Princess Sultana's Circle (18 page)

“
Yes! There it was, right
before my eyes! The Prophet Mohammed depicted as a pig! I tell you,
my heart nearly stopped. And, Mother? Well, she swooned! I had to
call for help to carry her back to our apartment! She has still not
recovered! She is no longer the person she once was!”

Poor Maysa collapsed
against the back of her seat. “Since that time, I have suffered
horrible nightmares. Each night the Prophet Mohammed comes to visit
me in a dream. In that dream the Prophet has the body of a man and
the disgusting face of pig!”

“
Oh, Maysa,” Sara murmured
with sympathy. “How terrible for you.”

Dreams of our beloved
Prophet as a pig! I drew back, regretting that Sara had invited
Maysa to come with us on the trip. I, for one, did not want to be
contaminated by being near to a person with such wicked
dreams!

Maysa began to weep in
earnest. “I tell you, Sara, it is getting so that I fear to close
my eyes, for I am surely committing the most vile sin because I
cannot prevent this dream.”

I began to feel remorse at
my initial reaction, so I tried to look more kindly at
Maysa.

Libby, my Filipino maid,
said, “I recently read a newspaper article which claimed that
enemies of Arab countries were coating their bul- lets with pig
lard to use against Muslims in war.”

This was a well-known
scandal! Should a Muslim soldier be wounded or killed by such
tainted ammunition, that soldier would be automatically excluded
from paradise. The Islamic religion does not allow Muslims to make
any contact with pig flesh. A Muslim believes that merely touching
the flesh of a pig would keep him or her from entering
paradise.

Maysa’s muffled sobs grew
louder, and she pleaded with Sara to pinch her if she must—anything
to keep her from falling sleeping and dreaming her blasphemous
dream.

I prayed to God that He
would eradicate that evil image from Maysa’s mind. Shaking my head
in sadness, I turned around and began walking toward my seat. Just
as I was sitting down, I noticed that Sara’s maid, Afaaf, was
sitting alone and weeping. I motioned to Sara and together we
approached Afaaf.

Sara touched Afaaf’s
shoulder. “Afaaf, are you unwell, dear?”

Afaaf’s face was a picture
of complete misery. She tried to speak, but could not. Finally,
after Libby brought her a glass of water and encouraged her to take
a few sips, Afaaf told us, “I am sorry to cry, but this terrible
story reminded me of how our Holy Prophet has been defamed, and in
so many ways…” Afaaf began weeping again, “and his name and his
holy words are often used as a weapon of revenge and evil, even by
his own people. Does that not besmirch our Prophet,
also?”

Sara nodded, but did not
speak.

I stood helpless as poor
Afaaf sobbed. If there was anyone in the world who had a reason to
cry, it was Afaaf.

Afaaf was a refugee from
Afghanistan. Although she had escaped the war in her country, she
could never recover from the terrible losses she had suffered.
Afaaf had lost her entire family. Her parents and one brother had
been killed in the long war that preceded the brutal Taliban
regime’s coming to power. Afaaf and her younger sister were left
alone, without any male protection in a country now ruled by men
who were determined to totally control every aspect of a woman’s
life.

In 1994, when the Taliban
adherents who now rule Afghanistan came to power, they had carried
the suppression of women to a new level. While the lives of Saudi
women can be unbelievably bleak, I had learned from Afaaf that the
lives of women in Afghanistan were much more tragically harsh than
our own.

In the Taliban’s drive to
restore Islamic purity, they had launched a horrifying assault on
their own women. Not only were Afghan women forced to cover their
bodies and faces in the Burqa, a thick, tent-like garment even more
awkward and uncomfortable than the Saudi abaaya and veil, but women
were also forbidden to even talk loudly or to laugh in public. Even
though women were totally hidden by the Burqa, the men in power
claimed that the sound of women’s voices alone had the power to
excite men! Additionally, women were banned from going to school,
from wearing makeup, jewelry, or high heel shoes, and even from
working to feed themselves and their families. Afghan women were
banned from every activity of normal life.

The harsh regime’s edicts
extended even to small children. In Afghanistan it was now a crime
to watch television and videos, play with toys and games, listen to
music, or even to read books!

With the Taliban came to
power, Afaaf’s own life changed dramatically. She had once been a
teacher, but she was no longer allowed to teach. She had once worn
her hair in a short style, but had been told that it was a crime
for a woman to cut her hair!

Shortly after the Taliban
gained power, Afaaf’s sister had been caught speaking to a man to
whom she was not related. She had been merely asking this former
neighbor about his elderly parents. A group of teenage boys saw
this exchange and demanded to see proof that Afaaf’s sister was a
relative to the man. Of course, no proof was possible, since the
two were former neighbors, and nothing more. Afaaf’s sister had
been taken before the “Department to Protect Virtue and Prevent
Vice,” where she had been condemned to receive fifty lashes by a
panel of male judges.

Afaaf had been forced to
witness her beloved sister being tied to a pole and lashed with a
leather strap. Afaaf had nursed her wounded sibling back to health,
but the poor woman was so aggrieved at the turn her life had taken
that she swallowed a large amount of rat poison. Since women were
banned from hospitals, she had died in Afaaf’s arms.

Having nothing more to
lose, Afaaf fled to the Pakistani border. After slipping into
Pakistan, she had been employed by one of Asad’s men, who happened
to be in Pakistan to search for domestic staff to work in Saudi
Arabia.

Afaaf put her face in her
hands and sighed deeply. “Fanatical Muslim men defame the Prophet
and his words in their determination to destroy every woman’s
life.”

I was so struck with
sadness that I felt like crying along with the poor woman. For me,
the unfortunate Afaaf was one of the saddest human beings I had
ever known. She was truly alone in the world—and all because of
evil men who intentionally twist the meaning of the words of the
Holy Prophet in their obsession to control women.

I slowly walked to a window
seat and sat down. I pressed my head against the small windowpane.
After covering myself with a blanket, I closed my eyes. I felt a
rush of gladness that I lived in Saudi Arabia rather than
Afghanistan. I almost laughed at the irony of such an idea, for
there is much danger for women in Saudi Arabia. In my own country,
too, fanatical men have the powerful capability to ruin
lives.

The year before, an
appalling event occurred which again came to my mind. A young woman
by the name of Hussah, who was one of Maha’s friends at school, had
discovered the enormous power wielded by men over women in the name
of religion.

Hussah was an unusually
pretty girl with a charming disposition. Her school grades proved
her intelligence, and her bubbly personality gained her many
friends. Maha often reported that Hussah enlivened dull school
days.

Hussah had visited our
palace on more than one occasion, and I, too, grew fond of this
young woman. My affection for her increased when I learned that her
own mother had died the previous year, and that her father’s new
wife disliked Hussah. Despite this sadness, Hussah was always
smiling and friendly.

When Hussah was three years
old, her family had moved to Egypt, where they remained for ten
years. In Egypt, Hussah had grown accustomed to more independence
than girls are allowed in the inflexible atmosphere of Saudi
Arabia. When the family returned to Riyadh, despite her early years
of freedom in Egypt, Hussah had accepted Saudi life without
complaint. She obediently wore the veil and abaaya in public
places, and did not complain about the other restrictions imposed
on women.

Inside the safe confines of
her family’s compound, Hussah was a normal modern girl. She wore
jeans and T-shirts, she chatted for long hours on the telephone,
and she spent many hours swimming in the family pool. Hussah had
always enjoyed sports activities, and was sad that women in Saudi
Arabia are not allowed to compete in events such as the
international Olympics. Such a dream is unattainable for Saudi
females, so Hussah’s swimming achievements must remain for her
pleasure only.

Hussah’s tragic fate arose
due to her love of swimming. Hussah often wore bikinis when taking
her daily laps, and these costumes displayed the fact that Hussah
had been blessed with a voluptuous body.

Unfortunately for Hussah,
the family living next door to her home were Islamic
fundamentalists. When the eldest son of that family caught a
glimpse of the sexy Hussah in her skimpy swimsuit, her life was
forever changed.

Although high walls
surround every Saudi home, the higher storied home will often have
a view of adjacent gardens. Hussah’s family home was a one-story
villa, while the neighbor’s home reached three stories. If someone
on the third floor should happen to glance out of a certain small
window, he or she was rewarded with a view of the bordering garden
and swimming pool. While most considerate Muslim neighbors will
seal up such a window, this was not the case here.

This young man, Fadi, was
studying to become a Mutawwa. After observing Hussah in her
swimsuit, he became so incensed that he purchased a long-lens
camera and took many photographs of the young woman as she swam in
the privacy of her own pool. As fate would have it, on one of the
days Fadi was secretly taking photographs, Hussah’s bikini top
accidentally loosened. Her full breasts were exposed only long
enough for the neighbor to capture that image on film.

Filled with the venom that
only the self-righteous possess, Fadi complained to the local
religious authorities that Hussah was a wicked sinner who had
intentionally exposed her breasts to him. In his fervor, he falsely
claimed that Hussah’s eyes had met his, and that she had smiled
invitingly just before lowering her swimming costume! He further
declared that Hussah’s act had caused him to sin by dreaming of
naked vixens. In order to recover his former state of purity, he
demanded that Hussah be stoned to death!

If the local authorities
had agreed with Fadi, the poor girl would be in her grave. But her
father was pressured to believe that the years spent abroad and the
small freedoms his daughter had once enjoyed had influenced Hussah
to become a flagrant exhibitionist. These men of religion who
talked with him believed that education and hobbies for women would
ensure the decay of Saudi society.

They generously agreed not
to punish Hussah, if her father himself would take certain harsh
measures. Hussah was to be removed from school, she was to be
forbidden to swim, and most importantly, she should be married
within the month. They also insisted that Hussah’s husband should
be an older man practiced in controlling wayward females. In fact,
these men even had such a husband in mind! They believed that
Fadi’s own father would be a good choice, as he already had three
wives, and they knew him to be a strict and pious man. He would not
allow Hussah opportunities that might bring shame on her family
name. Fortunately for Hussah, they reported, this neighbor had seen
Hussah’s photograph and had agreed to accept the moral duty of
“subduing” this wicked seducer!

No mention was made of the
fact that Fadi was obviously a voyeur, or he would have had the
decency to turn his eyes away from another man’s private garden.
Nor was it acknowledged that the sight of Hussah’s picture might
have aroused sexual desire, rather than religious obligation, in
Fadi’s father.

At first, Hussah’s father
fought for his daughter. But, he was outnumbered. His new wife
sided with the Mutawwas, claiming that Hussah was not the pure
daughter he believed, and that the girl was sure to ruin the family
name with her embarrassing behavior. Overwhelmed by pressure from
all fronts, and believing that even a greater punishment would be
inflicted on his daughter if he did not submit to religious
authorities, Hussah’s father finally agreed to the
marriage.

In a moment, Hussah’s life
had gone from relative freedom to the greatest oppression. After a
quick wedding, Hussah had managed to telephone Maha only once, but
the sound of her shaky voice was cut short when the line was
abruptly cut.

With the stories of these
two women’s lives so utterly ruined uppermost in my mind, I
questioned how it was that so many men of the Islamic faith failed
to remember that Prophet Mohammed never tired of praising the
infinite mercy of Allah? Every chapter of the Koran, except one,
begins with the Bismillah, “In the name of God the Compassionate,
the Merciful.”

The sad truth was that
Afaaf was right. A large number of Muslim men do defame the Prophet
and his teachings when they oppress women in his name.

And, what can we women do?
In the Muslim world, it is believed that only men may interpret the
Koran. Should any woman complain of the way women such as Afaaf or
Hussah are treated, that woman would be accused of attacking our
faith—an unforgivable crime assuring the severest
punishment.