by Jean Sasson
The family was very poor, with only three camels and twenty- two sheep. In addition, two of the six sons were handicapped from difficult births. One son’s legs were twisted and he could not walk; the other jerked in a strange motion and could do no work. For these reasons, Reema’s father strove to sell his sought-after daughters to the highest bidder. During the summer months, the family would travel through high mountain passes, along narrow, tortuous roads into the city, and a deal would be struck for the daughter who had reached marriageable age according to Islam.
The year before, at age twelve, Reema had reached puberty. She was her mother’s favorite child, and the girl attended to her handicapped brothers. The family had pleaded with her father to let her remain with them a few more years, but he sadly confessed that he could not. There were two sons after Reema, and the sister closest in age was only nine years old. Reema’s younger sister was small and undernourished, and her father feared the girl might not reach puberty for another three or four years. Reema’s family could not exist without the marriage money.
Reema was taken to San’a to be wed. While her father scouted the city for a suitable bridegroom, Reema remained in a small mud house with her sisters and brothers. On the third day, her father returned to the hut with the agent of a rich man from Saudi Arabia. Reema said her father had been very excited, for the man represented a wealthy Saudi Arabian who would pay much gold for a beautiful girl.
The Saudi agent insisted upon seeing Reema before he paid the money, a request generally met with the blade of a Yemeni sword rather than humble compliance from a Muslim father. The gold in the agent’s hands overcame the religious convictions of the family. Reema said she was inspected in the same way her father inspected the camels and sheep at market. Reema confessed she did not protest the shame, for she had always known she would go to another family, as the purchased property of another man. But she squirmed and pushed when the man insisted upon viewing her teeth.
The agent pronounced Reema satisfactory and paid a portion of the agreed sum. The family celebrated by killing a fat sheep, while the agent had Reema’s documents prepared to fly to Saudi Arabia. Reema’s father happily announced that the family could now wait out the four years until Reema’s younger sister reached the proper age, for the man from Saudi Arabia had paid a large sum for Reema.
Reema herself forgot her anxieties, even becoming excited, after her father told her that she was the most fortunate of girls. Reema was going to a life of leisure, she would eat meat every day, have servants at her beck and call, and her children would be educated and well fed. Reema asked her father if the man might purchase her a doll, one like she had seen in a discarded European magazine the children had discovered in the trash bins of San’a.
Her father promised that he would make Reema’s request a high priority.
When the man returned a week later, Reema first learned the terrible truth, that the marriage would not be honorable, that it was a marriage of mut’a, a temporary union. Her father became angry, for his honor was at stake, his daughter should not be treated in such a lowly manner. He pleaded with the man from Arabia, saying that it would be difficult to find another husband for his daughter, who would no longer be considered fresh and clean. He might be forced to provide for Reema for many years while seeking a man who would accept her as a second, less honored wife.
The man sweetened the deal with a bundle of bills. He said that if Reema’s father refused, he would be forced to insist upon the return of the money already paid.
Reluctantly, Reema’s father relented, admitting that he had already spent a portion of that sum. Ashamed, he turned his face to the ground and told Reema that she must go with the man, that it was God’s will. Reema’s father asked the Saudi man to find Reema a permanent husband in Saudi Arabia, since there were many Yemeni laborers working in that rich country.
The agent agreed that he would make an effort. Otherwise, he said, Reema could become a servant in his home.
Reema said good-bye to her family and left the land of her birth, haunted by the pitiful weeping of her two handicapped brothers.
During the trip, the man promised a homesick Reema that he would purchase her a doll, even though such an item was expressly forbidden by the men of religion.
Like most Arab girls, Reema had full knowledge of a wife’s responsibilities. She had slept in the same room with her parents since the day of her birth. She understood that a woman must submit to her husband’s every wish.
Aisha said it was the girl’s calm acceptance of her life of slavery that she found so distressing, recalling that the girl’s tears belied her declaration that she was not displeased with her lot. Reema wept for the six days she was in Aisha’s home, all the while defending the right of Aisha’s father to do with her as he pleased.
Aisha revealed that her father’s employee easily located a Yemeni man who was employed as a tea boy in one of their offices, a man who was willing to accept Reema as his second wife. The man’s first wife was in Yemen, and he admitted that he needed a woman to cook his meals and serve him.
The last day Aisha saw Reema, the young girl was clutching a small doll, obediently following one man out of their home to go and wed another man she did not know.
Aisha’s mother, a pious Sunni Muslim, became so distraught over Reema’s situation that she went to her husband’s family to complain. This desperate deed created quite a furor in the family, but nothing the man’s parents could say or do convinced their son to cease the godless act. Their advice was for Aisha’s mother to pray to God for her husband’s soul.
I often wondered what became of those children, the mut’a brides, for it is quite difficult in the Muslim world to arrange a good marriage for a girl who is no longer a virgin. As dispensable girls in fortuneless families, they were, I suppose, eventually married off as the third or fourth wife to a man without wealth or influence, much in the same manner as Reema, or of my childhood friend Wafa, who had been wed to such a one against her will by her own father as punishment for socializing with men not of her family.
Aisha’s home life was agony for a thinking girl, and the stress and strain of her father’s debauchery pushed her into inevitable teenage decline.
My daughter, Maha, naturally imprudent, was captivated by Aisha’s antics. Recalling my own rebellious youth, I knew the futility of forbidding Maha to meet with Aisha.
Forbidden fruit is too tempting for all children, regardless of their nationality or sex.
*
During the height of the Gulf War, our king harnessed the most aggressive of the roving bands of morals police, forbidding them to harass Western visitors to our land. Quite sensibly, the men of our family knew it would not do for journalists from the West to view life as it really is in our country. Happily, the women of Saudi Arabia benefited from this royal order. The absence of sharp-eyed religious police patrolling the cities of Saudi Arabia, searching for uncovered women to strike with their sticks, or spray with red paint, was too good to be true. This policy endured no longer than the war itself, but for a few months we Saudi women enjoyed a welcome respite from probing eyes. During this heady period, here was a universal call for the women of Saudi Arabia to take their proper place in society, and we foolishly thought that the favorable situation would continue forever.
For some of our women, too much freedom given too quickly proved disastrous. Our men were disappointed that all women did not behave as saints, without understanding the confusion caused by the contradictions in our lives.
Now I know that Aisha and Maha were two Saudi girls not yet psychologically prepared for unfamiliar and complete freedom.
Because of the unusual times brought about by war, Aisha managed to have herself appointed a volunteer at one of the local hospitals, and nothing would do but for my daughter to seek the same appointment at that institution. This she did two days a week after her school day ended. It was a marvelous experience for Maha, for although she was forced to wear
her abaaya and head scarf, she was not required to wear the hated veil once she was inside the hospital doors.
When the war ended, Maha refused to go back to the old ways. She held tight to her newfound freedom and begged her father and me to allow her to continue her work at the hospital.
Our approval was reluctantly given. One afternoon when Maha was expected at the hospital, our driver was waiting in the front drive. I decided to go and hurry her along. By some whim of circumstance, I happened to enter Maha’s room just as my daughter was putting a small caliber pistol into a brown leather holster strapped to her upper leg.
I was struck dumb! A weapon! Kareem happened to be home for the afternoon siesta, and upon hearing our raised voices, he came to investigate. After an emotional scene, Maha confessed that during the war, she and Aisha had begun to arm themselves, in the event that the Iraqi army broke through to Riyadh! Now that the war was over, she thought she might need protection from the morals police, who had begun to threaten women in the street.
The “morals” or “religious police,” sometimes called the mutawwa, are members of the “Committee for Enforcing the Right and Forbidding the Wrong.” Now that the foreign journalists had departed the kingdom at the end of the Gulf War, these zealots were more active than we could ever recall, initiating arrests and prosecutions against women in my country.
Maha and Aisha had decided they would not endure the atten- tions of these zealots let loose upon innocent women.
I looked at my daughter in alarm and disbelief! Was she planning to fire upon a man of religion?
Kareem learned that the weapon belonged to Aisha’s father. He, like many Arab men, had quite a collection of firearms and had not missed the two pistols his daughter and Maha had stolen.
Imagine our horror when we learned that the pistol was loaded and that it had no safety feature. Maha tearfully confessed that she and Aisha had practiced firing the pistols in a vacant lot at the back of Aisha’s home!
To Maha’s dismay, her enraged father confiscated the illegal weapon and bundled her into his Mercedes. Dismissing his driver, Kareem drove like a madman across the city of Riyadh to the home of Aisha in order to return the gun and warn Aisha’s parents of our children’s dangerous activities.
The result of our bizarre discovery was a hasty conference called between ourselves and Aisha’s parents. Both our daughters were sent to Aisha’s room.
Aisha’s mother and I, covered still by our black veils, sat in our world of separations and discussed the children we had brought into the world. Oddly enough, for once in my life I was pleased to be veiled, for I could stare in undisguised contempt at Aisha’s father, a man I knew to be a molester of young girls. Surprisingly, he was a youthful man of dignified appearance.
I thought to myself, beware of those who look like a rose, for even roses have spikes. With our daughters the main topic of the evening, I had little time to dwell upon the dark secrets of the home we were visiting.
What Kareem and I uncovered that evening about our eldest daughter’s shocking convictions will haunt our memories until we cease to walk the earth.
While I question the unjust practices and cruel customs inflicted upon the female population of Saudi Arabia by those who so rigidly interpret—and thus often misinterpret—the laws laid down by the Prophet, there is no doubt in my mind of the existence of one God as preached by his messenger, Mohammed. Our three children have been raised to revere the teachings of the Prophet and the Koran, which was passed down from God. That a child of mine would curse God and denounce his word brought a chill to my heart and numbed me.
When it was announced to Aisha and Maha that their parentshad reasonably concluded that the two girls should henceforth avoid each other’s company and seek out other friends and new interests, my daughter yanked the veil from her face, raised her head in fury, and displayed such a look of evil that terrorized her own mother, who had carried her in her womb and suckled her at her breast. If I had not heard Maha’s words with my own ears, no person could convince me of their validity.
Her full lips tight with determination, our daughter yelled, “I will not do as you say! Aisha and I will leave this land we hate and make our home in another place. We hate it here! We hate it! To be a woman in this awful country you must defile your life with the most tremendous injustices.”
Spittle dripped from Maha’s lips. Her body shook with uncontrolled rage. Her eyes sought mine. “If a girl lives modestly, she is a fool. If she lives normally, she is a hypocrite. If she believes there is a God, she is an imbecile!”
Unable to move, Kareem did manage to find his voice. “Maha! You blaspheme!”
“Blaspheme? What is there to blasphemy? There is no God!” Kareem jumped to his feet and squeezed Maha’s lips together with his fingers. Aisha’s mother screamed and fainted, for such a statement can cost a life in the land of my birth.
Aisha’s father shouted out for us to remove our unbelieving daughter from his home.
Kareem and I struggled with Maha, who suddenly had the strength of a giant. My daughter had lost her mind! Only the insane have such unnatural power! After much pulling and pushing, Kareem and I managed to shove our child into the back seat of the automobile and we raced back to our home. Kareem drove while I tried to quiet my child, who no longer knew her mother. Finally, she lay still, as someone in a swoon.
We summoned an Egyptian physician, who was trusted by our family physician. In a vain attempt to calm us, he said there were many such disorders in teenage girls the world over, and proceeded to cite statistics on the strange malady that seems to affect females only.
The physician had his own theory. He claimed that at puberty, a girl often receives large spurts of hormones, and such an event drives her crazy for short periods of time. He said that he had treated many such psychological cases within the royal family, without any complications or permanent effects. He grinned and stated that he had not lost a patient yet.
In the doctor’s opinion, Maha should be kept sedated for a few days; she would recover from the case of hysterics on her own.
Leaving us with an ample supply of tranquilizers, he said that he would return in the morning to check on his patient.
Kareem thanked the doctor and walked him to the door. When he returned, we exchanged a long and thoughtful look. There were no words necessary between us.
While Kareem arranged for our private plane to be readied, I telephoned my sister Sara and gained permission for Abdullah and Amani to stay with her until our return. Kareem and I were taking Maha to London. She was in desperate need of the best psychiatric care available. Sara was asked to keep Maha’s condition a secret. If inquiries were made, our families were to be told that Maha was in need of dental care that required a number of visits to London.
Many members of the Saudi royal family routinely travel abroad for medical and dental treatment. Such a trip would arouse little curiosity.
While packing Maha’s clothing, I came across disturbing books and documents hidden among her underwear. There were numerous writings on astrology, black magic, and witchcraft. Maha had underlined many passages detailing revelations and prophecies. Most alarming to my mind were malevolent items that were supposed to wreak dire evils upon people who had offended her, or induce love at a glance, or cause death by a spell.
My breath caught in my throat when I saw an item of Abdullah’s clothing wrapped around a black stone with some bits of loose, gray-colored substance I could not identify. I stood, hand to forehead, thinking. Could it be true? Had Maha plotted to harm her only brother? If this was the case, I was a failure as a mother.
I moved about in turmoil, collecting damning evidence of my child’s barbaric interests. Confused, I traced in my mind Maha’s activities from the days of her childhood. From what source had my daughter learned of such matters, accumulating a treasure house of dark paraphernalia?
I remembered Huda, my father’s long-deceased slave, and her obvious abilities at
predicting the future. But Huda had died before my daughter’s birth. As far as I knew, there were no other freed slaves or servants from Africa in our homes who possessed Huda’s power of sorcery.
I recoiled, as if hit by a blow, as I thought of my mother-in- law, Noorah. It had to be Noorah! Noorah had disliked me from the first moment we met. When I wed her son, I was a young and foolish girl, whose bold, rebellious character made a bad first impression on my mother-in-law. Disappointed that her son had neither divorced me nor taken a second wife, Noorah had never ceased to hate me, although she was careful to hide her dislike under a thin veneer of false affections.
From Kareem’s revelations to his mother, Noorah had detected with her eagle eyes that Maha was my weakest point. From a young age, Maha’s mental life had been one of conflict and pain, and Noorah had seized on that pain and in it found a vulnerability.
It was plain to see that Noorah had always favored Maha over her other granddaughters, and her attention had been gratefully received by the confused child. Maha had spent long hours alone with her grandmother. Noorah, an avid believer in the occult, had clearly lost no time in teaching my daughter her own ominous beliefs. How could I be so stupid as to believe that Noorah had my best interests in mind?
I had been a fool, for my heart had been softened by Noorah’s obvious delight in Maha, and I had often expressed my profound appreciation for her generous attentions toward my most troubled child. Noorah, because of her dislike for me, had chosen to lead my emotionally fragile daughter deeper into the abyss.
I knew that I must confide my findings to Kareem. My words would have to be delicate, for Kareem would have great difficulty in believing that his mother was capable of such a shameful deed. The truth could become twisted, and I, Sultana, might bear the brunt of his anger, while Noorah would sit contentedly in her palace gloating at her most hated daughter-in-law’s failure as a mother and wife.
