Princess: Secrets to Share

by Jean Sasson

  Kareem had a sadness in his eyes. He parted with these words: “Do not make me divorce you, Sultana. We will both have regrets, but I will divorce you over this.”

  I sat as motionless as an ancient mummy in a museum in Egypt as my husband disappeared from my view.

  I really could not move a muscle. And so I sat for more than an hour, ignoring the servants who were whispering behind the door, worried over my silence and stillness.

  I was facing the biggest challenge of my life, facing painful, unsolvable problems of marriage and divorce, for Kareem and me, and of life and death for Raif Badawi.

  How could I abandon the cause of the very “worthy man” Raif Badawi?

  Yet how could I grow old without Kareem by my side?

  I slowly stood to my feet. I gathered all the papers I had on Raif Badawi and with a heavy heart I walked slowly to my quarters.

  As I sat quietly, my thoughts were pulled back in time to the days when I was a young wife and mother. I remembered the first day I watched my husband and son enter the mosque without me. On that day, the haunting sound that lifts the heart of every Muslim with joy filled the air. The faithful were being called to pray.

  “God is great, there are no other gods, but God; and Muhammed is his prophet. Come to prayer, come to prayer. God is great; there is no God, but God.”

  It was dusk on that day. The big yellow circle that was the sun was slowly sinking. For faithful Muslims, the time had come for the fourth prayer of the day.

  I had stood on the bedroom balcony and watched my husband and son leave our palace grounds and walk hand-in-hand to the mosque. I saw that many men were gathering and greeting one another with the spirit of brotherhood.

  The turbulent memories of my childhood had come back to me, and once again I was a young girl, shut out from the love my father expressed to his beloved son, Ali. Nearly thirty years had passed, yet nothing had changed. My life had come full circle. Father and Ali, Kareem and Abdullah, yesterday, today, and tomorrow, immoral practices passed from father to son. Men I loved, men I detested, leaving a legacy of shame in their treatment of women.

  And on this night, those same emotions assaulted me.

  I was a lonely figure in a world where wrongs should be righted but rarely were.

  I knew then that if Raif Badawi died I would never forgive Kareem and indeed would welcome a divorce.

  As I lay silent and unmoving upon my bed, my thoughts turned back to that “worthy man.” I wondered what he was doing in his tiny prison cell. I imagined that his thoughts were on his wife and his three precious children, aching to see them, to hold them. I felt a great certainty that Raif Badawi felt himself the loneliest man in the world.

  My heart was breaking for him, and all the brave and worthy Saudi men who are risking their freedom and life, languishing in prison, enduring painful lashes, for doing nothing more than expressing their thoughts and ideas.

  There was an added sting to my pain. I had to acknowledge that it was members of my own family, those who share with me the blood of the same grandfather, who were committing the gravest of sins by punishing such “worthy men.”

  Perhaps one day, Raif Badawi would be free to express his feelings and ideas, but the shame of imprisoning and torturing such a man would forever follow the history of the al-Saud.

  My thoughts were jumbled as my tears flowed for the bravest men in all of Saudi Arabia.

  May Allah be with you all, was my heartfelt prayer.

  10 - Saying Good-Bye

  The taste of defeat was as bitter on my tongue as the dandelion bulb I once ate when only a child. Few people know that the dandelion is native to the Middle East. They have been known for hundreds of years as being important medicinal plants, and so their seeds were carried all over the world, so now the plant is thought to be native in many countries. The dandelion begins its flowering cycle with golden petals followed by round fluffy heads with hundreds of seeds that sprout from a single puffball. That feathery puffball is a natural magnet to children, a trigger for kids over the world, who take a moment to blow at the ball of flowers, watching with glee as the small buds scatter with the wind.

  Our family was traveling in the Middle East, exactly where I no longer recall, when we temporarily halted our journey along the roadside at a beautiful meadow. Since we are a desert people, flowering meadows hold enormous appeal. I remember tugging at one of the many hundreds of dandelions that seemed to blanket the meadow. I had no knowledge of the length and size of the dandelion root, but to pull the plant was impossible for me. My older sisters helped me pull until a long stem and root gave way, a stem nearly as long as I was tall, finally releasing the plant from the ground. A large fleshy root bulb popped into view. I eagerly brushed away the soil and took a big bite, believing that it would be sweet.

  It was the time of the year when the milk juice of the root was very thick and extremely bitter. I startled the entire family when I began to screech while spitting and jumping around on my small feet.

  Mother came to my rescue, very roughly wiping out my mouth with the hem of her skirt, for she was afraid that the fluid might be poisonous. My father, as was his way, ignored his most irritating and youngest child. Ali, I remember, laughed loudly, ridiculing my baby ways, but I never forgot his shocked expression after he made a big production of tasting the root himself. To show he was a big, brave boy, he didn’t spit but instead turned quietly, wiping his mouth and hurrying away to express interest in a bird that had landed in the meadow.

  Now, after experiencing one of the most stinging defeats of my adult life, acidity seeped into my throat and into my heart just as bitter as that long ago pungent dandelion, an unpleasant memory I had not revisited in many years.

  I have suffered setbacks many times in life, for loss is no stranger to any woman of Saudi Arabia. But to face defeat in the quest to free the “worthy men” of Saudi Arabia was unbearably heartrending. I once heard that a kingdom is not lost by a single defeat, but I do not believe this old saying. A small voice inside warned that the death of Raif Badawi could alter the fate of my entire family, as well as negatively revise the history of the desert kingdom so carefully formed by my grandfather.

  I am a woman who has always looked upon defeat as victory deferred, for I do not easily yield. But my experience as a member of the Saudi royal family warned me that this time was different. Even if I refused to accept this depressing setback and rebuilt my plans to try even harder to reach the coveted goal of freedom for Raif Badawi, I knew that I would never succeed.

  This defeat would live on forever in the hearts and minds of all who knew Badawi, who knew of Badawi, or had even read about Badawi. He was a man not easily forgotten. I also felt with a frightening certainty that Badawi would never survive his ten-year sentence and his thousand lashes. The man was not in the best of health; he was frail medically, suffering from diabetes at an early age.

  The men of my family were being stubborn, and even cruel, to continue on with the punishment of a kindly man who only wanted to discuss social issues.

  Raif Badawi’s senseless death would never be forgotten by the world.

  And my family would be to blame, and rightfully so.

  Such an idea put me to bed.

  The night passed slowly, but the morning finally came. Kareem made no effort to check on me. My husband was showing his al-Saud stubbornness.

  That’s when I had a splendid idea. I thought perhaps I might file for divorce before Kareem could divorce me. Although divorce for women in Saudi Arabia is not easy, with my royal position I knew that no judge would deny me the right to divorce. Although Kareem might attempt to bribe the judge, I decided that I, too, could play his bribery game. I would make a bribe for the first time in my life and spend much more money than Kareem would imagine.

  I was thinking to surprise my husband with a divorce decree as he lightly tapped on the door and asked, “Sultana, may I come in, please?”

  Feeling resentful, I raised
my voice, not caring who might hear me. “You have an ill-gotten key. Use it.”

  Kareem was quiet for so long that I believed he had walked away, but then I heard the lock turn and my husband walked in with a self-conscious expression on his face.

  “Sultana, I came to apologize,” he quickly said as he walked toward me. “I will not divorce you, darling.”

  I was feeling rather callous, so I sneered. “I wish you would, Kareem. You would save me the trouble of divorcing you.” I raised my voice as I braced my body, moving upward, leaning on my right elbow. “Go ahead and say it: I divorce you. I divorce you. I divorce you.”

  I have always loathed the manner in which so many Saudi men rudely divorce their unsuspecting wives by saying the words three times, then notifying the clerics. With those words and a simple action, a woman is removed from her husband and home in Saudi Arabia and there is nothing she can do to halt an unwanted divorce. After the divorce, the husband generally takes the children from his wife, too, leaving a shattered mother in the wake. The inequality of life for women in my country added to my day’s fury.

  Kareem exhaled, then sat on the edge of my bed. “Darling. Stop. I know, and you know, that we are better together than apart. I do not want a divorce. I spoke in the heat of the moment.”

  “And I am speaking in the cool of the morning,” I replied, my anger mounting with every second. I had decided that I would be better off without a man who has no empathy in his heart for the very good men such as Raif Badawi who are languishing in prison.

  “Sultana, I am not divorcing you. And you are not divorcing me. Think of the joy we shall will miss together while watching our grandchildren grow and become adults. The journey will not be nearly so entertaining if we do not share what we have brought to life together as a couple.”

  I said nothing.

  “Sultana, just think of what we have built. Then consider what a divorce will do to hurt others, those innocent ones we love.”

  I sat silently, although I was thinking. I was thinking of Little Sultana and her brother, Prince Faisal. Then my thoughts went to Amani’s son, Prince Khalid, and her daughter, Princess Basinah. All four of our grandchildren were secure in their family life and devoted to both grandparents, although due to the time I spent with them, they appeared to be closer with their grandmother. Seeing their grandfather was a treat, but being with their grandmother was a beloved routine. Rarely a day passed when I did not spend some time with all four grandchildren, even if only briefly, at least when we were all in the country or taking holidays together.

  While my adult children could better bear a divorce, all three would be distraught if their parents went separate ways.

  When Kareem lifted my chin with his finger and looked into my eyes, I knew then that the heated argument would pass and we would reignite the passion in our relationship, a love that had been with us both since we were very young newlyweds.

  Kareem smiled sweetly.

  I smiled in return.

  He brushed my face with his fingertips, and then with his lips, telling me, “You are more beautiful today than the day we married, Sultana.”

  Over the next hour, all thoughts of divorce were pushed aside.

  But before Kareem left my quarters, I felt I had to say something, however it might upset my husband. “I remain disappointed with the Badawi situation, Kareem.”

  Kareem sat down, his eyes downcast as he spoke. “As am I, Sultana, but this is a problem that the ruler of our land will not allow interference. Even if I were to attempt to contact and convince my cousins to go with me to intervene, none would, and if we did, we would fail. Then we would be out of favor for a very long time, possibly forever, and unable to have influence over anything in the kingdom. Nothing would be accomplished other than our children and grandchildren would be scorned forever as the offspring of a man who tried to harm the security of our family.”

  He paused, shaking his head in dismay. “Perhaps we can do good things in the future if we stay in a positive place in this family. This is a very tricky situation, and I know that I do not have the power to bring about change. There are times in life when one has to acknowledge a disagreeable reality and bend to it.”

  “But he is such an exceptional man, Kareem. He is suffering for the good of all Saudis. He is our Nelson Mandela, Husband. One day, we will all be judged harshly for the lack of courage to allow citizens of our land to speak their minds.”

  Kareem exhaled again. “I know. I know. But there is nothing that you, or I, can do. Only the king can pardon Badawi and the other men you speak of. Only the king.”

  I sat quietly, pondering the fact that the fates of the “worthy men” depended solely upon my uncle, my father’s half-brother. I had known Uncle Salman since I was a young girl and, other than King Fahd, I had always found him to be the most lighthearted of the Sudairi brothers, of whom there were seven. I had always felt anxiety when in the presence of Sultan and Nayef, both very stern-faced men, but felt at ease around King Fahd and King Salman.

  Of those seven uncles, two rose to the peak of power in a monarchy. First, there was the oldest of the Sudairi boys, Uncle Fahd, who served in several high-ranking positions before serving as crown prince under King Khalid. At Uncle Khalid’s death, he became king. Now Uncle Salman was king, and he, too, had served in many high positions. My father says that Salman was the most effective deputy governor and then governor of Riyadh for nearly fifty years. He was defense minister in 2011 and was named crown prince in 2012 when Uncle Nayef died. At King Abdullah’s death in January 2015, he was crowned the new king.

  Uncles Sultan and Nayef held very high offices as well, and both would have reached the supreme position of king but for dying while serving as crown prince. Had they not passed away, then four of the Sudairi boys would have served as king. Uncle Ahmed held important positions, too. Only Uncles Turki and Abdul Rahman (of the Sudairi Seven) chose not to hold formal offices, but both were very close to their brothers.

  Indisputably, the most dominant family in the entire al-Saud clan, thus in the kingdom, is the Sudairi family.

  The mother of our grandfather King Abdul Aziz was Sara Sudairi. She was best known for her considerable size. Family members say that she was the largest woman they had ever seen, with a very tall stature and massive bones. For sure, she contributed to the massive six-foot-four-inch frame of her son Abdul Aziz.

  Our grandfather married a Sudairi as well. In fact, he married many women during his lifetime, most for the purpose of solidifying peace between various tribes, for without reconciliation between warring tribes there would have never been a Saudi Arabia.

  It is reported in Western newspapers that Grandfather married more than twenty women and took innumerable concubines, but the number of wives is much higher, according to his sons. Of his multiple wives, Grandfather had 103 children and 45 sons.

  But of all the wives, it is said that he best loved Hassa bint Ahmad al-Sudairi. She was very young when first married to our grandfather, but during the early years of their marriage, he chose to divorce her. Some say it was because their only son, Sa’ad, had died at age five and she did not become immediately pregnant. Grandfather lived to regret the divorce, but by that time Hassa had married our grandfather’s half-brother. In time, Grandfather spoke persuasively with his half-brother, who agreed to divorce Hassa so that she could return to the king.

  Their marriage lasted happily until my grandfather died in 1953.

  During their second marriage, Hassa gave birth to seven sons and four daughters. The seven Sudairi sons formed an unbreakable bond. Their intelligence and loyalty to one another ensured their power.

  Now the Sudairis are back in full power, with the reign of King Salman. Once Uncle Salman became king, he promptly appointed younger Sudairis to the most powerful positions in the government. Two specific Sudairis are now the kings-in-waiting, one of whom is a son of Nayef, the other a son of Salman. Most likely, so long as Saudi Arabia remains a mona
rchy, Sudairis will always rule supreme in my country, for so long as there is a Sudairi in power, they will appoint other Sudairis to rule.

  But the affection I had felt for my uncle Salman meant that I was now experiencing intense disappointment that he was being so severe with the young Badawi and other Saudi men who were asking for the right to express their ideas. Of all the kings we have had, it is now clear that King Fahd was the most sentimental of our kings and tended to overlook little annoyances. Uncle Fahd did not like punishing anyone other than hardcore criminals and murderers.

  Uncle Salman was revealing a different stripe. He was ruling harshly, something I would have never believed.

  Kareem and I talked until there was nothing left to say. I felt less anger than before at my husband because with his words I came to see that he could do little to change the course of history when it involved the young men pushing for reform. The only way for the men to survive would be to forgo all demands and live quietly without expressing their opinions. This I knew they would never do. Their ethics were strong, even if their bodies were not. While I understood their inability to give in, I fervently wished that they would, so that their lonely imprisonment could cease and the deathly floggings would stop.

  Should any of these “worthy men” die while in prison, it will be the saddest day for them, their families and for Saudi Arabia.

  After Kareem left, my heart nearly ceased to beat, for I remembered that Dr. Meena would soon return to the kingdom and I knew that she would be eager to hear the progress I had made with my husband. How I dreaded to tell my dear friend that Kareem and I could do nothing. We were as helpless as any ordinary citizen living in our country.

  ***

  Dr. Meena is an angel. When she saw my tears forming as I explained the hopeless situation, she embraced me for the first time in our friendship. “Dear princess, do not weep for what you cannot change. I pondered many times about my request while on this trip, and I reprimanded myself for putting you in a position that was bound to cause a disagreement with your husband. I know how it is in this world of ours. Even powerful princesses and princes in our land can do little if the king is not of the same mind.