothing
but force. As Faten reached out to twist my nose once more, I gave
a loud cry as I leapt toward her. It had been years since I was
involved in any kind of physical altercation, but my years of
childhood fighting with the much larger Ali had taught me to make
my moves swift and certain. I am too small to long outlast a big
woman like Faten. I moved quickly to get a stranglehold on her
neck, forcing her backwards onto the floor. I tripped on my long
skirt and fell on top of my opponent.
    The other Bedouin women
obviously hated Faten, for they did nothing to help her; rather,
they laughed and cheered me on.
    One woman shouted, “Oh,
Princess! Poke out her eyes!”
    Another encouraged me,
“Twist her neck!”
    My sisters became
hysterical with fear that the vicious Faten would get the best of
their baby sister. Their screams resonated through the small
tent.
    Faten managed to scrape a
handful of sand from the floor, and tossed it into my
face.
    Blinded, I pulled Faten’s
hair until her hands clawed the air as she pleaded for Allah’s
mercy.
    For good measure I pounded
her head twice on the hard earth, then rose to my feet. While
brushing off my skirt, I offered the greatest insult I could think
of, “This is how you welcome your guests?”
    I knew that the true
Bedouin tradition treats guests with great respect. Even a mortal
enemy is permitted three days of grace—even after departing the
boundaries of a Bedouin tent.
    Faten’s face had reddened
with each word I spoke, and now her black eyes were tremendous with
a threatening look. But, she made no further advance toward
me.
    The Bedouin women began to
laugh hysterically at Faten’s defeat.
    Nura and Tahani rushed to
brush the sand from my face and hair.
    Tahani cried out, “Sultana!
Did she hurt you?”
    I laughed, “No.” When my
eyes locked with Faten’s eyes in mutual hatred, I flung her my
final insult. “This Bedouin fights like a small child.”
    Quickly fastening our veils
over our faces, the three of us followed Sara and Haifa as they
hurried out of the tent.
    Meanwhile, the men had
heard the commotion, and spilled out of Fahd’s tent, looking around
in confused concern. As we approached our husbands, and were about
to explain the situation, a wild scream exploded from behind
us.
    What was happening, now? I
wondered.
    I turned to see the sands
swirling from the force of Faten’s running footsteps. The crazy
Bedouin grabbed two fistfuls