Princess Sultana's Circle (28 page)

Although known as “Black
Bedouin” tents, the tents are not totally black in color but are
shaded with the various colors present in the wool of the goats.
Tent sizes vary, depending on the wealth and importance of the tent
owner.

Of course, all of our tents
were specially made and much more spacious and elaborate than most
poor Bedouins had ever seen. Each tent was comprised of twelve
broad strips of black cloth, each seventy-five feet long. Eight
wooden frames held up the tent. Even the smallest of our tents,
measuring only sixty feet in length, would be considered enormous
by most Bedouin.

We women grew weary of
watching the bustling activity long before camp was established.
Although we praised the fastest workers, only five tent roofs were
upright and taut after several hours of hard work by many men. A
large number of tents still waited to be assembled. Surely, it
would be late into the evening before all our tents were
ready.

In our restlessness, we
decided to ask Asad to accompany us on a short walk outside the
camp area. Soon, with Asad in the lead, a large group of women and
children walked gaily out into the desert, even though the sun was
still high in the sky and would continue to blaze for several more
hours. We turned our bare faces to the sun with much pleasure as we
walked behind the scampering children.

Amani’s eyes were twinkling
with pleasure, for she was coaxing a young baby camel along on our
walk. Earlier in the day, when the men unloaded the camels and
sheep, Amani had attached herself to this one fawn-colored baby
which now stumbled and cried, swinging its head on its long neck
toward Amani. The animal had been taken too young from its mother,
so it now recognized a new source of comfort, and followed Amani
everywhere.

When Amani cooed and began
to speak to this camel in a baby voice, I knew that we would not be
eating the tender flesh of this particular animal. With its curly
coat of soft hair, long limbs, and especially its huge, heavily
lashed eyes, the baby camel had stolen all our hearts. My only hope
was that Amani would not insist that the camel be housed in our
tent.

I sighed heavily as I
stared at Amani, wondering how I would ever cure my daughter of her
animal follies.

Sara touched my shoulder.
She and I exchanged a rueful glance. My dear sister understands my
every emotion.

The children quickly formed
groups and spread out in several directions, promising us that they
would stay within sight.

Asad sat down on a small
hill and said he would watch us all from that point. He smiled
gaily as he held up his high-powered binoculars.

My sisters and I walked on
hand-in-hand toward a high rise in the sand. I began to study the
infinity of the desert. “Just think, the totality of our past world
once filled this vast emptiness.”

“
And, not so long ago,”
Sara said, as she stooped to pick a yellow desert
flower.

“
I cannot even imagine the
bleak life we women escaped,” Dunia lamented, shuddering at the
thought of the bustling work even now going on in the
camp.

Nura chuckled as she rolled
her eyes. Sara and I exchanged knowing smiles. We had both been
truly shocked when we heard that Dunia had agreed to join us on
this trip into the desert. Rarely did my sister Dunia venture
outside the safety of her palaces. To our surprise, once she was
assured there was ample room for her Egyptian massage therapist and
Lebanese facial specialist, she finally decided to accompany
us.

Sara and I were often
annoyed with Dunia’s behavior. Without a doubt, Dunia possesses the
ideal personality for a Saudi royal princess. Of the ten daughters
born to our mother, none is better at enjoying a life of leisure
than Dunia. Her favorite pastime is to make herself as perfect as
the imperfections of her face and body will allow. This sister has
mastered filling her days with eating, sleeping, undergoing beauty
treatments, and visiting with her family and friends. Dunia does
not read newspapers, magazines or books, take any exercise, nor
show any interest in the world outside her palace. As the years
have passed, I have noticed that Dunia’s debilitating fatigue comes
earlier and earlier in the day, and her hours of rest have grown
longer and longer. I once feared that Dunia might be mentally
impaired, but it seems that she is not. Quite simply, nothing stirs
Dunia’s lazy mind.

Still, Dunia is not a bad
person; she has never hurt anyone in her life. Yet, as far as I
know, Dunia, has never helped anyone, either. Of course, we sisters
love her, for no other reason than our beloved mother gave her
life. Although Dunia inherited none of our mother’s wonderful
qualities, she is of our blood. We have no choice but to love
her.

Nura suddenly stopped and
bent forward to scoop up a handful of desert sand. “Yes. We just
barely escaped the harsh life of the nomad.”

Dunia tenderly patted her
own face with her hand. “Nura, you will give me wrinkles of worry
with such talk.”

We all laughed loudly.
Dunia’s lack of passion of any kind, either for or against any
subject, in combination with endless facials, massages, and special
creams, has kept her skin flawless. No wrinkle would dare show on
Dunia’s face!

Years before, Kareem
privately nicknamed this sister, “The mummy,” saying that nothing
of Dunia’s years on this earth was written on her face.

Nura grabbed Dunia, hugging
her and kissing her loudly on both cheeks. “Oh! Dunia! You worry
about the possibility of wrinkles?”

Dunia pursed her lips and
forced a smile. As usual, she could think of no fitting
reply.

Yes, my dear sister’s mind
must surely be empty, I thought sadly.

From this point, we walked
in silence until we reached the rise in the desert. Suddenly, the
full splendor of the sand dunes of the Dahna Sands came into full
view. Grain upon grain of endless sand had formed awesome red
mountains of sand; several dunes rose so high that they appeared to
touch the edge of the blue sky. I held my breath in wonder at this
amazing sight.

My sisters stood quietly,
allowing their senses to respond to the ancient sight of red sand
that shone like copper in the light of the sun. It was humbling to
think that for thousands of years our ancestors have been awed by
the beauty of such a panoramic landscape as we were now so
fortunate to look upon. As we stood enraptured, the absence of
human sounds roared in my ears, and I listened carefully to the
nothingness. When I strained to look in the distance, though, I
thought I saw something moving. I shaded my eyes with my hands.
“Look!” I shouted, as I looked across the sea of sand. “The dunes
are moving!”

The wind was no more than a
faint breeze, yet the sand appeared to be rolling toward us. I
squinted into the distance. Was this a desert mirage?

Sara lurched backward in
alarm and at the same moment I realized that it was not sand that
was in motion, but rather a large group of men on camels moving
across the sand toward us! These men were strangers, and we were
vulnerable and alone, at some distance from our protector Asad,
with our faces and hair uncovered! The sound of piercing cries gave
us another shock. Several of the desert travelers had unwound their
ghutras, their red-and-white checkered head coverings, and were now
waving them at us! Obviously, the men were Bedouins who had seen us
and were racing their camels in our direction!

Greatly alarmed, my sisters
and I yelled for our daughters and young children as we all
scrambled back through the sand toward Asad.

Tahani screamed in panic
when she stumbled over her long dress and pitched forward on the
ground. Dunia refused to stop and assist her sister; she ran ahead
at exceptional speed, and was soon out of our sight.

Asad dropped his binoculars
as he ran to meet us. When he saw the source of our fear, he
entreated us to calm down and swiftly return to the camp. He would
remain to greet the desert travelers.

An hour later, my sisters
and I were able to laugh about the event. That is, everyone except
Dunia. She was still weeping in terror, even though we were now
sitting safely inside our own spacious tent, protected by our own
men. Dunia’s maid placed one cool cloth after another on the
forehead of her terrified mistress, but nothing brought our sister
relief. She was convinced that she had narrowly escaped being
seized by these men and forced to live out the rest of her life as
an unwilling Bedouin wife.

Although it seems strange
to us, there are still a few tribes in Arabia who have not
capitulated to the urban life. And, it is a fact that these desert
Arabs have been known to become offended to the point of violence
when their offers to buy desirable females are refused. Who can say
for certain that these nomads would not have reverted to past
customs and simply stolen one of us?

In 1979, an American woman
whom Sara knows well had narrowly escaped such a fate. While on a
day trip into the desert, this woman, Janet, and her boyfriend,
Bill, an American employed by Asad to run one of his many
businesses, had come across a Bedouin encampment. Bill, who had
lived in Arabia for some time, was fluent in Arabic. When the
couple was invited to join the tribe for tea, Bill had been pleased
at the rare opportunity to show Janet an authentic Bedouin
camp.

But from the start, this
encounter with the Bedouins was unsettling. The tribesmen were
captivated by this American woman. Janet was a beautiful woman,
with ivory skin, green eyes, and wavy, waist-length red hair, and
these Bedouin had never seen such a bewitching display of feminine
beauty!

Following the second cup of
tea, the Bedouin chief grew bold and asked Bill the full price he
had paid for his woman. In jest, Bill replied that his woman was
very costly—a one-hundred camel woman, as a matter of fact. The
Bedouin chief shook his head solemnly as he stared at the
red-haired beauty. This woman would prove to be very costly indeed!
The chief then clapped his hands together and agreed, yes, he would
sacrifice the very financial future of his tribe to possess this
irresistible temptress. Yes, he, too, would pay one hundred camels
for her. Even more. The chief’s intense piercing eyes showed that
he must have this woman!

To Bill’s growing
consternation, the chieftain then called for his men to begin
gathering one hundred prime camels from his huge herd. When Bill
gently rebuffed the generous offer, the amount was increased, once,
then twice. When the Chief finally understood that the woman was
not for sale to him, for any number of camels, he quickly moved
from a moment of gracious hospitality to a state of offended rage.
Were the Bedouin not worthy of such a woman? This was an
insult!

The situation deteriorated
rapidly, and the frightened couple only barely escaped the incensed
mob. They ran to their vehicle and drove away at a high speed, but
they were chased for a short distance by Bedouins on camels. Who
knows what might have happened had they not had a fast vehicle that
eventually left the horde of aggrieved and irate Bedouin behind in
the dust?

After greeting the Bedouin,
Asad had invited them to our camp for tea. He reported that the men
who had so frightened us were members of a Bedouin tribe on a
hunting party.

We were now waiting for
these men to leave so that we could rejoin our husbands. Soon after
the aroma of the evening meal began to tease our growling stomachs,
we heard the men’s loud farewells. After eliciting a promise from
our husbands that we would soon visit their camp, the Bedouin men
finally left.

Greatly relieved at their
departure, I was the first to step through the drawn gap in our
tent curtain. My sisters and the other women followed me in the
rush from the tent.

Everyone was hungry, so we
quickly arranged ourselves in a circle around carpets covered in
large white linen cloths that would serve as our table. Although it
is the custom in Saudi Arabia for men to eat first, and for women
to wait and eat the remains of the meal, it is a custom we do not
observe. When the party consists of our family only, all take their
meals together. Even the arrogant Ali often eats meals with his
wives and children. Therefore, we were all seated cross-legged when
our servants brought water jugs for rinsing our hands.

My mouth watered in
anticipation of the feast that I knew awaited us. The cooks had
been busy preparing our meal since we first arrived.

Their previous
disagreements now forgotten, all three cooks proudly stood
side-by-side as the procession of food began. Six men carried a
huge brass platter that was at least ten feet long. A small camel
which had been roasting on a spit all day now lay on a mound of
rice on the huge platter. Inside that camel was a lamb, which had
been stuffed with chickens. The chickens, in turn, were stuffed
with boiled eggs and vegetables.

Servants began to place
bowls of salads, olives, cheeses, and a variety of other dishes
before us.

Our eating rituals began in
earnest. Kareem uttered the blessing, “Bismillah,” or “in the name
of Merciful Allah.” In his role as host, Kareem began to insist
that Nura’s husband, Ahmed, who was the eldest at our family
gathering, be the first to sample the food.