mother. Since I was the youngest child, only one year behind Randa, the custom seemed ludicrous in our situation. However, there is no room for maneuvering or change to fit the individual conditions in Saudi Arabia, so Randa was installed in our home, a child masquerading as a woman and mistress of our large household.
Randa returned from her honeymoon quiet, almost broken. She rarely talked, never smiled, and moved slowly through the villa, as though she might cause some injury or harm. Father seemed pleased with his new possession, for he spent many hours cloistered in his living quarters with his youthful bride.
After the third week of Father’s undivided attention to Randa, Ali cracked a joke about Father’s sexual prowess. I asked my brother what he thought of Randa’s feelings in the matter—to be wed to one so much older, one she did not know or love. Ali’s vacant expression told me all too clearly not only that the thought had never entered his head but that such a consideration would not find fertile ground in his narrow realm of understanding. He well reminded me that nothing would ever penetrate that dark sea of egotistic matter that constitutes the mind of a Saudi man.
Randa and I held different philosophies. She believed: “What is written on your forehead, your eyes will see.” I think: “The picture in your mind will be photographed by your life.” In addition, Randa was painfully shy and timid, whereas I greet life with a certain fierceness.
I noticed Randa’s eyes as they followed the hands of the clock; she began to fidget a few hours prior to Father’s usual arrival times for lunch and for the evening meal. She had orders from my father to eat her meals before his arrival and then to shower and prepare herself for him. At noon each day Randa would order the cook to serve her lunch. She would eat sparingly and then retire to her quarters. My father generally arrived at the villa around one o’clock, had his lunch, and then went to his new wife. He would leave the villa around five o’clock and return to his offices. (In Saudi Arabia, many business workdays are divided into two shifts: from nine A.M. until one P.M. and, after a four-hour afternoon break, from five P.M. until eight P.M.)
Observing Randa’s pinched look, I thought of asking Father about the teachings of the Koran—the instructions from God that each Muslim was supposed to divide his days and evenings among four wives. Since the day he had wed Randa, his three older wives had been virtually ignored. After consideration, I thought better of my boldness. And so the evenings were a repeat of the lunch break. Randa would call for her dinner around eight o’clock, eat, and go to her rooms for her bath and preparation for her husband. I generally would not see her again until after my father left for work the next morning. She had orders to wait in the bedroom until he had left.
The anxiety of watching Randa’s bleak life unfold spurred me on to mischief. I had two girlfriends who frightened even me with their boldness; their liveliness might encourage Randa to become more assertive. Little did I know what forces I would unleash by forming a girl’s club, with Randa, my two indomitable friends, and myself as the sole members.
We called our club “Lively Lips,” for we had as our goal to talk ourselves into bravery to battle the silent acceptance of the role of women in our society. We solemnly vowed to uphold the following goals:
1. At every opportunity, let the spirit of women’s rights move our lips and guide our tongues.
2. Each member should strive to bring in one new member per month.
3. Our first goal would be to stop marriages of young women to old men.
We young women of Arabia recognized that the men of our land would never pursue social change for our sex, that we would have to force change. As long as Saudi women accepted their authority, men would rule. We surmised that it was the responsibility of
Randa returned from her honeymoon quiet, almost broken. She rarely talked, never smiled, and moved slowly through the villa, as though she might cause some injury or harm. Father seemed pleased with his new possession, for he spent many hours cloistered in his living quarters with his youthful bride.
After the third week of Father’s undivided attention to Randa, Ali cracked a joke about Father’s sexual prowess. I asked my brother what he thought of Randa’s feelings in the matter—to be wed to one so much older, one she did not know or love. Ali’s vacant expression told me all too clearly not only that the thought had never entered his head but that such a consideration would not find fertile ground in his narrow realm of understanding. He well reminded me that nothing would ever penetrate that dark sea of egotistic matter that constitutes the mind of a Saudi man.
Randa and I held different philosophies. She believed: “What is written on your forehead, your eyes will see.” I think: “The picture in your mind will be photographed by your life.” In addition, Randa was painfully shy and timid, whereas I greet life with a certain fierceness.
I noticed Randa’s eyes as they followed the hands of the clock; she began to fidget a few hours prior to Father’s usual arrival times for lunch and for the evening meal. She had orders from my father to eat her meals before his arrival and then to shower and prepare herself for him. At noon each day Randa would order the cook to serve her lunch. She would eat sparingly and then retire to her quarters. My father generally arrived at the villa around one o’clock, had his lunch, and then went to his new wife. He would leave the villa around five o’clock and return to his offices. (In Saudi Arabia, many business workdays are divided into two shifts: from nine A.M. until one P.M. and, after a four-hour afternoon break, from five P.M. until eight P.M.)
Observing Randa’s pinched look, I thought of asking Father about the teachings of the Koran—the instructions from God that each Muslim was supposed to divide his days and evenings among four wives. Since the day he had wed Randa, his three older wives had been virtually ignored. After consideration, I thought better of my boldness. And so the evenings were a repeat of the lunch break. Randa would call for her dinner around eight o’clock, eat, and go to her rooms for her bath and preparation for her husband. I generally would not see her again until after my father left for work the next morning. She had orders to wait in the bedroom until he had left.
The anxiety of watching Randa’s bleak life unfold spurred me on to mischief. I had two girlfriends who frightened even me with their boldness; their liveliness might encourage Randa to become more assertive. Little did I know what forces I would unleash by forming a girl’s club, with Randa, my two indomitable friends, and myself as the sole members.
We called our club “Lively Lips,” for we had as our goal to talk ourselves into bravery to battle the silent acceptance of the role of women in our society. We solemnly vowed to uphold the following goals:
1. At every opportunity, let the spirit of women’s rights move our lips and guide our tongues.
2. Each member should strive to bring in one new member per month.
3. Our first goal would be to stop marriages of young women to old men.
We young women of Arabia recognized that the men of our land would never pursue social change for our sex, that we would have to force change. As long as Saudi women accepted their authority, men would rule. We surmised that it was the responsibility of
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