from those females around her. She takes a few deep breaths, waiting for me to bridge the small gap in our conversation.
Asma is disarmingly childlike when she sulks.
I resume the conversation. "Asma, we are from totally different worlds. Of course we see women's roles in our own way." I think for a minute then say, "People always defend what they know."
She quickly revisits the theme of my visit. "Once you learn how to get a man and how to keep a man, your thinking will change!"
I can barely contain my merriment at Asma's total focus on the subject of men.
She playfully tosses a small square pillow at me.
I throw it back and she yelps. Her vitality and high spirits instantly return.
When I first arrived in Saudi Arabia, I concluded that a society where women were veiled, guarded, and controlled by men would produce females uninterested in sex. I was wrong. Nearly every Saudi woman I know is passionately preoccupied with the three important topics of men, sex, and marriage.
At every Saudi female function, men, marriage, and motherhood follow fashion as the prime focus of conversation. If a woman is not married, the dialogue centers around single men considered good catches. If the woman is married, the exchange revolves around birthing and babies and the importance of sons. If the woman happens to be of a certain age, the conversation focuses on her marriageable sons and grandsons.
I have never known women more obsessed with every detail involving relationships with the opposite sex.
Since I have been in the kingdom for several years and remain unmarried, Asma is committed to the idea that I am a failure as a woman. The fact that Peter Sasson and I had a rare and serious argument the week before has excited her. The following day he traveled out of the kingdom to Europe. In Asma's opinion, the argument was just cause for a crash course in how to catch a new man.
Asma insists that she will be my instructor, often hinting that she has perfected the art of keeping a man's interest.
Asma claims, "I keep Khalid so contented that no other woman comes to his mind." She proudly announces, "Not even in his sleep!"
Admittedly, I am bewildered at the concept of anyone teaching a southern American woman ploys for ensnaring men. Women from America's Deep South are well-known for their feminine wiles. But out of curiosity, I am eager to hear Asma's wisdoms.
I lurch in alarm when Asma leaps from the sofa and squeals.
"What?" I ask.
"Khalid will be home soon!" She dashes from the room. "I must prepare myself!"
I am baffled. Already Asma is an image of feminine perfection. What else could she possibly do to prepare for her husband's arrival?
"Tonight I will give you your first lesson," she shouts as she passes through an open doorway.
I cannot restrain my delight at Asma's childlike excitement.
Asma, like many Saudi women, is a study in contrasts. She is a relatively well-educated woman who can discuss international events. Yet she can, and often does, lapse into childlike dramatics. She will weep when hearing a sad story, yet she can be unkind to her own servants.
While waiting, I stroll through the living quarters of Asma's palace, which glitters with priceless furnishings. Each room reaches up to a towering ceiling and is filled with over-size furniture. The sitting room alone can easily accommodate a hundred guests.
I have been a guest in several royal palaces. In what often seems a stiff competition, each new Saudi palace is designed and furnished to be more extravagant than those already built. Bathroom and kitchen fixtures are fashioned out of gold. Exquisite furniture imported from Italy adorns immense rooms. Sofas are cushioned with silk fabrics. Priceless carpets soften every step. Brilliant chandeliers hang overhead.
At meals and parties, banquet tables are laden with fish, fowl, fruit, and rare delicacies. Flowered centerpieces are flown in from the East. The desert air is scented with heavy perfumes. Every
Asma is disarmingly childlike when she sulks.
I resume the conversation. "Asma, we are from totally different worlds. Of course we see women's roles in our own way." I think for a minute then say, "People always defend what they know."
She quickly revisits the theme of my visit. "Once you learn how to get a man and how to keep a man, your thinking will change!"
I can barely contain my merriment at Asma's total focus on the subject of men.
She playfully tosses a small square pillow at me.
I throw it back and she yelps. Her vitality and high spirits instantly return.
When I first arrived in Saudi Arabia, I concluded that a society where women were veiled, guarded, and controlled by men would produce females uninterested in sex. I was wrong. Nearly every Saudi woman I know is passionately preoccupied with the three important topics of men, sex, and marriage.
At every Saudi female function, men, marriage, and motherhood follow fashion as the prime focus of conversation. If a woman is not married, the dialogue centers around single men considered good catches. If the woman is married, the exchange revolves around birthing and babies and the importance of sons. If the woman happens to be of a certain age, the conversation focuses on her marriageable sons and grandsons.
I have never known women more obsessed with every detail involving relationships with the opposite sex.
Since I have been in the kingdom for several years and remain unmarried, Asma is committed to the idea that I am a failure as a woman. The fact that Peter Sasson and I had a rare and serious argument the week before has excited her. The following day he traveled out of the kingdom to Europe. In Asma's opinion, the argument was just cause for a crash course in how to catch a new man.
Asma insists that she will be my instructor, often hinting that she has perfected the art of keeping a man's interest.
Asma claims, "I keep Khalid so contented that no other woman comes to his mind." She proudly announces, "Not even in his sleep!"
Admittedly, I am bewildered at the concept of anyone teaching a southern American woman ploys for ensnaring men. Women from America's Deep South are well-known for their feminine wiles. But out of curiosity, I am eager to hear Asma's wisdoms.
I lurch in alarm when Asma leaps from the sofa and squeals.
"What?" I ask.
"Khalid will be home soon!" She dashes from the room. "I must prepare myself!"
I am baffled. Already Asma is an image of feminine perfection. What else could she possibly do to prepare for her husband's arrival?
"Tonight I will give you your first lesson," she shouts as she passes through an open doorway.
I cannot restrain my delight at Asma's childlike excitement.
Asma, like many Saudi women, is a study in contrasts. She is a relatively well-educated woman who can discuss international events. Yet she can, and often does, lapse into childlike dramatics. She will weep when hearing a sad story, yet she can be unkind to her own servants.
While waiting, I stroll through the living quarters of Asma's palace, which glitters with priceless furnishings. Each room reaches up to a towering ceiling and is filled with over-size furniture. The sitting room alone can easily accommodate a hundred guests.
I have been a guest in several royal palaces. In what often seems a stiff competition, each new Saudi palace is designed and furnished to be more extravagant than those already built. Bathroom and kitchen fixtures are fashioned out of gold. Exquisite furniture imported from Italy adorns immense rooms. Sofas are cushioned with silk fabrics. Priceless carpets soften every step. Brilliant chandeliers hang overhead.
At meals and parties, banquet tables are laden with fish, fowl, fruit, and rare delicacies. Flowered centerpieces are flown in from the East. The desert air is scented with heavy perfumes. Every
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