Girls of Riyadh

She went in to have a quick look at Saleh before bed. Entering the room, walking toward his little crib, which lay next to his babysitter’s bed. She crept up quietly so that she wouldn’t wake either of them. And there were the baby’s big brown eyes, wide open, turning innocently toward the source of the sound and light, gleaming at her from the darkness. She put her hands out to him and he clutched at them, as if to ask her to pick him up and hold him. Gathering him up, she felt his wet clothes and his moist thighs. She smelled a piercing odor coming from his tiny diaper. She took him into the bathroom. His bottom was completely wet and covered in diaper rash. Gamrah didn’t know what she was supposed to do. Should she awaken her mother or Shahla? How much would Shahla know about babies, if she herself didn’t know what to do? Should she rouse the babysitter? “God rid me of her!” Gamrah muttered. “It’s all her fault. Look at her—she goes on sleeping while my son drowns in his own pee!” Washing his bottom under warm running water, she handed the baby his yellow rubber ducky and he played with it. He didn’t show any sign of being upset or bothered. For Gamrah, though, this seemed more than a mere skin irritation and it was harder to bear.

Everything was hard on her. Rashid, her mother, her sister Hessah, Hessah’s husband, Mudi, and even her best friends—all of them thought she was stupid and weak and ineffectual. Even the Filipina babysitter had begun to neglect her son after noticing how little the mother seemed to know. Life had taken everything from her and given nothing in return. It had robbed her of her youth and joy, replacing them with an emptiness and a child whose only sustenance in life was her—when she needed sustenance more than he did.

The rubber ducky fell from Saleh’s hand when weeping Gamrah embraced him fiercely, with the force of all the oppression and regret and suffering that lay inside of her.

31.

To: seerehwenfadha7et@yahoogroups.com

From: “seerehwenfadha7et”

Date: September 10, 2004

Subject: Gossiping About MEN!

This story has become my life. Friday has become more sacred than ever. The PC room is now my home, the only place I feel safe. Now I just laugh whenever I feel annoyed by some stupid thing a professor or some girl in class says. These people make my blood boil but who cares! None of it means a thing compared to what I am doing. After all, those bossy teachers and arrogant classmates are glued to their computer screens every Friday just so they won’t miss a syllable of what I write. So what if they annoy me every now and then? I’m plenty satisfied by the joy and pride I feel inside!

The four friends met at Gamrah’s house on the last day of summer vacation. Each brought Saleh a toy or a piece of candy, dangling them in front of him as bait, trying to get him to walk toward them with his little stumbling steps and his cute plump legs.

Gamrah didn’t waste any time, scolding Lamees for the bronzed skin she had acquired in the chalets of Jeddah.

“I swear by God, you are insane! These days, when everyone is going with whitening lotions, you have to go and burn yourself under the sun?”

“Oh, c’mon, guys! You don’t appreciate a good tan! I find it so attractive!”

“Girls! Say something to her—this nut!” said Gamrah.

Michelle, home from San Francisco for the summer, had become accustomed to the healthy look of all the tan, sporty California girls.” Actually, I think it looks great,” she said.

Gamrah erupted. She tried to get Sadeem to back her up. “Sadeem! Just look at these insane girls and what they are saying. Have you ever heard of any mother who wanted to find her son a black bride?”

“Oh, whatever! Everyone to their own tastes. How long are we going to keep doing whatever pleases these old ladies and their darling little boys? I say keep that up, Lamees—just do whatever you want to. And if you ever want to pour kerosene on your hair and set it on fire, go right ahead!”

Gamrah was left spluttering. “Thanks for the help, girl!”

“I mean, seriously,” continued Sadeem, “I’m sick of how we let everyone else control us and lead us through this life. We can never do anything without the fear of being judged holding us back. Everyone steers us along according to what they want. What kind of life is that? We don’t have a say about our own lives!”

“Saddoomah!” her friends all turned toward her and exclaimed. “What’s the matter? Who has been bothering you?”

“Obviously, she’s had a fight with Firas. It can’t be anything else.”

“What did that monkey do to you?”

“Did you see him in Paris?”