Free In the Land of Invisible Women by Qanta Ahmed

called the Ikhwan (which means spiritual brothers) but it was nothing to do with the original Ikhwan who were involved in the formation of the Kingdom earlier in Saudi Arabia's history. I was listening rapt, only now realizing that several other women had gathered to listen to Zubaidah's mother recount the recent history which had become modern folklore. She had more to tell.
    Al-Otaibi was a radical critic of the royal family. 6 He believed Wahabi doctrines could somehow become a political program that would avoid creating either a republic or a monarchy. Instead he wanted the rigid, archaic teachings to form a philosophical basis on which to run the Kingdom. Soon he declared himself “Mahdi,” an emissary of the Prophet from the end of time, and on the threshold of a new century he began calling for the downfall of the monarchy. That November more than one thousand Ikhwan had mixed with Iranian pilgrims who were celebrating the revolution's success at eliminating the Shah from power during their Hajj. They were able to give special prayers of thanks during Hajj. The day before Hajj was complete, on the morning of November 20, 1979, the Ikhwan (who were heavily armed) swarmed through the al-Haram mosque around the Ka'aba. Many of them were from within the National Guard itself, friends and allies of al-Otaibi. Zubaidah's mother stopped, interrupted by cries of “Astagfarullah” (God forgive me) that echoed through the cluster of women around us. She went on:
    “Can you believe these men occupied the holiest place in Islam and with weapons? Russian weapons! They held a siege there for nearly two weeks. It was a terrible time. Many died, hundreds of soldiers, pilgrims, and clerics and even more, more than five hundred were injured.”
    I began to understand that at that time both the monarchy and the clergy were vulnerable. Both needed the other to survive, so the crisis actually strengthened their parasitic relationship. The monarchy needed the clerics to control the population, authorizing some very oppressive laws. Another woman chipped in:
    “So here we are in Riyadh today, controlled with abbayahs, and bans on driving and not being allowed to travel without our men. We lost our freedoms while the monarchy and the Mutawaeen got to keep their power.”
    Zubaidah's mother nodded to the other guest. After a deep sigh, she threw back her stylish head and blew a smoke ring, self-medicating her frustration with tobacco. Tapping the glowing embers aside into a Baccarat ashtray, she went on.
    “And meanwhile the royal family feels safer, but not until they also made a special unit in the National Guard for special operations. You know they rewarded the army which protects them, kind of protection money. Somehow this arrangement works, for the Mutawaeen and the monarchy. Only the people are fed up!” Smiling, she began to rise to mingle with other guests.
    “This is a depressing topic, not good for a party, but at least you know. After 1979, they decided women have to wear abbayahs always because they allowed the Mutawaeen more freedom to impose their ways, and Sharia law was everything. Luckily a lot of us still remember Riyadh before the Mutawaeen were so powerful. I used to be free in Riyadh, walking around like this,” and she ruffled her hair with her elegant hands. “Can you believe, Qanta, I used to walk alone in Riyadh, no man, no maid, just relaxed like in Paris? Now that is all over, just like that. Makes Riyadh very hard to live in, huh, Qanta? That's why we spend time in Amman and Lausanne every year. We can stay in Riyadh only three months at a time.” She looked at me for agreement.
    “Are you ready for Ramadan, Qanta? It will be difficult here. You will have to get used to it. Next year will be better, Inshallah.” She stopped as abruptly as her grammar, rearranging her tense face into a relaxed, chic smile. I couldn't imagine being here more than one year. I couldn't see beyond the next thirty