Girls of Riyadh

Sadeem’s thoughts about Um Nuwayyir reminded her of the evening gatherings at home with her three friends. She could almost taste the Kuwaiti desserts—the syrupy sweetness of the zalabya and the smooth powdered darabeel—that Um Nuwayyir used to ply them with, together with hot tea. Her memories flew her home to Riyadh, all the way to the metallic gate with its gilt-edged bars, where she had so often stood after the evening prayer time waiting for Waleed to arrive. She saw in her mind’s eye the swing by the swimming pool where she had spent evenings with his arm around her; the formal living room where guests were received, and where she had seen him for the first time; the television in the family living room where together they had watched all of those films; and the room that witnessed the birth of their love as well as its death. Had her love for Waleed truly died?

She got up to turn on the cassette player. She picked up a tape from among the many that were scattered across the floor. She pushed it into the machine, crept back to her bed and rolled into a ball like a fetus in its mother’s womb. She listened woefully to Abdul Haleem’s* mournful voice:

Rid yourself of woe and tears

Instead of crying years and years

Oh you who’ve wept the traitor man

Weep on today, if you well can.

But watch that no one sees tears fall

For such will please the traitors all.

Sadeem cried and cried, and cried, alone in her London flat, wishing and hoping to rid herself of woes and tears, instead of crying years and years. Instead of crying spring and fall, bringing joy to traitors all.

12.

To: seerehwenfadha7et@yahoogroups.com

From: “seerehwenfadha7et”

Date: April 30, 2004

Subject: A Life That…“Could Be Worse”

I asked Aisha “Prophet Mohammed’s wife,” What did the Prophet—peace be upon him—do in his home? She said, He was occupied in the vocation and service of his family…—The hadith collection of Al-Bukhari, verse 676

Frankly, I did not anticipate all of this flurry, all of this back-and-forth, around my modest little e-mails!

A number of you ask how I conceived of this project.

It all started in my mind about five years ago in 1999, that is, around the time when the story of my friends, as I am writing it to you and for you now, started. I didn’t do anything to turn this idea into a reality until very recently, however. What got me going was that I saw my brain’s capacity to hold anything reaching DISK FULL. The time had come to squeeze out the sponge of my mind and my heart, to really wring out that sponge so that I could absorb something new.

The marital relationship between Rashid and Gamrah was not exactly the cinematic ideal. However, it wasn’t so utterly miserable, either. Preoccupied with his studies, Rashid left the responsibility for taking care of things at home to Gamrah after he realized how completely unenthusiastic she was about enrolling at the university. Even though it was difficult in the beginning to shoulder all of the household-related tasks, gradually Gamrah learned how to depend on herself. She began to find the courage to ask people on the street where an address was, or to ask salespeople in shops how much this or that cost.

She didn’t actually see Rashid very much, but she got the money she needed whenever she asked for it, and most of the time without even asking. Even her own private needs—those “miscellaneous” needs—he gave her enough cash to meet, from time to time, anyway.

Gamrah wasn’t able to compare what Rashid was giving her with what other men would offer their wives. What she did obtain, though, seemed satisfactory enough. The only needs she wasn’t attending to were her emotional ones, and if that was all that was left out, she figured that she ought to consider herself a lot luckier than many women of her age and circumstances.

Once she had lived with Rashid for a while, Gamrah began to see his good side revealed, even though this goodness never emerged openly in his dealings with her. She could glimpse it in his treatment of others: his mother, his sisters, people out there in the street, and children. Rashid would become a happy little child himself in the presence of children. He would play with them fondly and very gently.