by Jean Sasson
Our family had recently returned to our palace in Riyadh from a trip to Egypt. My husband, Kareem and our eldest child and only son, Abdullah, were in Kareem’s home office. Amani, our youngest daughter, was in the garden with her pets, and I was sitting in the living room with our elder daughter, Maha.
Suddenly, my sister Sara, and three of her four daughters, Fadeela, Nashwa, and Sahar, burst through the door.
I rose with a smile to greet my most beloved sister, but I saw the fear shining through Sara’s eyes. Sara’s dark eyes desperately sought mine as she clasped my hands. She told me to sit down, that she had appalling news.
“What is wrong, Sara?”
Sara’s melodious voice betrayed a great bitterness. “Sultana, while you were away, Ali arranged for Munira to be married. The wedding is ten days from tomorrow.”
Maha grabbed my hand from Sara’s, and dug her nails into my palm. “Oh, Mother, no!”
I pulled away. My hands twitched nervously as I spread my fingers across my face. One idea beat mercilessly into my brain. Another young woman, my own flesh and blood, to be married against her will.
Munira was the oldest daughter of my despised brother, Ali. She was a pretty, though slight girl, who appeared many years younger than her true age. Munira had always been an obedient child whose timid demeanor aroused our sympathies and affection.
Munira’s mother was Ali’s first wife, Tammam, the royal cousin my brother had married so many years before. At the time, Ali had readily boasted that his marriage to Tammam was for the sole purpose of sexual release when he came home to our country in between school terms abroad. Love and affection were never on his agenda. Anyone could have easily predicted Tammam’s miserable future.
She had been married while still a child, and she never had an opportunity to develop emotionally. Even as a mature woman, Tammam rarely entered into conversation, and when she did speak, her voice was so low the listener was forced to lean close to hear her.
Three years after his marriage to Tammam, Ali took a second wife. Since Tammam was a most dutiful wife, Ali was questioned by our eldest sister, Nura, as to his need for a second spouse. Nura later revealed to us that Ali had declared that his displeasure was linked to Tammam’s unhappiness. He was angry and baffled over the fact that his young bride had become a melancholy wife. With the greatest puzzlement, Ali claimed that Tammam had not once smiled since the day he had become her husband!
Tammam’s union with Ali produced three children, two daughters and a son. The daughters were as cheerless as their mother, while the son was a perfect arrogant duplicate of his father. By now, their ranks had been swelled by twelve other children, by a total of six women apart from Tammam.
Munira had lived a troubled and unhappy life. As the daughter of a man who cared little for daughters, Munira had spent her early years striving to win the love of her father, a man who had no love to give. In that respect, Munira’s childhood quest for a father’s love resembled my own. But that is where the similarity ended. At least I had survived the deprivation of my father’s love with my ability to love intact. Munira’s thwarted love for her father gradually twisted into open dislike before turning into a combination of fear and hatred. Those feelings had now grown to include all men—even those men who were kind. Five years before, at age sixteen, Munira had told her mother that she wished to remain celibate.
And so, unlike most Saudi girls, who spend much of their youth perfecting methods to keep their future husbands content, Munira determined a different life for herself. She trained as a social worker with the intent to spend her life assisting the handicapped who are so scorned in our land. Nevertheless, she made it clear that she would only attend to the female handicapped.
For a period of time it appeared that Ali had simply forgotten the fact that his eldest daughter was unwed. But sadly, he had been reminded of her single state during a recent family social event. Now Ali was denying his daughter the one pleasure she sought, which was to be allowed to remain unmarried.
The moment a girl is born in Arab lands, the parent immediately begin to think of an appropriate marriage. With the idea of future allegiances, suitable families with eligible sons are studied keenly. While a Saudi girl remains unmarried, she must stay a virgin. On the other hand, virginity prolonged is deemed a family disgrace. Now that Munira had turned twenty-one years old, her unmarried state was causing her father grave discomfort.
Maha interrupted my thoughts. She loved her cousin and knew Munira’s views on marriage. “Mother! Uncle Ali can’t force Munira to marry, can he?”
“To whom is Munira promised?” I sputtered.
Sara hesitated so long that I thought she did not know the answer. Finally, she said, with a long sigh, “Sultana, Munira is to wed Hadi.”
My memory was barren of a face to connect with the name. “Hadi? Who?”
“The Hadi. Sultana, don’t you remember? Ali’s boyhood friend who traveled with our family to Cairo.”
I could barely speak. “That Hadi?”
Sara nodded woefully. “Yes. That Hadi.”
The memory of our shared traumatic experience slammed down between us. In disbelief, I stared into my sister’s eyes.
“No, No,” was all that I could utter.
“Who is this Hadi?” Maha demanded.
Who, indeed? Where was I to begin?
I mumbled. “He’s Ali’s friend from childhood, Daughter. You do not know of him.”
Sara settled closer to me as her hands sought mine. We continued to gaze into each other’s eyes. Our thoughts were in unison. Sara was reliving the most traumatic time of her life.
More than twenty years before, against her will, Sara had been wed to a much older man, a man who had sexually abused her from the first moment of their union. It was only after Sara’s attempted suicide that our mother had managed to convince our father into allowing Sara to divorce. Despite her return to our family home, my dear sister had been unable to shake off a chronic and debilitating depression.
During this same period of time, our eldest sister Nura and her husband Ahmed were in the process of building a new palace. Nura planned to travel to Italy to purchase furnishings for this home, and along the way, visit Cairo.
Much to my surprise and delight, Nura and Ahmed invited both Sara and me to accompany them and their children on the trip. Every coin has two sides, and my happiness was soon tempered when father decided that my brother, Ali, and his friend, Hadi, would also be a part of our entourage. That distressing news was dispiriting, nevertheless, we went along on the trip.
While we were in Cairo, Sara and I were astounded to discover that our brother’s friend was even more obnoxious than Ali! Neither of us had imagined that such a thing was possible! We soon learned that in comparison to the spoiled and difficult Ali, Hadi was pure evil.
Although a student at the Religious Institute, which was a boys’ school in Riyadh for training Mutawwas, or men of religion, Hadi had absorbed none of the goodness called for in our Holy Koran. His black soul remained untouched by his religious education.
Hadi hated women with a purposeful vengeance, and often expressed his opinion that all young girls should be wed at the first sign of their menses. In Hadi’s mind, women were on this earth for three purposes: to provide for a man’s sexual pleasure, to serve a man, and to bear a man’s children.
Of course, Hadi thought that Sara and I were uncontrollable females, and often said so. If he had been the master of our destinies, Sara and I were convinced that we would have been stoned to death, and that Hadi would have been there to throw the first stone!
Despite his expressed hatred of the female gender, Hadi was keen to have sex with as many different women as possible. And on that trip to Cairo and Italy, he had done just that. Most disturbing of all, Ali had joined Hadi in his perverse behavior! While in Cairo, Sara and I had inadvertently come upon Hadi and Ali sexually assaulting a girl who was no more than eight years old! The scene had been one of
horror and violence, and neither Sara nor I had ever overcome the haunting images of what we saw that day.
Certain that such an evil boy would have grown into an evil man, we were now filled with panic at the thought that such a person would soon have absolute control over a dear and sweet child unprepared to defend herself.
Sobbing, I fell into Sara’s arms. Our tears were so contagious that our daughters began sobbing with us.
The sound of our anguished cries evidently reached Kareem’s office, for he and Abdullah soon came rushing into the room.
Full of concern, Kareem pulled me away from my sister. “Sultana! Sara! Whatever has happened?”
And Abdullah demanded of his sister Maha, “Who has died?”
I stammered through my wails, “Death would be better!”
Kareem was becoming increasingly alarmed. “What? What?”
Maha spoke up. “It’s about cousin Munira, Father. Uncle Ali has arranged her marriage.”
Even Kareem was sobered by that news. Every member of our extended family knew of Munira’s repulsion for men and marriage.
Unlike many Saudi males, my husband was not a man who believed in force when it came to marriage. Kareem and I had agreed many years before that our daughters should be educated before marriage and that, when the time came for them to be wed, they would have the right to choose their own husbands. Never would Maha nor Amani have to face Munira’s grim situation. Indeed, our religion forbids the forcing of females in a union not of their liking, but like so many things, much that is good in our Islamic faith is misinterpreted or simply ignored.
“Who is she to wed?” Kareem asked loudly to make himself heard over the sounds of sobbing women.
“You will never believe it,” I sighed.
“It is a great disaster,” Sara added, dabbing at the tears flowing down her cheeks.
“Tell me, who?”
I gazed up at Kareem with sorrow. “Ali is going to wed his daughter to an old friend.”
“Old in years?” Kareem questioned with a grimace.
“Two ways old,” I said, “An old friend, who is old!”
An exasperated Kareem said, “Please, Sultana! Don’t make me guess.”
Sara could sit still no longer. She rose to her feet, wailing. “It’s Hadi…Ali’s friend from many years ago. The detested Hadi!”
My husband’s face turned white. His eyes grew fierce. His voice was disbelieving. “Hadi, from the Egyptian trip?”
“That very Hadi!”
“Oh! This will never do.” Kareem looked at his son. “Abdullah, I must speak with Ali at once. We’ll reschedule our morning meeting.”
Abdullah nodded solemnly.
While Ali was a friend of Hadi’s, none of Ali’s brothers-in-law claimed a relationship with the man. He was so thoroughly disliked that everyone kept a distance from him, except Ali. Only Ali was able to find admirable qualities in Hadi. He was certainly not a part of our small coterie of close relatives and friends.
Although schooled as a man of religion, Hadi now made his living working for the Saudi government. As a friend of a high ranking Prince, he had maneuvered himself in a perfect position to become fabulously wealthy.
Due to his excellent financial prospects, those who did not know his wicked disposition might consider him an eligible and desirable husband. But two of my sisters-in-law were acquainted with Hadi’s three wives, and they had heard that his evil nature had grown rather than lessened. It was enough to know that Hadi was secretly named “Satan’s most favored son,” by the women he had wed.
With Kareem’s words I felt a small flicker of hope. While I knew that the sisters of Ali could never have the slightest influence on him, if the men of our family took action, perhaps poor Munira could be saved from a destiny she surely would consider worse than instantaneous death.
“When will you see Ali?”
“Tomorrow.”
“Asad will go with you,” Sara promised. “And, I’ll telephone Nura. Perhaps Ahmed will go with you, too. This marriage must be stopped!”
With such plans under way, I felt somewhat relieved.
Kareem and I were so physically and emotionally exhausted by this family drama that we slept that night without our usual loving embrace.
Early the next morning, I lay in bed while Kareem took his morning shower, wondering what the day might bring. Since I feared that Kareem might forget to tell me some important points in his talk with my brother, I was trying to think of a way that I might listen in to their conversation.
When Kareem went into the adjoining sitting room to telephone my brother, I slipped the receiver from the phone by the bed and listened in on their call. I heard them agree to meet at the palace of Tammam, where Ali was taking Kareem’s call. Obviously, Ali had spent the previous evening with his first wife.
I rushed into Maha’s room and said, “Dress quickly! We are going to visit your Auntie Tammam and Munira. They need us.”
When I told Kareem that Maha and I were leaving to visit Tammam and Munira, I saw a line of worry crease his forehead.
“Sultana, if you and Maha wish to visit Tammam and Munira, I will not stop you. But, take care and promise that you will not intrude on my meeting with your brother.”
Full of innocence, I gave my word that I would not disrupt their talk. But Kareem did not request that I promise not to listen in on them.
Tammam was not expecting us, but she seemed pleased to have visitors and was very gracious. After greeting her Auntie, Maha went directly to the room of her cousin, Munira.
Prior to Kareem’s arrival, I convinced Tammam that it was in our best interest to sit quietly in the banquet hall adjacent to Ali’s sitting room. “We might be summoned,” I told her.
As soon as we entered the large room, I began to rummage through the contents of my large handbag.
I had learned many years ago that to request permission for whatever unconventional action I might take would open the door for a negative response. Therefore, I now simply act and let others react.
Tammam’s jaw dropped but she was too timid to protest when I took an electronic device out of my purse and inserted the small listening aid into my right ear. I smiled at the astonished Tammam, and said, “Who knows what men are plotting against good women?”
I had purchased this device several years before at a specialty shop in New York City which stocked an amazing variety of spying devices, after seeing their advertisement in a hotel guest information book. At that time in my life, it had been of the utmost importance to closely follow the secret activities of Amani. Fearing she might bring harm to herself through her extreme religious fervor, I had felt compelled to spy on my youngest child. But I soon became bored with her endless conversations regarding detailed aspects of our religious faith, and I had put away the listening device. However, earlier that morning, before leaving for Ali’s house, I had remembered the contraption, and had come prepared to eavesdrop on the all-powerful men who ruled our lives.
I fiddled with the gadget for a few moments. Past experience had shown me that, even if the mechanism did not work perfectly, it did greatly amplify voices coming from adjoining rooms.
I gave Tammam a reassuring smile, but I could see that she was fearful. My sister-in-law sat like one stricken dumb, her hands cupped over her mouth.
Unintentionally, I had placed the volume level to its highest point, so when in the next room Kareem, Asad, and Ahmed loudly greeted Ali, my feet left the floor, throwing my body against the wall.
Tammam gave a small shriek of alarm.
After I had gathered my wits, I held my finger to my lips. Thankfully, the men’s prolonged greetings were so boisterous that they had heard nothing amiss. I smiled as I listened. I had always taken the greatest secret pleasure in listening to forbidden conversations.
The four men spent long, silent moments preparing their tea to their liking. When they finally did speak, their conversation dwelt on unimportant matters. After everyon
e’s health was assured, there was talk of various business matters. Their talk lingered for a long time on the declining health of the King. Uncle Fahd is my own immediate family’s leader of choice, and there is great dread of the day he will no longer rule.
I was getting impatient when Ahmed finally approached the subject that had really brought them together.
“Ali, we hear news that Munira is to be married.”
There was a short pause. Then Ali rang a bell for one of his servants to go and fetch some freshly baked pastries to accompany his tea.
I presumed that my brother was playing for time to deliberate his response to such an unexpected question. Still, it is true that my brother does eat to excess. Much to my amusement, he was getting wider by the year.
The listening device was functioning so efficiently that I soon heard the smacking of Ali’s full lips as he devoured one honey-laced pastry after another. The other men sat in silence.
Finally, his appetite satiated, Ali was ready to respond to Ahmed’s question. “Yes. You are correct, Ahmed. Munira is at the age to be wed. And, I have found a good match.” He hesitated before adding, “Surely, Tammam has notified my sisters of the date for the wedding celebration.”
Kareem cleared his throat, then begin speaking tentatively. “Ali, consider us as your brothers. And, as brothers, we are here to support you in whatever decisions you might make—on any matter.”
“That is true,” Asad said promptly.
Kareem continued with great tact. “Ali, the zigzag of human life is so puzzling. I wonder if you have shone the torch of light on Munira’s particular character, or on the age of the man she is to wed.”
Ahmed was the one who finally came to the point. “Is Munira not younger than some of Hadi’s own children?”
There was perfect silence.
Asad hurriedly suggested, “If Munira must wed, is there not another nearer her age who would be more to her liking?”
Undoubtedly, Ali was not pleased by this highly unusual interference in his private business. Still, he must have felt himself ensnared, for he made a surprising concession. “I will let Munira decide!”
