Princess Sultana's Circle (20 page)

“
Sultana, a terrible thing
has happened! A little American girl, not yet five years old, has
been kidnapped and taken into your country. Her Saudi father took
her from her American mother. The mother is hysterical, of course,
and I was hoping that you might help us locate her
child.”

My heart sank as I listened
to her story. Was I never to escape these disturbing stories? Every
day of my life I had heard about exploited, ill-treated, and abused
women, but unlike most other Saudi women, I could never accept that
this was merely a woman’s lot. And some years before, I had come to
the sad realization that the abuse of women was not unique to Saudi
Arabia. This was a worldwide phenomenon!

Sadly, my victories in
helping such women were woefully few. And, now, my hopes were
dashed of putting aside such worries and enjoying a few carefree
days in America. Already, my heart ached for the little girl and
her mother.

Knowing that Anne was
waiting for my answer, I took a deep breath. “Anne, you know that
it is difficult to help anyone in this situation in my
country.”

With a note of sadness in
her voice, Anne said, “I understand, Sultana, but I was hoping you
could do something.”

“
Is this father a member of
my family, the Al Sa’uds?”

“
No. He is not
royalty.”

“
Well, at least, tell me
what happened.” With a sigh, I glanced at the clock on the bedside
table. Dinner would have to wait.

“
Whether you can or cannot
do anything, at least this mother will be pleased when I tell her
that I have spoken with you.”

“
Tell me all that you
know,” I said, as I lit a cigarette and inhaled deeply. This could
take some time.

“
The mother of this child
is a woman by the name of Margaret McClain. She is an instructor at
Arkansas State University, and it was there that she met and
married a Saudi student named Abdulbaset Al'Omary.”

Al'Omary? I did not
personally know a Saudi family by that name. But, as my life
revolves around members of the royal family, my lack of knowledge
was not surprising.

“
From what I have learned,
the marriage unraveled rather quickly. Margaret said that once they
were legally married, the charming and affectionate suitor quickly
changed into a jealous and unreasonable husband.”

“
That is not uncommon with
Arab Muslim men,” I muttered. I had never discovered the reason for
this disturbing and consistent pattern of behavior in many Arab men
who woo non-Muslim women. Since inside Saudi Arabia few men meet
their wives prior to their arranged marriages, Saudi men have no
occasion to be charming before they marry. But, when it comes to
romancing women from other countries, no lover could be more
charming and attentive than a Saudi suitor, or indeed any Arab
nationality, including Syrians, Egyptians, Kuwaitis, or
Jordanians.

Tender words are spoken,
gifts are given, and promises are made. Usually, no mention is made
of the potential problems of different cultural and religious
backgrounds. But, once the woman has been lured into marriage, the
man too often turns into a tyrant, becoming abusive and rude to his
wife, or becoming too interested in other pretty women.

Differences in religion and
culture can soon begin to create serious marital problems. The
woman’s normal way of dressing, which was greeted with compliments
during their courtship, is now declared too revealing. Loud,
abusive accusations are thrown into her face if she should dare
speak to another man.

What few non-Arabs realize
is that every Arab man is accustomed to getting his way in every
family situation. There will be no peace at home until he is
recognized as the undisputed ruler, a fact that many non-Arab wives
do not realize until it is too late.

I had seen this over and
over, for a number of my cousins had married women from Europe and
America. These Saudi cousins would profess to love everything about
their foreign wives before they were married, but, after marriage,
they would suddenly seem to detest everything that they had
previously claimed to love.

When the couple begin to
have children, the husband will invariably insist that the children
be raised solely as Muslims. The mother’s religious heritage is
considered of no importance.

If divorce results, the
woman is in serious danger of losing custody of her children.
Islamic law says that mothers may only keep their sons until they
are seven, and that although daughters may remain with their
mothers until puberty, in Muslim countries the age of puberty for
females is often as young as eight years old. And, if a Saudi
Arabian man should claim custody of his sons, or daughters, at any
age, the mother has no legal recourse. If the children live in
another country, Arab fathers later often steal their children and
bring them back to their country. Few Arab governments will
interfere on the mother’s behalf when an Arab man has custody of
his own children.

Anne’s story interrupted my
thoughts, “Margaret had a daughter, Heidi, by Abdulbaset, but the
couple divorced soon after the child’s birth.

“
Although Abdulbaset often
made threats that he would never allow his daughter to be raised in
America, he was still attending school in this country. Therefore,
temporarily, Heidi was safe. Or so Margaret thought.

“
Then, just a few months
ago, Abdulbaset took Heidi on his weekend visitation. When the
weekend passed, he failed to return his daughter to her mother. The
distraught mother has not seen her child since that time. A week or
so afterward, Margaret received a telephone call from Abdulbaset,
and he claimed to have Heidi with him in Saudi Arabia.”

“
Poor, poor woman,” I
murmured, wondering how any mother could bear such a terrible
loss.

Anne’s voice lowered,
“Sultana, Heidi is Margaret’s youngest child. Her other two
children, by her first marriage, are much older than Heidi. The
whole family is heartsick at this loss. I have never felt so sorry
for anyone in my life.”

“
My own heart is breaking
at the thought of her misery,” I whispered.

“
Isn’t there anything that
you can do? Poor Margaret can think of nothing else.”

My thoughts were racing.
What could I do? What help could I possibly offer? Truthfully, I
could think of nothing. Finally I asked, “What about your own
government? This woman should take her story to your
President.”

Anne laughed. “Sultana! No
ordinary American citizen would be allowed to speak personally to
the President about such a thing!”

“
Oh?” I answered in
surprise. “In Saudi Arabia, the simplest of men can approach our
King. It is not unusual for many small problems involving Saudi
citizens to be resolved by the King, himself. Actually, our King
regularly travels around the country visiting various tribes so
that people can approach him more easily.” How could it be more
difficult to see a President than a King?

“
No, Sultana. That is not
our way here. America is too big. Of course, Margaret has contacted
the U.S. State Department. But there is little our government can
do when the situation involves another country’s
sovereignty.”

“
I do not understand. An
American child has been taken from its mother. Why does your
government not intervene in such a situation?”

From what I had seen of
American soldiers in Saudi Arabia, I could envision their raiding
this Abdulbaset Al'Omary’s home and simply returning this child to
her mother. What good is a government if it cannot perform a simple
act such as returning a child to its mother?

“
No…no. Apparently, if the
child is in Saudi Arabia, it is under Saudi law. It would be up to
your government alone to return Heidi.” Anne hesitated, “But, the
Saudis will not, of course.”

I feared poor Margaret
would never get her child back.

“
What do you know of this
Abdulbaset Al'Omary?” I asked. “Where does he work? Where does he
live?”

“
Well, Margaret has never
been to Saudi Arabia, and she has no idea where he lives. He has a
degree from Arkansas State University, so he is qualified to teach
computer programming. But, since Abdulbaset so recently returned to
Saudi Arabia, Margaret has no way of knowing if he has a
job.”

“
Hmmm.” I was thinking how
I might help. If only there were a telephone number or a home
address.

“
Anne, I cannot rescue this
child. You know that. But, if the mother can provide pictures of
Heidi and her father, I will do my best to locate her, but don’t
raise her hopes too much, please.”

“
I have a recent picture of
Heidi,” Anne said, “but I will have to telephone Margaret about a
picture of the father.”

“
His evil act shames every
Saudi and every Muslim,” I murmured.

“
Well, Margaret says that
Abdulbaset professes to be a devout Muslim.”

“
Believe me, Anne, no truly
good Muslim would steal a child away from its mother,” I said
angrily.

Before we ended our
conversation, Anne promised to send any additional information on
this case to me at the Plaza Hotel.

I sighed deeply, overcome
with depressing visions of the innocent Heidi in her bewilderment
at finding herself in a strange country, far away from her loving
mother.

My sorrow soon turned to
anger, which grew until I began to feel an unreasoning hatred
toward every man.

When Kareem returned to our
hotel suite I refused to answer his queries about my day of
shopping. Confused by my surliness, he persisted with his
questioning until I burst out, “You, and every other man on earth
should be flogged, Kareem!”

Kareem’s mouth dropped in
surprise, and his comical expression finally convinced me to tell
him the reason for my distress.

“
I telephoned
Anne.”

Kareem’s lips pressed into
a thin line. “Oh?” Although he likes Anne he believes she is a
woman who would rather climb a wall than go through an unlocked
gate.

But I know that Anne’s
willfulness is borne of her sincere desire to help many people, and
for that, I like and admire her.

I then told Kareem the
details of my conversation with Anne. His reaction was exactly as I
would have predicted. Despite the fact that he is more sympathetic
to feminist issues than most Arab men, he is reluctant to waste
time on problems that he believes are unsolvable.

“
Sultana, when will you
ever learn that it is impossible for one woman to solve every other
woman’s problem?”

“
That is why we need help
from men—men in power!”

Kareem shook his head in a
determined manner. “I refuse to get involved in this situation,
Sultana. This is a personal matter best dealt with by members of
the family.”

I could not restrain my
urge to strike Kareem for one moment longer! I kicked out at his
leg, but missed.

A laughing Kareem grabbed
me and held me close.

I broke down in tears.
Without the help of our men, how would we women ever change the
course of women’s lives? Men had all the political
power!

In his desire to alter the
course of the evening, Kareem began to kiss my face and tell me,
“It’s just that I worry about you, Sultana.” He stroked my back.
“You have such small shoulders, darling, yet you try to carry every
problem afflicting women on these delicate shoulders.”

I refused to
respond.

Kareem studied my face
carefully before saying, “Darling, I have a special gift for you. I
was saving it for later, but now seems an appropriate
time.”

I resisted Kareem’s attempt
to kiss my lips. I was not interested in yet another expensive
gift.

“
It’s not what you think,
Darling.” He paused. “I wrote a poem for you.”

I leaned back in
surprise.

We Arabs are “people of the
ear,” rather than “people of the books,” and we are often inclined
to express our strongest feelings by composing poetry and reading
it aloud.

Yet, Kareem was one of the
few Arabs I knew who rarely arranged his thoughts and emotions into
poetry. My husband has an analytical mind, which I attribute to his
lawyer’s training.

Kareem gently led me toward
a chair. “Sit down, darling.”

I sat.

Kareem knelt on the floor
and took my hands into his, his eyes staring straight into mine.
His strong, clear voice lowered to a lover’s whisper.

You go first.

Go through the door before
me.

Enter the limousine while I
wait by your side.

Enter the shops while I
stand behind, guarding your back.

Sit at the table before
me.

Please, sample the tastiest
morsels while I sit quietly.

My desire is that you go
first, in every occasion of earthly life.

Only once will I go before
you,

And that will be at my last
moment.