Free Princess: A True Story of Life Behind the Veil in Saudi Arabia by Jean Sasson Page A

they obviously held in
distaste. I wanted to laugh, but kept my face straight and
serious.
    All foreigners and most Saudis are frightened
of the mutawas, for they have much power, and they watch everyone
for signs of weakness. Even members of the Royal Family try to
avoid their attention.
    Two weeks before, one of our Filipino maids
had inflamed some mutawas by wearing a knee-length skirt in the
souq. A group of religious men struck her with a stick and sprayed
her uncovered legs with red paint. While the government of Saudi
Arabia does not allow tourists to enter our country, there are many
women who work as nurses, secretaries, or domestic help in our
major cities. Many of these women feel the wrath of those who speak
God’s word yet despise those of our sex. If a woman is so bold as
to defy our traditions by exposing uncovered arms or legs, she runs
the risk of being struck and sprayed with paint.
    This maid had soaked her legs in paint
remover, but they were still red and raw-looking. She was convinced
that somehow the religious police had traced her to her residence,
and now they had come to take her to jail. She ran to hide under my
bed. I wanted to tell her the nature of their visit, but my secret
had to be guarded, even from the Filipino servants.
    Omar was absolutely pallid when he came into
the villa screaming for Ali. I saw Ali scuffling down the hallway,
gingerly walking with the top of his right foot high in the air
while balancing on his heel. I followed and gathered with Mother
and Ali in the sitting room, where Omar was on the phone, dialing
Father in his office. The mutawas had left, entrusting Omar with
samples of the incriminating contraband: one magazine, several
photo slides, and one miniature bottle of liquor. The rest they
kept as evidence of Ali’s guilt. I glanced at Ali and saw his face
drain of blood when he saw his “secret treasures” spread out in
disarray on Omar’s lap.
    Catching sight of me, Omar asked me to leave
the room, but I clung to my mother’s skirts and she patted me on
the head. Mother must have hated the way Omar bossed her children
and she looked defiantly into his eyes. He decided to ignore me. He
told Ali to sit down, that Father was on his way home and the
mutawas had gone to get the police. Ali was going to be arrested,
he announced with booming certainty.
    The silence in the room was like the calm
before a tempest. For a short moment, I was terrified, and then Ali
regained his composure and practically spat at Omar, declaring,
“They cannot arrest me, I am a prince. Those religious fanatics are
nothing more than pesky mosquitoes at my ankles.” The sudden
thought came to me that jail might not do Ali harm.
    The squealing of Father’s brakes signaled his
arrival. Rushing into the room barely controlling his anger, he
picked up the forbidden articles, one by one. When he saw the
magazine, he looked hard at Ali. He threw the whiskey aside with
contempt, for all the princes have liquor in their homes. But when
Father held the slide up to the lamplight, he screamed for Mother
and me to leave the room. We could hear him striking Ali with his
hands.
    All in all, it had been a bad day for
Ali.
    The mutawas must have thought better of
calling the police to arrest one of the royal sons, for they
returned in a few hours with little besides pious fury leading
their way. But even Father had a difficult time with the mutawas in
excusing the slides of women copulating with animals.
    The year was 1968, and King Faisal was not as
tolerant of the misdeeds of the young princes as had been his elder
brother, Sa’ud. The mutawas felt they were in a position of power,
for both they and Father knew that his uncle, the king, would be
outraged if the contents of the slides became common knowledge. The
fears of the mutawas were well known regarding the present course
of modernization of our land. King Faisal constantly cautioned his
brothers and cousins to control their children to avoid the