Infidel Behind the Paradoxical Veil: A Western Woman's Experience in Saudi Arabia

By Jeanette M. English

Most Western non-Muslim women couldnt envision surrendering their freedom and being forced to comply with Saudi womens entrapped customs which have existed for the past 1,400 years. Did you know that Saudi Arabias religious police, known as the Mutawa, can take any woman to jail for not covering her hair or wearing an abaya? How would you imagine yourself living a life being compelled to abide by the power and values of men: not being able to drive, talk with your driver, shop alone without a male escort, leave the country without a male escort, or be seen alone with a non-related male?

INFIDEL BEHIND THE PARADOXICAL VEIL - A Western Woman's Experience in Saudi Arabia is a personal story of startling encounters such as mentioned above while Jeanette English lived in Riyadh, the most restrictive city in Saudi Arabia, where women who by Shariah law and culture are considered to be the weaker sex. Jeanette candidly unmasks a unique experience which exposes the enigmatic issues affecting Saudi women. Their struggle for equality and freedom of choice is a hot topic with an accelerating interest in the subject of male dominance over them, stirring an intrinsic controversy over which many Westerners are confused.

This is a timely book offering extraordinary insight into the real Saudi woman before, during and after the authors year in Riyadh which will turn a few cynical heads toward understanding the issues and challenges in their achieving fair treatment, particularly now in the 21st century. Forced to wear the hijab, Jeanette read the Quran and, in learning about Islam and talking with Saudi women, was able to look behind the veil which many Westerners can only read about. Most authors and journalists who write on this subject have not lived her experience.

• Language: English
• Publisher: AuthorHouse
• Release date: Feb 24, 2011
• ISBN: 9781456728083

Jeanette M. English

Jeanette English lived in Saud Arabia, was subjected to a lifestyle obedient to men, read the Quran, experienced a terrorist bombing, witnessed a beheading, and interviewed and befriended Saudi women, thus unveiling their mystery and the West's misunderstanding. Jeanette now shares her remarkable story. She and her husband reside in the Seattle area.

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Contents

DEDICATION

ACKNOWLEDGMENTS

INTRODUCTION

PROLOGUE

CHAPTER 1

MARHABA TO SAUDI ARABIA (1995)

CHAPTER 2

IN THE KINGDOM – THE FIRST MONTH

CHAPTER 3

NO TALKING IN THE BACK SEAT

CHAPTER 4

AN UNVEILED PROBE INTO A 1,400-YEAR OLD RELIGION

CHAPTER 5

HONOR AND THE FAMILY

CHAPTER 6

TRANSPARENT OBSCURITY

CHAPTER 7

MARRIAGE, POLYGAMY, DIVORCE

CHAPTER 8

THE MUTAWA FIDDLE-FADDLE

CHAPTER 9

RAMADAN—AN INTERRUPTION OF INTERRUPTIONS

CHAPTER 10

A SIX-MONTH CLIMB—NOW A COAST DOWNHILL

CHAPTER 11

SWIMMING IN THE RED SEA

CHAPTER 12

THE LAST FLUSH OF ROSES

CHAPTER 13

BARGAINING WITH THE 21ST CENTURY

CHAPTER 14

FACE TO FACE WITH THE VEIL

EPILOGUE

A BRIEF OVERVIEW OF SAUDI ARABIA

GLOSSARY

DEDICATION

To all women who have ever struggled throughout the centuries for fair and equal treatment and to those who continue to be plagued with this battle even today in the 21st century, I dedicate this book. I would also like to give recognition and admiration to the amazing Saudi women whom I have come to know for embracing me in friendship and welcoming me into their cloaked world.

I want to pay tribute to my amazing four children each of whom fills me with enormous pride, and those who call me Grams—six grandchildren full of bliss. Finally, to my husband Manny for his loving support and adventurous spirit which have always directed me along an extraordinary path, I express my deep gratitude and love.

I would like to thank Tammy Adamson-McMullen for her editorial expertise and encouragement. She was a huge pillar of support.

This book narrates a true story. All events happened as I have written them; however, names and personal data have been changed for privacy protection. There will probably be some who may not share my opinions and may disagree with some areas or aspects of my book. The contents are my views and interpretations as well as my impressions of Saudi women’s plight and the challenges they face in today’s environment in Saudi Arabia.

ACKNOWLEDGMENTS

In researching material incorporated into this book, I drew upon many valuable sources. Through extensive interviews with numerous Saudi women and men who very kindly volunteered to answer my many questions, plus WAMY (World Assembly of Muslim Youth) and MOI (the Ministry of Interior), I owe my gratitude and thanks. From these interviews and studying many booklets and pamphlets, including the Quran, I was able to gain valuable insight and deeper understanding of the primitive customs which dictate women’s function in Saudi Arabia’s society.

Other recent readings relating to Saudi Arabia besides numerous file paper clippings:

Time magazine

New York Times

The Associated Press

Dallas Morning News

Air Force Times

Seattle Times

The Economist

Christian Science Monitor

Washington Post

Bahrain Tribune

Arab News

Fox News

CNN

BBC

The Hofstede Model—unknown author’s interpretation

Multitude of fascinating books with reference to Muslim women:

Daughters of Arabia

Princess

Princess Sultana’s Circle

Price of Honor

Nine Parts of Desire

Infidel

At the Drop of a Veil

Inside the Kingdom

In Search of Islamic Feminism

Not Without My Daughter

Scores of printed and televised documentaries

Wikipedia

INTRODUCTION

"I was seated by myself, draped in my abaya with every strand of my hair concealed by my shayla. Out of the blue, from behind me I heard a familiar cane tapping. I was immediately startled when I looked up to see a Mutawa approaching—with two uniformed police escorts, one on either side of him carrying their rifles. Surely, he isn’t going to address me!

‘Cover legs!’ he said in a brusque voice. What the ding-dong-dang is he talking about? I gasped to myself! I was sitting cross-legged. Surely crossing my legs isn’t illegal in the Kingdom. Then I immediately spotted my sandal strap revealing my right bare ankle bone that was showing a teeny bit under my to-the-ground abaya which was covering my to-the-ground skirt, which I wore under it. I cringed to uphold my self-dignity. Seeing three men standing in front of me waiting to see that I had complied with the command roused my ire, to be sure. Unhesitatingly, I acquiesced by uncrossing my legs, never looking up—a true test of cloaking my anger—as I mumbled under my breath, ‘Not important; I can handle it.’. . ."

_____________________________________

Whenever I close my eyes and bring myself to a place in my mind where the memory of Riyadh is stored, I can see, hear and smell this city. From a corner in my clothes closet a faint scent of oud incense lingers on my hijab which still, today, stirs my blood with rich memories of a remarkable experience with an ancient culture where traditionalist views of women’s rights and freedom have been stuck—stalemated in history.

The inspiration for writing this book came about after my acquaintance with a Saudi woman nearly 30 years ago from which a unique friendship has grown that endures today. When I first met her, how was I to know that at a future point I would be a guest in her country for a year and live a lifestyle obedient to her religion? And how was I to know that I would need to comply with Saudi women’s inherited primitive customs of an entrapped and stagnant sanctuary with no free choice, going back to the 7th century, that continue, even to this present day, to dictate women’s role in Saudi society? I was not allowed to drive a car; my place was in the back seat. Furthermore, I was forbidden to mingle with a man or speak to a man alone. I would never have imagined in my wildest dreams of witnessing a beheading or hearing a bomb explosion, while in the kitchen of my villa, coming from a terrorist attack on a nearby U.S. military facility.

My Saudi friend was the catalyst that helped to prepare me to a significant degree for tackling the awaiting jolt that hit me from the moment I stepped foot in the Kingdom of Saudi Arabia—a country known to be the Islamic center of the world and also considered to be one of the most closed societies in the world—where the Quran or Shariah is the law of the land. I possessed a miniscule understanding, if any, of the cultural differences, especially the Kingdom’s strict code for women’s traditions and values. I was forced to comply with nearly all the same restrictions as Saudi women.

From 1995 to1996, my husband and I lived in Riyadh, the capital city. My husband accepted a position as CEO of a teaching hospital, and also a part-time professorial appointment at a Saudi university. My experience and resulting perspectives would be different from most Western women living in the Kingdom due to the fact that my husband and I lived in a Saudi compound which was composed mostly of Muslims from Lebanon, India, Turkey, Syria, Egypt and Pakistan. I did not have the freedom to behave as a typical Westerner, which ultimately enabled me to have a unique encounter with the daily life and routine of Saudis and their practices, ethics and beliefs.

Riyadh may not have been a city that you would want to live in for any length of time if you were not on good terms with your husband. If you lived in a Saudi compound as a dependent, as I did, you were exactly that—dependent—on him. It’s a surreal picture in my description of my limited freedom: The compound became my home but it also was a prison of sorts.

Women are forbidden to drive, period. I was unable to leave the compound’s premises without my husband driving me or arranging for a driver to take me shopping as I could not walk alone in public or shop alone. My husband would have to escort me to the bank for money as women aren’t allowed in banks; to take me to the hospital and/or admit me; to locate and remove me from jail should I ever have been so unlucky as to find myself there. Moreover, there was no 911 emergency for women, no telephone connection other than through the compound’s switchboard (unless I had a cell phone which was just making its debut) and no mail service other than through my husband’s work place. Every connective source led to reliance on my husband—the greatest being that he, alone, could procure my passport for my return to the United States.

Furthermore, cinemas and bowling alleys were off-limits to women, and swimming pools were segregated as were restaurants. Then there was the mandatory covering regulation—the abaya which concealed my body from my neck down to my ankles, the shayla which is similar to a head scarf that concealed all of my hair and, during certain times, a veil that concealed my face. I would, in fact, have less freedom than my grandmother who might have been marching for the 19th amendment a century ago. And, she would have had a choice to be barefaced.

I was quick to learn from the very beginning that my basic democratic rights, which I had taken for granted all my life, would be pushed to the back burner as I made adjustments to a society going back to the Middle Ages. The greatest challenge that I was forced to tolerate was complying with the discrepant measures taken by the Mutawa who are Saudi Arabia’s religious police, known as the Committee of the Promotion of Virtue and the Prevention of Vice. Hired by the government to uphold Islamic morality, customs and traditions in everyday life in the Kingdom, they make their rounds anywhere and everywhere, and command uncompromising obedience as they publicly lambaste unfortunate souls. I was very confused. The Mutawa seemed to me to be interpreting Islamic beliefs to whereby Saudi women are not being allowed choices to deal with their own social and religious consciences. The accompanied police escorts armed with rifles send a message of their own. And, to this day I will never forget my five demeaning confrontations with them.

It was after my initial observation of the complexity of the daily behavior of Saudi people whom I encountered that I was compelled to seek an understanding of my confusion between why this? and why not that? I wondered how many other non-Muslim women also had questions and were viewing Saudi society under at least a few misconceptions. What does any Western woman think when she sees a veiled woman? While you may presume that this is a personal choice, in Saudi Arabia she has no choice but to be veiled.

I was resolute about seeking a better understanding, in particular about the mandatory requirement of wearing the veil. This led me to read the Quran. I was to learn that the contrariety between what is written in the Quran for women regarding what is or is not allowed—in particular with the wearing of the veil—and the self-serving conditioning that men have imposed on them has passed down through centuries of male control in the guise of religious rules. This paradox has exposed many complexities that Saudi women today are being stirred up with—facing new thoughts and choices of modernization, being misunderstood and even challenging their archaic roles. My decision to go below the surface and bravely reveal the Mutawa’s relentless and harsh demands was made to help instill a clearer perspective about Saudi women’s suppressive role. This ultimately opened my eyes and enticed me to question the enigma of Saudi women’s obedience and conformance to their ancient traditions.

It is not my intention to reprove the Quran or delve into Saudi politics but to remark on certain aspects of Saudi society derived from my perceptions, my reading of the Quran, my association with my Saudi friends and my experience while living in Riyadh. I will admit that in describing my experiences I had to be cautious in selecting certain words that might be considered offensive to the Quran transliteration or to the Mutawa interpretation. It is my hope that the tongue-in-cheek approach I have taken in my writing regarding the Mutawa is seen in its context as being innocuous.

Of course, there are a few areas that I couldn’t help but address with some honest criticism, but it wasn’t my intent to seek them out. Many of my other viewpoints simply could not be written, including secondhand sensationalized stories that I heard, with some being the most conflicting and disturbing. I tried to keep an open mind. Regardless, I vacillated over many verses of the Quran which I thought I understood but left me with soul-stirring sentiments on how I viewed Saudi women’s rights; in particular, women being compelled by the Mutawa to veil their faces. The untenable enforcement for Saudi women to wear the veil with no choice is the core of my book.

The ambiguous issues affecting Muslim women is a hot topic. Saudi Arabia with its oil reserves is of major importance to the world. Few people understand or are even aware of the customs and traditions that Saudi women, explicitly, have been forced to uphold. As a result, there is ongoing interest in the subject of male dominance over Saudi women which stirs an intrinsic controversy over which most Westerners are confused. The current happenings involving Islam, as depicted in the news, continue to arouse ambivalence with many in the world watching and voicing opinions on most anything that questions this world’s fastest growing religion. Most authors and journalists who write on this subject have not, in fact, lived my experience as seen from a Western non-Muslim woman’s view.

While my book is about my experiences before, during and after Riyadh, I have continued to be drawn to the plight of Saudi women who are grappling for fair treatment, and I believe many Saudi women are seeking ways to repel against the primitive control methods by men. My book is written from this premise. Nevertheless, even though I consider the subject matter of the veil to be serious, because of my continuing association with a few Saudi women I have approached this with a writing style using a little humor for their protection and also for maintaining our friendship.

Since leaving Riyadh I have kept in touch with four Saudi women friends. The 9/11 tragedy very much shocked me, and in its aftermath I continue to be disturbed over the overwhelming distressing events taking place in the Middle East. I have been principally absorbed with viewing various documentaries and reading news accounts and several published books about Saudi Arabia—a number of them being controversial.

PROLOGUE

I had no sooner unlatched the wrought iron gate and then proceeded toward the front door when I heard an audible and familiar calling to prayer coming from inside the house of my long-time Saudi friend, Aisha. Actually, it was the second prayer—the Duhur noon-time prayer, one of the five daily prayers to which Muslims religiously adhere. This call to prayer was a recording that was announced by a muezzin, and it came from a small sound box-like apparatus (run by electricity or battery), programmed to automatically announce the daily prayer times that fluctuate on a daily basis in every country where Muslims pay homage to Allah.

While I was approaching her front terrace, I couldn’t help but make a mental note. I had received her telephone call a couple of days ago telling me she had just arrived from Saudi Arabia for her yearly six-month visit to the United States. Aisha and I agreed to go out for lunch at 11:30 a.m. and then shop until we dropped, which she is an expert at doing. I knew that I was on time. She always remarked that I was as punctual as a clock. I teased her back that she was correct as, after all, I am half-Swiss—the congeniality of both a clock and my hereditary punctuality obligated me to live up to my Swiss heritage.

As I reached her front door, I could distinctly hear the wailing of Allah Akubar (God is great). Instinctively, I knew prayer had just begun; I couldn’t disturb her now and would have to resign myself to wait outside until prayer was over. She would be late, but I would forgive her. Moreover, I half-way expected this probability. I have never known anyone other than Aisha to function as though time is totally free. My 50-minute drive to meet up with Aisha always puts me in a good mood besides offering the anticipation of the unexpected, which happens on every occasion we get together.

I had about 20 minutes or so to while away the time until I thought it was the right moment to finally ring her door bell to announce my arrival—it would be more of a guess, but I am usually very close to estimating the end of prayer time. And I would be expected to wait yet longer for my tardy Saudi friend to open her front door to greet me, as she would have had to first remove her shershif (a white filmy cotton prayer robe) and then dress into her Western designer clothes for which she has lavish taste. Her somber, black-colored abaya (a full-length, all-encompassing coat-like covering), head scarf and, of course, exalted veil, which are mandatory for her to wear both traveling out of Saudi Arabia and also returning, were probably blissfully hidden in the back of her closet.

Aisha would be forgiven even further if my guess was off. After all, she was true Saudi—although unusually liberated—and notorious for never being prompt with the exception of prayer times and, perhaps, catching a plane. This was a lesson she once learned the hard way; regardless that she was a first-class passenger, the plane was not going to wait for her. Saudis unwillingly admit to being unpunctual and why I can forgive them is simple: Endurance and waiting are two components of their heritage, particularly so with Saudi women.

Aisha’s modest house is Spanish in style, made of stucco with a tiled roof—not typical of our Pacific Northwest architecture and certainly bearing no resemblance to Saudi Arabian dwellings. In a corner of her partially shaded terrace, I plumped myself down on a cushioned wrought iron chair to bide my time and soak up some rays from the irresistible warm May sun. It was a rare sunny day from all the rain we’d had the past few weeks. Almost immediately my eyes caught sight of the surrounding colossal sea shells that she has collected from exotic visits to Asian coasts, and that, for at least the past 25 years, have been situated in the same position.

I glimpsed several hanging baskets with sun-faded artificial flowers swaying in a faint breeze—a testimony to the fact that she loves to be surrounded by flowers even though they are fake and have seen better days. Aisha lives in her U.S. home only temporarily and cannot be too picky over her choice of flora. Every year she abdicates her permanent Jeddah villa during Saudi Arabia’s punishing, blistering, parched summer months from May through September to spend in our Northwest’s most resplendent time of year, escaping our gloomy, wet, dismal season. I was eager to talk with her regarding my nearly-finished book Infidel Behind the Paradoxical Veil which was in its final draft.

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It was 28 years ago in the early 1980s, when I first met Aisha and her husband (a senior official in the Saudi Diplomatic Corps), although my husband, Manny, was acquainted with both of them. An invitation was extended to us for a Saudi dinner party at their home where we were to be introduced to their Saudi friends. As I recall, I sipped on freshly squeezed fruit juice that we were offered upon our arrival that was one of the most delicious beverages I had ever tasted. It had an exotic tang with apricot nectar. I was thoroughly impressed with the banquet—and it was precisely that—which was an elegant feast that lasted for hours with unique flavors and dishes that I had never tasted. Both hosts exhibited such grace and attentiveness. That meeting was my first encounter with a Saudi woman and the first time I had ever heard the Arabic words "Insha’allah" (God willing) and Al hamdu lilah (praise God). And I would hear these two expressions, which Muslims use the most often on numerous occasions, every single time I was with Aisha.

They have three sons, one of whom Manny taught at that time at the University of Puget Sound (UPS), one of several local universities which Saudi students had elected to attend throughout these years. During the 1970s and 1980s, it is believed there were more than 30,000 Saudi students per year who attended universities in the United States, including royal princes of the Saudi Royal family, besides the sons of affluent Saudi families. Without deserting their attachment to the traditional Arab values and Islamic practices, characteristic of the Saudi Royal family, these university students returned to Saudi Arabia with a thorough international outlook and an immersion into Western culture, plus a good education.

Aisha and her husband had bought a home in Tacoma while two of their sons attended UPS. They are guests in the United States and live in Jeddah for half a year. It was located just three blocks away from where we were living during that period. Manny has since had a special relationship with one of Aisha’s sons, who was his former student.

Prior to my introduction to Aisha, Manny had been invited for a brief stay with Aisha and her husband in Thailand while Manny was en route to Saudi Arabia. Manny was traveling to meet up with another former student and graduate of UPS—a young man whose sister was married to a member of the Saudi Royal family. I had accepted an invitation to the UPS graduation party of this student by his wife, who could speak only a little English. Upon meeting her, she appeared to be unbelievably young for a wife, or so I thought as I was trying to calculate her age; surprisingly, she came across as being sophisticated and extremely gracious as a hostess.

The party took place in a banquet room facility. There was a mixture of nationalities—all females—but mainly Saudis, and they were dressed to the hilt and accessorized with gold and jewels unlike anything I had ever seen. An extravagant feast, including roast lamb, had been catered and ceremoniously laid out on tables with white linen tablecloths bedecked with imported exotic flowers. Unbeknownst to me, at one point a telephone call from her husband, just minutes prior to his official graduation, informed her that he was about to celebrate with his male colleagues in a separate banquet room. It was the signal for her to invite her guests to commence eating. I didn’t quite get it then, nor did I ever have an inkling that I would, indeed, over a period of time learn considerably about the cultural mystique and diversities between Saudi females and males.

Not too long after being invited for dinner by Aisha and her husband, I reciprocated with an invitation for them to take afternoon tea with Manny and me. I adorned my tea wagon with my Mom’s silver tea service set, my Grandma’s embroidered tablecloth, Wedgwood china tea cups and white cut-lace napkins. Fresh scones that I had just baked would put me in good standing for a first impression, along with other home-baked delicacies that I reserve for special occasions.

I was surprised when Aisha asked for a glass of fruit juice instead of tea or coffee, which she generally doesn’t drink in the afternoons, so she informed me. Fruit juice? Real fruit juice as in freshly-squeezed, I wondered? I didn’t have any facsimile of freshly-squeezed prepared fruit juice on hand, and I knew it. I also remembered that she didn’t drink soft drinks.

Almost immediately, I excused myself to scout out the refrigerator, which turned up a few forlorn wilted strawberries hidden in the back shelf waiting to be put out of their misery, coupled with a shriveled lemon and two bruised, over ripe blackened bananas I was saving to make banana bread—the lump sum in the fruit category. The reality hit me: There was not one single item that I could concoct into any kind of drink whatsoever, let alone juice, that might evoke at least some promise of a liquid refreshment. All I had was an orange mix powder concentrate that my 12-year old son (at that time) would swig down in gallons while he shot basketballs for hours, in similar fashion to that of a camel guzzling water at an oasis after a long and dry journey. With unwavering resolve, I mixed the powder concentrate and served her a version of fruit juice in an ornate crystal goblet doctored-up and adorned with a mint leaf that I had picked from my garden. It was at the moment of observing my new acquaintance’s first and only swallow that I realized my son’s favorite drink did not cut the mustard. I had so wanted to convey an amenable first impression of my hostess finesse. It served me right; I was trying to impress! As it turned out, even to this day she and I often have a good laugh whenever we offer juice to one another.

How was I to know then that she had her own live-in chef (whom she trained) back at her home in Jeddah, probably squeezing fresh juice and serving it to her whenever she asked for it? How was I to know that this very chef prepared the menu of international dishes, for which Aisha is renowned, to often entertain 50 guests in her villa at one time, and which were served with gold cutlery? Nor did I know that she was/is a world-traveler, having lived in many exciting countries and cities, her favorite city being Rome where she and her husband first moved immediately after they were married. Her Italian cooking (from scratch) further broadened her scope of exposure to la haute cuisine as she immersed herself in gastronomy cooking schools. French cuisine is her forte and her passion would forevermore be in lavishing lucky guests with epicurean feasts.

I learned a good deal about Aisha during those early years after our initial acquaintance. She divulged that at the time she was born in Saudi Arabia just before the end of WW II, there were very few commodities; lifestyles were altogether different when compared to today’s. She was 14 years of age when she married her husband, who was then nearly 40 years old. She comes from a long lineage of a collectivist society where the family comes first. This has always been paramount since the beginning of early Bedouin times. The tribe one belongs to is essential when marriage is considered. More so, she has a prestigious tribal family name with linkage roots besides geographical linkage, as does her husband—a hierarchy of status and privilege.

Aisha started her family immediately, and right from the beginning she took to world traveling like a lottery winner takes to spending money. At that time, very few Saudi women had the opportunity to travel outside of their country. In actuality, her travels have produced a degree of matchless sophistication that emanates from her unusual personality. However, her basic lifestyle is dictated by Islam, and she faithfully prays five times a day no matter where she lives or visits.

To know Aisha today you wouldn’t have suspected that her tutored education came to a halt at such an early age when she married, in recognition of her many accomplishments. She speaks English remarkably well with a pronounced Arabic accent; although, I do believe she has difficulty reading any writing that is in cursive. Aisha has broadened her knowledge in practically every field; being privileged with servants (and a chef) has not hurt her, although she will insist that teaching her chef her method is a perpetual nightmare. Couldn’t you just guess why! Then, she will grumble about her incompetent driver. To offset any negative quirks, I am reminded that she is more than generous, a non-conditional attribute she possesses that has never faltered.

After Aisha’s husband died in 1998 (my husband and I had moved away from Tacoma at that time), her frequent visits to the United States have been for longer durations. In that she is now living alone in her house and can’t drive, I visit her often. I have observed her restyling her daily life, and I greatly admire her stamina. She has reinforced in me how very simple things in life can make her happy—albeit she doesn’t have to worry about money. She loves the Northwest, the smell of the Pacific Ocean, even the fresh scent of rain in spite of our bleak, dreary, dismal rainy season which now overlaps into her former May through September visits.

She has no desire to have a housekeeper and is only too happy to savor a break from her servants back in Jeddah. They mainly give her headaches, so she often complains to me. She is independent and free to walk anywhere, unlike her status as a female back in Saudi Arabia where she would be reliant on her driver to take her everywhere, plus the fact that Saudi women are not allowed to be seen walking alone.

Neighborhood and park strolls top her list. I’m convinced that she gains enormous satisfaction from her daily journey by foot to and from a nearby grocery store. And then there are those walks to garage sales—a powerless vulnerability that draws her like a magnet, which she has been hooked on for as long as I have known her. She competently hunts them down on her frequent journeys. Getting a good bargain has always been ingrained in her, in spite of her wealth, as a practiced tribal bargaining expectation. I often wonder if she hasn’t at least had an occasional whim to have one of her housemaid servants back in Jeddah clean her fully adorned arts and crafts country kitchen collection.

What more does she need? She has a telephone that is programmed to go into answering mode after the eighth ring—although she doesn’t want to miss a call, she also doesn’t rush to the phone when it rings—and her sons religiously call her daily from wherever they are, with conversations lasting for hours. She has the companionship of an Arabic TV satellite station (Al Jazeera) which keeps her abreast with news along with a couple of Arabic soaps. It mainly allows the two of us to partake in a gentle debate on our next visit with each other—CNN versus Al Jazeera. And she has friendly neighbors. She has total freedom; she is her own keeper in her own home living in a democratic country, and yet she still retains strong traditional and religious roots by being allowed to practice Islam, with one exception: She does not cloak herself in a black shroud. Why not? Her Muslim conscience permits her this choice, so I understood after her explanation. Sometimes she wears a designer scarf loosely draped around her shoulders.

From the numerous visits we have had together throughout the years, I must confess that I always experience something new. My 50-minute drive back to my home lends me just enough time to put into order any ambivalence regarding my stance on particular issues that Aisha and I have peacefully knocked heads together on—most times, impetuously. I believe she enjoys our friendship together because we have a broad sense of humor, congenial individual moral ethics and an aura of respect. Quite remarkably, we both are in a comfort zone with each other and have never gone beyond a certain fine line. Yes, there have been debatable subjects that we have touched on, but we know when to let go. Despite the fact that we have many disagreements about each other’s belief system (we simply cannot engage in any conversation about the Hereafter), we have rarely been