Princess Sultana's Circle (29 page)

Ahmed insisted that, no, he
did not deserve such an honor.

With mounting fervor,
Kareem’s voice grew louder and louder, as he declared that our
family name would be disgraced if Ahmed were not the first to
sample the food.

I was hearing but not
listening, for I was so accustomed to such ceremonial rituals that
I usually think nothing of this delay before eating. But on this
occasion, I was faint from hunger. Although I said nothing, the
idea crossed my mind that we Saudis devote too much time to
senseless rites when the outcome is already known. It was a
foregone conclusion that Ahmed would eventually allow Kareem to
convince him to take the first bite.

Kareem and Ahmed went on
for so long that I thought I might sneak a meatball from a bowl
close to my hand. Just as I eased my hand toward the bowl, Kareem
formed a ball of rice in his palm and handed it to Ahmed. My
brother-in-law finally relented. He tossed the rice ball into his
mouth before tearing off a piece of meat from the carcass of the
camel, and stuffing his mouth.

This was the signal that
the feast could now begin. Bowls were passed from hand to hand,
while other eager hands reached toward the large platter. Everyone
was so hungry that this was a rare occasion when no conversation
interrupted our eating.

After we had consumed all
we wanted of the main course, the servants began to bring out tray
after tray of sweets made of cream, nuts, and honey. Although our
stomachs were full, everyone sampled the delicious
sweets.

Voices rose with the
thanksgiving of “Alhamdulilah,” or “thanks be to God.” Finally,
silver bowls filled with rose water were brought out for everyone
to wash their hands and mouth.

Our meal was
finished.

Kareem suggested,
“Everyone, come, let us sit upon the ground by the
campfire.”

With the disappearance of
the sun, the evening air of the desert was now chilled, so we were
happy to move to congregate around the glowing embers of the big
fire. Even the smallest children joined us. We embarked on the
custom of sharing our history, a favorite activity of all family
gatherings.

As the servants began to
serve us coffee and tea, and lemonade for the younger children,
various family members began to tell exciting stories in verse of
caravan life and tribal war.

In the past, Arabs and
Bedouins had frequently raided each other. Such vicious attacks
were considered an honorable way to support one’s tribe. No
warriors were feared more than Al Sa’ud warriors, for they
mercilessly slaughtered their enemies, bragging that in their
raids, they never left a single warrior alive. Those considered
innocent—women, children, and the elderly—found themselves
distributed among the victorious.

Stirred by these stories,
the older men in our family obviously felt the draw of our past,
for when Ahmed jumped to his feet, calling out for the servants to
bring him his sword, our husbands joined him. Soon our party was
rewarded with the men’s dancing of the ardha, a version of an Arab
war dance.

I smiled broadly as I
watched Kareem and the other men hopping about and chanting,
brandishing their swords in extravagant movements. Brother Ali
began to sword-joust with Asad, but soon gave way, red-faced and
flustered. Although Ali is much larger than the trim Asad, over the
years, Ali’s flesh has turned to fat, while the highly disciplined
Asad, on the other hand, has retained his healthy
muscle.

After much gaiety, our men,
breathing hard, returned to sit around the campfire. They lifted
water jugs up into the air and aimed the spouts toward their
mouths. Skillfully, they directed the flow of the water directly
into their throats without splashing a single drop on their
lips.

When Tahani began to tell a
Bedouin love story, Ali interrupted her, scoffing at such
sentiments.

Much to my dismay, Tahani
fell silent immediately.

Ali looked toward the
youngest children, sternly saying, “These tales of love will bend
your mind in the wrong direction. The most important lesson of all,
is to be learned from the story I am about to tell you.”

I exchanged a glance with
Sara, but remembering my promise to Kareem that I would not fight
with my brother while on this trip, I attempted to feign
interest.

Even surrounded by so many
women of his own family, my brother could not control his deep bias
against women! Ali’s hatreds fueled his story! He had the nerve to
tell the tale of a young Bedouin man, who, after being viciously
attacked by members of a rival tribe, and grievously wounded, had
his life saved by a woman who was a stranger to him. That young man
had been so revolted to discover an unknown woman’s hands on his
body that he had spat in the woman’s face, and called out for her
to be stoned! Ali looked at his young sons and nephews, and,
confident in his exalted role as a wise elder, he told the
impressionable young men and boys that it was better to die at the
hands of male attackers than to be saved by a strange
woman!

My mouth fell open at the
audacity of my brother! To keep from speaking up, I was forced to
hold my tongue between my teeth.

Ali’s story met with
disapproval from every corner, but everyone was far more polite
than Ali deserved, and to my disappointment, no furor of criticism
fell on his ears.

The female faces were still
sullen when Kareem cleared his throat and offered a final story. My
heart went out to my husband, for it was apparent to me that he
wanted our young children to retire to sleep with other ideas in
their minds than Ali’s perverse tale.

Kareem directed his
attention to the children and young adults. “Dear children, the
most desirable trait any person can claim is generosity and
hospitality. And, it is my pleasure to tell you about an Arab man
who was the most generous man ever to live.”

My husband then told a
popular Bedouin story that touches the heart of every Arab, for
nothing impresses us more than stories of great
generosity.

“
It is said that all great
men are born in small tents. And, this was the case with Sheik
Hatim. He was born in a small tent, but through hard work, raised
himself to be one of the richest Sheiks who pastured their herds in
the great desert.

“
This Sheik’s name was in
every man’s mouth, not because of his wealth, but due to that great
Arab virtue, generosity, which he practiced more faithfully than
any man alive. Sheik Hatim gave to all who asked, and never
questioned the need of anyone. He refused no one’s request, not
even his enemies. Once four hundred starving men, women, and
children traveled from drought-scorched hills to this Sheik’s tent.
What did he do? He killed and roasted fifty camels to supply them
with meat.

“
The Sultan of Roum,
hearing about this Sheik, was certain that his generosity was a
pretense, that it was a way of advertising himself and the things
he had for sale. The Sultan decided to send his men to ask Sheik
Hatim for his most prized possession, a precious stallion known
throughout the land, to see if the Sheik was as generous as people
said.

“
This stallion, named
Duldul, was the finest horse in all of Arabia. He had been raised
with Hatim’s children, and had shared in all the joys and sorrows
of Hatim’s household. The horse was so loved that he had never
known the touch of a whip or heard an unkind word.

“
Well, the Sultan’s men got
lost along the way in a great storm, and when they arrived, they
were half-starved and almost dead. They were surprised to see only
three small tents, and no herds of animals, although Sheik Hatim
met them on his beloved steed, Duldul.

“
The Sultan’s men saw
plainly that the Sheik was not expecting guests, yet he greeted
them with warmth and great hospitality. Seeing his guests in such
pitiful condition, the Sheik declared that he would prepare a
feast.

“
After witnessing the bare
grazing land, those men were surprised when they later sat down to
a meal of delicious meat, which had been broiled, and roasted, and
made into soups and savory dishes. The hungry men declared that
they had never been fed so royally.

“
The Sultan’s men then
became ashamed of their errand, and told the Sheik that they had
been sent by the Sultan of Roum to test his generosity by asking
for the Stallion Duldul.

“
Sheik Hatim sat as though
he had been stunned by a heavy blow. His face became deathly white
before he said, ‘Ah, friends, if you had only made your errand
known in the beginning. You could not have fathomed my
circumstances. I was not prepared for guests, for we arrived at
this spot only two days ago. We have been waiting for our household
and flocks, but a great rain fell and flash torrents prevented them
from reaching us. When you arrived, exhausted and hungry, what was
I to do? There was no meat in my tent—and no goats or sheep within
a day’s journey. Could I fail to provide hospitality? I could not
bear the thought of hungry men in my tent. And so my prized horse,
Duldul, that matchless steed who knew my every wish and obeyed my
every word—what else could I do?’

“
Tears were flowing down
the Sheik’s face when he said, ‘Now, go and tell your disbelieving
Sultan Roum that in my extremity, I cooked and served the beautiful
and obedient Duldul for your suppers.’”

Kareem now smiled at the
youngest children, who were wide-eyed at the thought of such
hospitality. “Now children, know that you have heard the story of a
true Arab—the best Arab—a man whose generosity is never
questioned.”

Kareem’s tale had us all
smiling and in a good humor as the party began to break up and move
toward the individual tents.

But when Ali passed by me,
his arrogant look still irritated me. When my brother offered his
cheek to me for a good-night kiss, I stiffened. Out of the corner
of my eye, I saw Kareem watching me.

I smiled, then stood on my
tiptoes.

Ali leaned
closer.

My lips brushed teasingly
past his cheek before I whispered a favored devastating Bedouin
curse into Ali’s ear, “May every camel in your herd go lame,
Ali.”

While Kareem looked at me
with loving approval, Ali stared at me in startled bewilderment. He
was still reveling in his role as a wise man, and could not fathom
the reason for my words of disdain.

I smiled triumphantly as I
made my way to our tent.

Our tent had been readied
earlier in the day according to Kareem’s instructions. It was
divided into five parts. With velvet curtains serving as
partitions, the largest room was arranged for entertaining and
eating, two rooms were for sleeping, and two more rooms served as
bathrooms. Kareem and I would share one bedroom and bath, and our
daughters the other.

I walked through the
largest room where small, custom-made sofas as well as peach and
beige silk cushions lined two walls. Persian carpets covered the
sandy floor of the desert. Camel saddles decorated with gold and
silver fringe to be later used by our men while on desert outings
lined a third wall. Banners, swords, and the Saudi flag added to
the array of decorations.

The cozy contours of the
bedrooms had been furnished with unique pieces of beautiful
furniture. Our beds were crowned with light-weight canopies, and
draped with a sheer fabric that would screen our bodies from the
desert dust and insects.

My maid had already laid
out my sleeping gown, and after washing my face and cleaning my
teeth, I slipped out of my dress. I sighed with contentment as I
stretched across my side of the bed.

This day in my life had
been more agreeable than most. I was asleep within moments, and
never even heard Kareem when he came into the room.

Chapter
Sixteen

Swirling Sands

The following days were
most pleasant for the whole family.
Our men
mounted their camels and hunted desert wildlife while our children
played endless games with their cousins. The women enjoyed long
walks around the camp, admiring the scenic vistas and sharing many
happy memories of our childhood.

Three days into our trip,
our husbands suggested that we visit the camp of the Bedouin tribe
whose men had so startled us on our first day. We women were eager
to go, for every city Arab remains forever curious about the
Bedouin.

All the women except Dunia,
that is. Dunia flatly refused the invitation, claiming that her
frail temperament simply could not survive such a shock as visiting
a dirty Bedouin camp, so she stayed behind with our female servants
and the children.

People unfamiliar with
Arabia believe all Arabs are Bedouin; actually, city Arabs and
desert Bedouin Arabs have rarely co-existed peacefully, and even
today, a pervasive and continuing conflict exists between them.
City Arabs mock the Bedouin as simple-minded fools while Bedouins
revile city Arabs as amoral sinners. In the not too distant past,
the “wild Bedu” would stuff their nostrils with cloth when it was
necessary for them to come into the city, to avoid being polluted
by the odor of city Arabs.