Princess: Stepping Out of the Shadows, стр. 29

in, Maha rose to her feet to welcome them. Both girls were smiling and appeared pleased to be in our home. Although each had covered her hair with a black scarf, and both were wearing abaayas with attractive and colourful embroidered designs, a popular mode of dressing these days, neither was veiled, a new habit being embraced joyfully by many of our young women. I could never recall meeting these two, although they are of the royal family, albeit not from our family’s tribe, the Aniza.

Arabia is, and always will be, a nation of tribes, although the men of my family are slowly moving away from distinguishing themselves from any tribe in the country. They say the al-Sa’ud are in reality ‘every tribe’, as the rulers of our land. As such, they formally represent each man and woman in the kingdom. However, despite the royal family’s intentional avoidance of tribal divisions, the knowledge of such historical ties hangs over the head of every Saudi, whether royal or non-royal, and most likely will never diminish, for it is challenging to erase a proud heritage.

‘Mother, please meet my friends. This is Lala. This is Shabane.’

‘I welcome you to my home,’ I said, as I strained on my toes to make physical contact with each girl so that I might place light kisses on their forehead and cheeks. Like many of the younger generation, these girls were very tall, reaching at least a full head above my own.

‘Please, do make yourselves comfortable. Is there anything you need?’

Both demurred with charming smiles.

‘Well, tea and refreshments will be served momentarily.’

My assistant helped in removing their scarves and abaayas, while Maha moved two chairs closer to the desk where she was sitting.

I sat once more in my easy chair, thinking that we would enjoy a relaxed exchange of conversation before business and I would learn more about these two young women, but on this day there was no unproductive time spent on affable chatter, for when my daughter is immersed in any solemn issue, she goes without delay to the heart of the topic.

‘Yes, ladies. Welcome. I was so pleased when we were speaking earlier to learn that you both share my concern regarding the current toxic environment in Syria, relating to the safety of innocent girls and women who are being targeted by the government that should be protecting them. I hope that after hearing about the three rescues we have made you might become a part of our group in Europe. Our club consists of four women at this time, but hopefully you will unite with us to increase our numbers and our ability to help more women to a new life without continual jeopardy to their safety. Although we have the funds, be warned, it is hard work, and attention to detail and good organizational skills are required for successful rescues.’

I sat quietly, ready to absorb the stories of the three women who would not be alive today but for my daughter and her friends. And for that I feel the greatest joy. That I have raised such a daughter, a bright and sophisticated young woman whose principal aspiration in life is to ensure the well-being of other women, lifts my spirits and makes me hopeful for the future.

Maha looked at each of us in turn. Her manner was melancholy, as though she was reflecting on the tragic stories that she must share.

We all looked on in anticipation without speaking.

Maha cleared her throat. ‘Here we are, ladies …’ she stated in a soft but firm voice, jangling her gold bracelets for emphasis. ‘Safe in our little world in this kingdom for a part of the year and then enjoying months of luxury living in Europe. We are some of the most fortunate women in the world.’ She blew out a noisy breath. ‘Others are not so fortunate.’

My daughter, I knew, was struggling to share the distressing stories. She slowly rubbed her forehead. ‘I must apologize before I begin, for none of us have been accustomed to such horrifyingly graphic truths. What I am about to tell you is so dreadful that none of us can even try to imagine what it would feel like to live through such gruesome trauma. These stories, though, tell of the life of so many of our Muslim sisters.’ Maha’s voice indicated a deep emotion. ‘Mother. Lala. Shabane. Here is the unveiled truth: at this very moment, this very moment, girls and women are being arrested for no cause, taken from their families, driven away from their homes, dragged into dark prisons, taken alone into darker rooms, handcuffed to bed railings and raped by multiple men. Yes, at this moment, girls as young as ten, and women as old as sixty, are being raped by one man after another!’

My daughter lowered her head and closed her eyes, attempting to shake off her emotion. She took a moment before clearing her throat once again. ‘And if they survive, they will need help. These are the girls and women we must try to save.’

Lala squirmed, her hand over her mouth.

Shabane appeared frozen.

Both, I was certain, were shaken by the mention of rape against any female, no matter the age, for in our society nothing is more damaging to the life of a woman than to be a victim of rape. Most women living in our region, in fact, consider death preferable to rape. There are many explanations for this psychological agony. Should a female be raped, the woman’s family suffers tremendous shame. In many cases, the family blames the victim for her own rape. If a woman is married, her husband will most likely leave her. If she is engaged, most likely her husband-to-be will jilt her. If she is not yet engaged to be married, she will never be engaged. Perhaps she will be a victim of murder, for it is not uncommon for brothers of rape victims to kill their sisters in the belief that their death will