Jean P Sasson - [Princess 02] (25 page)

Abdullah and I exchanged many glances, for we had never visited the poorer sections of Cairo. The close living quarters and the poverty of the inhabitants were a shock to us both.

Fatma's daughter lived in a three-story building at the center of the alleyway. The building faced the neighborhood mosque, which looked worn and was in urgent need of repair. The bottom floor housed a bakery, while the two top floors were rented out as apartments. Fatma pointed up and said that her daughter, Elham, lived on the top floor. Incredibly, Elham must have been looking down at the crowd from the flat-roofed building, for she recognized her mother, and began to yell Fatma's name, which we could barely hear over the loud noise of city life.

Abdullah did not know that in this particular family women were permitted to meet men not of their family (in Egypt the custom varies from family to family) and told me that he would wait in a small cafe' we had passed that served shawarma sandwiches, which are thin slices of lamb that has been turned and cooked on a split and placed into a piece of Arabic bread, with tomato, mint, and onion for added taste. Shawarma sandwiches were a big favorite of all my children, and Abdullah said that he was becoming hungry.

Elham and three of her four daughters met us on the stairwell, all four speaking at once, demanding to know if there had been some illness or tragedy in the family.

My first thought was that Elham looked identical to a young Fatma.

She gazed at me in fascination when Fatma introduced me as her employer, a princess from Saudi Arabia, for I had never met this particular child, even though I had met most of Fatma's children and grandchildren. I grew extremely conscious of my showy jewelry, for in my haste, I had not remembered to remove my large diamond earrings or my opulent wedding ring, which I realized were more than conspicuous in such poor surroundings. Elham's youngest daughter, a girl of only six, was slapped by her mother as she rubbed her small fingers across the stone in my ring.

At Elham's insistence, we were led into her small sitting room, and she left us for a short time to go and boil water for tea. Fatma had two granddaughters in her lap and a third at her feet. Alhaan was nowhere to be seen.

I examined my surroundings and could see that Elham lived a simple life. I tried not to stare at the threadbare floor coverings and the torn slipcovers, for I did not want my attention to be misunderstood. There was an open brazier in the middle of the room, and a square table pushed against the wall was piled with religious books. A small gas lamp hung down from the ceiling, and I wondered if the apartment was not supplied with electricity. I noticed that Elham's apartment was spotless, and it was evident that she was a proud woman who took great trouble keeping the dust and bugs out of her simple home.

Elham soon returned, serving sweet tea and small almond cookies she said she had baked herself for the family celebration they were having that evening. She mentioned to her mother that Alhaan was excited over the event and was on the rooftop, reading the Koran and quietly preparing herself for the most important day in her life.

The atmosphere remained cheerful until that moment, as Fatma brought up the topic on our minds, pleading with her daughter to cancel the planned ritual, to spare her child great pain and suffering.

Fatma talked in a rush and, seeing that she was making no dent in her daughter's determination, pointed to me and said that if Elham would not listen to her own mother, perhaps she would pay heed to a woman who had been educated by bright minds, a woman who had learned from respected physicians that the mutilation of girls was not encouraged by our religion and was nothing more than a custom with no basis or meaning in modern life.

The tension built, and though Elham was polite and listened to my thoughts on the matter, I could see that the lines of her face were set and her eyes were glazed over with stubborn determination.

Knowing from Fatma's confidences that the family was notably religious, I shared my knowledge of religious thought, saying that nothing in the Koran spoke of such matters, and that if God had considered it a necessity for women to be circumcised, then surely he would have given that message to Prophet Mohammed when he revealed his wisdom to his messenger.

Elham admitted that while female circumcision is not mentioned in the Koran, the practice was founded upon the customs of the Prophet so that it had become Sunna, or tradition for all Muslims.

She reminded me of a well-known hadith, or tradition, addressed but not recorded in the Koran. This hadith says that Prophet Mohammed one day told Um Attiya, a matron who was excising a girl, "Reduce but do not destroy."

It was this tradition that Elham and her husband were going to follow regarding female circumcision, and nothing I could say would alter their decision.

We discussed the issue until I could see the light begin to leave the room. Sundown was approaching. I knew that Nasser would return soon, and I had no desire to confront the man of the house over such a delicate matter. I made some small mention that it was time for me to return to my children.

Fatma, sensing failure, began to wail and slap at her cheeks until her face was completely reddened.

A look of distress flickered in Elham's eyes at her mother's grief, but she said that the decision had been reached by her husband and that she agreed with his thinking. All four of her daughters would undergo the rite of circumcision when they reached the proper age.

I could see that Elham wished for my departure. Understanding that I could do nothing to erase the frightening shadow cast over the lives of the female children of this home, I stood and said my farewells.

With quiet self-assurance, Elham's eyes met mine, and she politely bade me goodbye. "You have honored my home with your presence, Princess Sultana. Please, come again another day for a longer visit."

Against her daughter's wishes, Fatma insisted upon staying for the ceremony, saying that if the evil deed was going to be done, she wanted to supervise the barber's work to make sure he cut nothing more than the tip of her granddaughter's clitoris.

I submitted to the inevitable, leaving Elham's home without accomplishing my goal. My feet felt leaden as I walked down the long staircase. In an effort to give myself time to calm my nerves, I stood immobile on the steps and recited aloud a verse from the Koran, 'You cannot lead aright whomever you wish, it is God who leads whomever he wishes."

My son was waiting, sitting at a small table in the front of the cafe. His questioning gaze followed me as I made my way to his side.

My son peered at me expectantly. "So?" he asked.

I shook my head. "No. There is nothing to be done."

Abdullah's face clouded as I admitted my failure.

"Come," I said, "let us return home."

I glanced over my shoulder as we left the small alley, gazing into the night. Elham's home had melted into the darkness as though it had never existed.

When my son began to talk, I urged silence with the press of my hand against his lips.

I was unable to control my weeping.

Without speaking, my son drove his sobbing mother home.

As soon as I arrived back at our villa, I called out for my astonished daughters to abandon their current activities and pack their belongings. Our family would leave Cairo as soon as their father returned from the casino.

I whispered to Abdullah that the city I had loved since childhood was in danger of losing my affection, though I hoped our evening's experience would not result in my vigorous dislike of everything Egyptian.

Abdullah's eyes flashed with understanding, and I was gratified to see that my son appreciated the reasoning behind my words.

Kareem soon arrived with the odor of alcohol spread about him, which brought on a sudden and prolonged prayer from Amani for God to look past her father's sinful acts and restore Kareem to the status of heaven's most favored. In the context of her plea, Amani began to describe the burning agony of hell that awaited members of her family.

Already in a foul mood, I quickly wearied of Amani's enthusiastic fanaticism. I was incensed that she would take it to the point where she spoke critically of her family. Face-to-face, I told her in no uncertain terms that I had not yet received notification that God had appointed my daughter to the sacred role of frightening mankind into decency.

I reached across to pinch the skin on her face, but Kareem grabbed my hand and held it tight to his chest, ordering Amani to leave our presence, suggesting that she complete her prayers in the privacy of her room.

Kareem then became noisy in the irritating manner of a drunkard, saying that he had often observed my inability to control my destructive temper, and he thought the time had come to teach me a useful lesson.

We looked at each other for a time. Kareem stood still, waiting for my response. His lips were curled with contempt, and it was easy to see that he was in a rare mood to fight.

I quickly scanned the room for a weapon with which to bang my husband's head, for I am a woman who meets threats with violence, but Kareem knows me well and placed himself between me and the brass pot I had decided to use against him.

The will to battle left my body in a rush, for there are times when I can think reasonably, and Kareem is twice my size. Without a weapon, I am at a notable disadvantage and once disarmed can be quickly overcome. Be sides, it was best not to escalate our disagreement into a brawl, for past experience had taught me the impossibility of winning an argument with a drunken Kareem. But my thoughts were filled with scorn, and I had difficulty remembering why I had ever loved Kareem in the first place.

Wishing to avoid a useless confrontation, I knew that I must recapture the favored position.

I laughed, and said to Kareem, "Look at you! You resemble an elephant who is threatening an ant!" I then smiled at my husband and said that I was more than pleased he had returned early, that I yearned for his companionship at a time of great sorrow.

Kareem was not at his mental prime and -was easily bested. Bewildered for a short moment by my change in tactics, he eased into my trap and became overly remorseful for his unthinking words, patting my shoulder, offering apologies, and wondering why his dear wife was distressed.

I looked at my watch and saw that it was nearly nine o'clock. Half insane with the knowledge that the innocent child, Alhaan, would soon undergo female mutilation, I instantly forgot all thoughts of myself, and with tremendous sadness told my husband that there is no loveliness in life for women and that in my mind it would be advantageous for all females to die.

Kareem could not fathom the reasoning behind my dark ideas. He asked, was my life not perfect?

Was there anything I desired that my husband did not provide?

Knowing that my main source of distress is the social injustice directed toward women, he reminded me that together we had ensured that in our home, our daughters felt little of the prejudice that

exists against females in our land. What more could one man do, he wondered, than to guard those he loved.

Kareem smiled sweetly and tenderly brushed my lips with his fingers.

I had a quick thought that Kareem was endowed with a winsome charm that atoned for his less admirable traits.

Unsure how to address the ambiguous issue of my general dissatisfaction with the status of women, Kareem announced that it was my inescapable destiny to be born in Saudi Arabia, and in the end women must accept the limits imposed by our culture. My husband reminded me that God knew all things, and his purpose in planting my feet in Saudi soil had not been made known to those bound on earth.

My emotions in a whirl, I once again felt dislike for Kareem, regretting that all men could not be turned into women and live in our limited and often cruel world long enough to attain understanding. I wanted to rage at my husband's distance from my knowledge of the pain that women endure.

How can woman bind man to the grief that walks the earth and settles at the feet of each woman by turn? Sensing the futility of longing for men to suffer women's position in society, while women enjoyed the status of male rank, I told myself that I was too keyed up to be capable of a normal conversation and suggested to my husband that we go to sleep early, then rise refreshed to a day of new thoughts.

Because he follows a set pattern of fighting and then sleep after alcoholic drinking, Kareem agreed and willingly prepared himself for bed, while I located the children and gave instructions for them to eat their evening meal without us and to be available with bags packed to depart Cairo in the morning.

By the time I returned to our quarters, my husband had begun to breathe the deep, peaceful rhythms of one already at rest.

With my mind in conflict between my own rebellious thoughts and Elham's traditional beliefs, I considered what Kareem had said, that I was a woman at odds with my fate. Yet, in spite of my second-class status, I knew that I could never yield to meek acceptance of female circumcision.

Before falling into a troubled and unsatisfying sleep, I vowed to myself that my fury over the fate of girls such as Alhaan would outlive the barbaric custom that had aroused it.

"To call women the weaker sex is a libel; it is man's injustice to women. You will guard your wife's
honor and be not her master; but her true friend. Let not either of you regard another as the object of
his or her lust.

-MAHATMA GANDHI

FATMA'S FACE WAS distorted with an effort to appear cheery as she bade us a good morning. She had been hard at work in the kitchen when the family awakened and seemed distraught at our abrupt announcement that we were departing Cairo and traveling to Monte Carlo that very morning.

There, on the French Riviera, we would join three of my sisters and their families who were holidaying in the small principality of Monaco.

I had already imagined the scene of her granddaughter's circumcision and knew that the tragic evening did not lend itself to words.