Princess Sultana's Daughters

control the news releases and films shown in the West. Offended
to the edge of madness, King Khalid ordered the ambassador from
Great Britain to leave our country.
    I heard later from Kareem and Asad, Sara’s
husband, that our rulers had seriously considered forcing all
British citizens out of our country!
    International tensions ran high over the
sexual misconduct and execution of one Saudi Arabian princess.
    I despaired of the memory. I held my head in
my hands. Now, I was the mother of a child who had gone mad. In her
madness, what act might Maha commit that would disrupt our family
and introduce the pain of young death into our home? My
uncharitable father would surely insist upon the harshest of
punishments for the child of my womb who had so spitefully and
vigorously pointed out his shortcomings as a grandfather.
    Maha stirred.
    Kareem awakened, and once again we shared our
tortured fears for our daughter.
    *
    While we were en route to London, as agreed,
Sara had made the necessary medical arrangements via telephone.
When we called from Gatwick Airport, Sara reported that Maha was
expected at a leading mental institute in London and that her bed
was waiting. Sara had thoughtfully arranged for an ambulance to
transport us to the institute.
    Once we had fulfilled the tiresome admitting
procedures, Kareem and I were informed by the hospital staff that
Maha’s physician would meet with us the following morning, after
his initial consultation and his examination of our child. One of
the younger nurses was especially kind. She held my hand and
whispered that my sister had found one of the most respected
physicians in the city, and that he had years of experience with
Arab women and their unique social and mental problems.
    At that moment I envied the British. In my
land shame over a child’s madness would close the minds and mouths
of my countrymen, and sympathy would never be shown.
    Anguished at leaving our precious child in
the hands of strangers, albeit capable strangers, Kareem and I
walked listlessly to the waiting car that would take us to our
apartment in the city.
    Aroused from sleep, the permanent staff at
our London home was clearly not expecting us. Kareem was irritated,
but I calmed him with the thought that our personal comfort was the
last thing on Sara’s mind. We could not fault her for not
telephoning our servants prior to our arrival.
    Because of the Iraqi invasion of Kuwait, and
the recent Gulf War, it had been almost a year since we visited
London, one of our favorite spots in the Western world. In our
absence, our three servants had grown slovenly and careless.
Whether we were in London or Riyadh, they had strict instructions
to maintain the apartment as if we were in the city.
    We were too depressed over Maha’s condition
to complain. Kareem and I sat on sheet-covered furniture in the
sitting room and ordered strong coffee. Servants scurried about the
place as best they could, considering they had been awakened at
three o’clock in the morning.
    I found myself apologizing for intruding on
their sleep, and Kareem snapped at me, ordering, “Sultana! Never
apologize to those who are paid by us. You will ruin their work
habits!”
    I felt peevish and wanted to retort that we
Saudis could benefit from a little humility. Instead, I changed the
subject and began to talk once again about our daughter.
    I thought to myself that I too must be coming
down with some form of insanity. Twice in one day I had chosen to
avoid an argument with my husband.
    After our bed was prepared, Kareem and I
rested without sleeping.
    Never had a night seemed so long.
    ***
    The British psychiatrist was an odd-looking
little man whose head sat large on his small body. His brow was
vast, and his nose turned slightly to one side. I could only stare
in surprise at the tufts of white hair that strangely sprouted from
his ears and nose. While his appearance was disconcerting, his
manner was encouraging. With his small, blue, penetrating eyes, I
could tell he was a man who took the problems of his patients very
seriously. My daughter was in good hands.
    Kareem and I quickly discovered that he was a
man who spoke what was on his mind. Without caring about our
wealth, or the fact that my husband is a high-ranking prince in the
royal family of Saudi Arabia, he spoke with fearless honesty about
the system in our land that so hobbled the will of women.
    Well informed of the traditions and customs
of Arab lands, he told us, “As