Princess: Stepping Out of the Shadows Read online

  I am told through the communications I receive that readers feel they have come to know the women, and the men, of my family. There are many who say they had no knowledge that Saudi men could be so understanding and sensitive about the issues of life until they read about my husband, my son, my sister Sara’s husband and other exceptional men in the royal family.

  Nothing is more important than creating understanding and sharing knowledge amongst different nations and cultures, and this is what the books about my life have accomplished. Consequently Ali’s empty words could not convince me otherwise.

  After Ali understood that I was not going to be drawn into a verbal battle with him, he gathered his senses, picked up the book and, realizing he had an audience, glanced caustically at the servants, exclaiming, ‘Have you no work? Does my sister pay you to gawk?’

  The servants quickly scattered.

  With their exit, Ali’s tirade ended, although he looked at me with disappointment flashing in his eyes.

  ‘You know, Sultana, if anyone outside our immediate family discovers you to be this princess, your children will be the ones to suffer for your folly.’

  I felt stricken by his threatening words but did not respond, intentionally keeping my face expressionless, for what could I say? His words held an important truth which often makes me uncomfortable. If my identity as Princess Sultana becomes popular knowledge within the Saudi royal family, my children will indeed suffer, for they will be scorned by many they now consider friends.

  All who know me understand that my children and grandchildren are the most important people in my life and are the true reason I have never come forward to reveal my face and identity to the world. I must protect my children from being rejected or ridiculed by their relatives and friends. Most children in Saudi Arabia would feel shame to have a mother whose life is publicized to the world, for most women in our isolated world still live very private lives. Despite the fact that my stories are told in order to promote understanding of my world, most would not appreciate the reasons behind the revelations. They would not know of my passion to fight for equal rights for women.

  In Saudi Arabia, the entire family is held to blame if any member acts or reacts in a manner considered unacceptable. My children are happy and well adjusted, and any harm to them brought by my actions would render me weak from sorrow.

  Once Ali realized that he could say nothing to provoke me to retort in wrath, he abandoned his anger and behaved normally, as if nothing had happened and he had not stormed into my home with strident and insulting words.

  ‘Sultana,’ he said with a smile, ‘are you going to offer me a coffee?’

  I laughed.

  My brother laughed.

  Did we finally understand one another? We had been sparring since the time we were children only because Ali was a natural-born bully. Did he comprehend that he could no longer control his adult sister? Had I reached a position of harmony with my brother’s need to control all women in his sphere of influence? Only time would tell, so I lightly shrugged my shoulders and issued the invitation he expected.

  ‘Of course! Come with me to the sitting room, and we’ll have a coffee and a sweet.’

  And so the morning ended without further commotion, as Ali disclosed the most recent news of his new wife and their toddler son, who was spoiled by his father and whom Ali claimed to look and behave exactly as he had as a child.

  ‘Is that so?’ I replied, a smile lurking under my words, recalling how Ali had tormented his sisters in his youth with his demanding ways and aggressive conduct. Secretly I hoped that his son was nothing like his father, when it came to selfishness and lack of compassion.

  I felt relieved when Ali left within the hour to tend to business affairs, but admittedly I was glad that we had parted amiably, something rare in our long and quarrelsome relationship.

  * * *

  I had no indication that day of the surprises that were about to be revealed in my country. My happiness was soon rising, for it was not so long after my brother’s visit that an unexpected announcement came from the men who rule Saudi Arabia, a revelation that promised a better future for all Saudis – women and men. Our world was about to be enriched to an extent that most could only imagine. Indeed, none of us has ever believed that we might live long enough to witness such progressive changes.

  Only a few short months later, many of us would be celebrating the fact that we were fortunate that one of the highest-ranking people in the kingdom had determined to bring the best transformations to our nation and to make our country great in the eyes of the world.

  As I mentioned earlier, this unexpected social revolution is being spearheaded by a young male royal named Muhammad bin Salman bin Abdul Aziz al-Sa’ud, who has appeared to us as a miracle; a bold man who is pushing away the darkness cloaking all females in his country.

  I am proud to say that this young cousin is of my father’s family. Although I cannot claim to visit with the Crown Prince personally, I spent time with him when he was only a child. Such visits automatically ceased when he grew into male maturity. However, the men of my family have had many occasions to be in his company and have spoken well of him. Now that he has stepped to the front of the world’s attention, memories of his babyhood, his toddler years and childhood are returning to me. Furthermore, past conversations with my husband Kareem, my son Abdullah and other male members of my immediate family pertaining to visits once the child became a man are reappearing in my mind. The men of my family have long praised this cousin and maintained that he is a man who speaks for all Saudis, not just for the royals who have held fast to power since 1953.

  Looking back to our history, that was the moment the founder of the kingdom, our grandfather King Abdul Aziz, drew his last breath in the mountain city of Taif on the 2 Rabie al awal 1373 (9 November 1953) in the palace of his son, Faisal. Although he died in Taif, and the funeral prayer was conducted in that city, Grandfather was returned to Riyadh to be buried at the Al Oud Cemetery. While I know the location of the Al Oud Cemetery, I have no idea where his grave is located within it. Since Saudis do not visit and mourn at the grave, I have been told that none of his sons visit that site and all who attended his funeral can no longer identify it, which is an enormous disappointment to me, his granddaughter. How I wish I knew the exact spot my grandfather was buried. If so, no one could keep me from visiting, just to feel his presence.

  Uncle Faisal grew to be a fine man, highly respected by his father, and would follow his older brother, Saud, in ascending the royal orbit to assume the rank of king only a few years after his father’s death.

  Although I was not yet born to my mother when my grandfather passed from this earth, I have heard endless stories of his life, his exploits, his courage and his multiple triumphs – on the battlefield, and in administrative and diplomatic encounters with aggressive Saudi tribesmen, as well as prominent statesmen from all over the world, from the beginning of his struggles until the time of his rise to great power. He was, as Kareem is fond of telling our children, ‘a man who would let you know he was coming’. Since his death, in fact, our family has impatiently waited for one of his sons, or grandsons, to let us know he is coming! And now it seems this day is upon us. We believe that Crown Prince Muhammad is demonstrating the same astonishing qualities as the man who was responsible for the formation of Saudi Arabia and for the fate of the family who now rules. All who know our Crown Prince personally say that he is a formidable character who possesses extraordinary leadership skills and has a powerful intellect, not unlike our grandfather.

  My country and our people need such a man. Just considering what I have heard of his plans, as I consider what is coming our way, I feel breathless with excitement. I believe that nothing less than a miracle is roaring across the entire country, a phenomenon that will bring a positive kind of disturbance that will shake the hearts of all. Some hearts will be moved by joy, others by sorrow.

  Never did I believe that I would be so
fortunate to live a life long enough to see the moment when absolute male power over women in Saudi Arabia will come to an end, but I believe that now I shall.

  Now I long for those who care about me and my country to turn the pages of this book with the same anticipation and joy as I feel when revealing how this miracle developed and grew, and how finally, after many years of all-embracing male domination, freedom will become a reality for many of the ten million or so Saudi women living today. Know that in this book you will hear from women who never believed that their dreams of true freedom would be realized, as well as from women whose dreams are still tightly suppressed by the male guardians who cling to ancient customs and traditions in order to maintain complete control.

  I cannot contain my joy each time I consider the anger and hostility springing from the hearts and minds of those immovable and dominating men of my country, men who believe it is their rightful privilege to rule over women, men who are seething like dangerous volcanoes because a bold, intelligent and fair-minded prince is coming to power. When this occurs, their brutish behaviour will be curbed. These angry men are of all ages and come from many social circles, including the proud Bedouin, the city poor, the professional and business classes, even the royal family. Since the day they came to an age of understanding, these men have held tightly and unfairly to absolute control of Saudi women.

  But no more. No more …

  * * *

  The story you are about to read will be told with the highest hope and greatest enthusiasm.

  I extend my hand to you in invitation. Come with me on a brief journey into Arabia, my desert kingdom, to feel with me the distinctive magic hovering over the darkness of human cruelty. Together we shall cross centuries to travel back in time to the very beginning, for only then is it possible to appreciate how the Saudi Arabians of today continue to live with archaic customs and how urgent is the need for social transformation – brought about by our king-in-waiting.

  I cloak my thoughts to the modern world I know so well, opening my mind to concentrate on a time long ago and far away from the life I now live as a Saudi princess in the House of al-Sa’ud. After a few moments of deep breathing and intense mental concentration, I find myself gradually drifting back in time to pre-Islamic Arabia to view the land and ancestors I love, as seen through the eyes of my predecessors many hundreds of years before I was born.

  An ancient setting comes to life for me, in multicoloured scenes. There is a vast plateau, rising loftily to nearly 12,000 feet. Blue skies sparkle above. The hue of dark golden sand stretches in every direction. The green of lush oases and palm-studded villages occasionally breaks the rolling visage of the swirling peaks of sand. Water is unseen to my eyes and most would claim that in the arid waste of Arabia water cannot exist, but I know otherwise, and if I had the ability to drop to the sands to explore the wadi I know that drinkable waters exist in shallow wells.

  But that I cannot do.

  I see a small, mud-coloured village. People scurry under stunted palms, wearing long garments and head coverings to guard their skin and hair from a searing desert sun capable of burning the flesh off their bodies. These people are short and thin but strong because survivors of desert life must be physically sturdy to combat the harsh environment, toiling day after day in a struggle to find or produce food.

  These people belong to a structure of families united in tribes. Before Prophet Mohammed, Arabia was not a country ruled by one political component. Indeed, occupants of Arabia felt duty and loyalty only to their tribe. Each was ruled over by the sheik chosen by leaders of the clan. The sheik would come from a prominent family considered wise in matters of conflict, whether war with other tribes or discord within the tribe.

  Most living in Arabia during the ancient days were nomad Bedouins, people who followed the seasonal rains as they moved their scarce and skinny flocks from one pastureland to another. The desert belonged to the territorial Bedouin and no one could cross the sands without permission – and, in most cases, monetary payment for the privilege of using the ancient paths. Route charging was one of the few methods of generating revenue for the Arabian Bedouins.

  But during those ancient times there were others besides the Bedouins living in Arabia. There were townspeople who settled to live in villages near the wadis, such as those I am now watching, and people such as my own al-Sa’ud family. Where the soil permitted, men and women strained to coax vegetables and grains from the earth. Others cultivated orchards, while a few grew aromatic plants such as frankincense or cupped trees to extract myrrh from the trunks.

  Suddenly, in my mind’s eye, I see a small herd of camels and a few prancing horses. Arabs love horses above all belongings, but the camel has always been the desert dweller’s best friend. The camel provides reliable transportation, milk for nourishment, urine for health and beauty treatments, dung to burn for fuel, meat for meals, and hide to make clothing and tents. Without the camel, it is doubtful that human life could have existed in the bleakness of the sands.

  Suddenly I realize that these townspeople are assembling at a fair, which was a common way of bringing together farmers, merchants and poets. At such fairs they sold their wares and occasionally enjoyed being entertained.

  It is as though the scenes spread before me are led by my own thoughts, for at that moment my eyes see entertainers and my ears hear artists singing their creations to musical accompaniment. These men are poets who favour certain musical instruments, such as reed pipes, flutes and tambourines. There are girls dressed in ordinary clothing of the time performing in a carefree manner, actions rarely seen in modern day Arabia. They are participating in the amusement by dancing, which is a bit of a shock, until I remind myself that during the days of ignorance, which was the time before Islam, the people of the Arabian desert lived much as they pleased without any regulatory practices regarding the mixing of men and women. In those early years, it was not considered indecent for women to dance with unbridled joy while men who did not know them personally savoured the sight.

  I notice a few women who are not moving to the beat of the music but are watching the poets and the dancers from the background. I wonder who they are. Are they the wives of the poets? Are they interested observers? Either could be the case, for all Arabs – men, women and children – love poetry.

  Poets were, and are still, held in high esteem in Saudi Arabia – adored by their fans, a little like rock stars today. Since the beginning of civilization in Arabia, poetry and the fullness of language has been a source of great pride in our culture. The art of words in the desert is part of an oral tradition, with stories heard, remembered and then passed down through the generations.

  Nothing has changed from that day until now when the topic is the Arab love of poetry. Then, as now, we are poets at heart, for the Arab temperament is disposed to intense feelings. Poems are written as rhymes, with endless verses quoted to honour warriors, kings and the incomparable beauty of Arab women. I know that in ancient times tribes often competed against each other and the winning poetry was named ‘the Golden Songs’ and protected like treasures in the coffers of kings or leaders by other titles. Perhaps I am watching such a poetry contest as I hover over ancient Arabia.

  There are no veiled women in attendance but that does not surprise me – I know from my life’s work of studying the status of women from ancient to modern times that few women were veiled during the time before Islam. However, a limited number of women (those from the wealthy classes) would wear the veil in order to elevate themselves to a status of high desirability, as no man would be able to keep his senses if he were to view her beauty. When these veiled, heavily cloaked and perfumed women passed through the streets, all would stand in awe and wonder, believing that the most beautiful creature was within reach. Those covered figures created endless dreams of desire for the men, who savoured the thought that one day they too would win a woman so beautiful that she must hide her beauty or chance creating a human stampede.

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sp; Additionally, some upper-class women wed to chieftains or rulers would veil to distinguish themselves from the common people.

  Suddenly my eyes are drawn to a single figure. It is a man whose appearance startles me because even from a distance he holds a remarkable resemblance to my handsome husband, Kareem. He has the same golden-brown skin, black eyes, chiselled jaw and open smile. I am entranced, for I am a woman who greatly loves her husband, even after years of marriage and the challenge of birthing and nurturing three children.

  My concentration stays with this man as he abandons the fair to walk a short distance down a narrow, winding walkway between stucco houses that are rectangles of sun-dried brick cemented with mud. The roofs are mixtures of mud and palm leaves. The shabby construction of private homes proves that this is a poor village, for even in those days the wealthy constructed homes with interior courts, creating shelters for their families that were citadels of privacy.

  The man who physically resembles Kareem walks on a street that is floored with hard sand. He moves past four or five homes until he reaches a modest dwelling comparable to all others. To my eyes, it is as though the home has no roof and I can watch his movements and actions. The humble dwelling has only four rooms; the floor, as the street, is hard-packed dirt. The handsome man passes through the main sitting room to enter a second chamber, which is a sleeping area with two cots. He boldly approaches a woman who is tenderly focusing on an infant. Believing I am going to see an affectionate scene, out of modesty I start to take my mind elsewhere. But then I catch sight of an incident that causes me to cringe in shock. The handsome man physically strikes the woman with his hand. She screams, then grabs and shields her baby. Her husband bellows in fury, striking her again and again. The face I found handsome is no longer appealing, as he blushes red with rage. His disagreeable character shows on his face, as he grimaces in heated irritation at his wife and child.