Strangers. Danuta Reah
my views,’ he said. ‘Give women the vote–then you will know whether they want more rights.’
‘My friend, Saudi women have their rights,’ Majid protested. ‘Women know that they are valued here, that they are cared for and protected.’
‘Sometimes they don’t know what is best for them,’ Khalil said with a meaningful look.
Majid’s mouth tightened. Accusations of leniency towards his untraditional wife stung. ‘Rights can’t be “given”,’ he said. ‘If these rights existed, then women would have them.’
‘Maybe rights can’t be given,’ Khalil said, ‘but they can be taken away.’
‘Not if they do not exist,’ Majid said flatly.
Before Khalil could reply, Damien became aware of increased activity behind the closed doors that led into the main courtyard of the house, a bustle of movement and briefly, raised voices, women’s voices, angry and animated. He saw Majid’s quick glance of concern. It was time to go. ‘Thank you for your hospitality,’ he said, formally. ‘Unfortunately, I have to work this evening, so I must leave you.’
Majid’s attempts to persuade him to stay were sufficiently ritualized for Damien to understand he’d made the right decision. The two men embraced as he left. ‘I hope your family will be well,’ he said in oblique reference to the unnamed problem.
As Damien unlocked the door of his car, a movement caught his eye. He looked back at the house, at an upper window where the shutters were slightly open. A woman’s face looked back at him, young, beautiful and startlingly unveiled. She stood at the window, looking down at Damien, and didn’t draw back when she saw him watching her.
Her face stayed with him, hauntingly familiar as he drove back to his house. As he went in through the front door, the dark coolness surrounded him. He warmed up some bread and spread it thickly with hummus. He forked some tabbouleh on to a plate and poured himself some of the beer that Rai regularly brewed. He put the tray down on the table, which also served as his desk, and switched on a lamp. His mind was moving in directions he didn’t want it to go, and he picked up a book to distract himself.
The pool of light made the shadows darker as he ate, forking the food absently as he read one of the stories from The Book of One Thousand and One Nights. This story, ‘The Sleeper and the Waker’, told of Aboulhusn and his life in the Khalif’s palace. The story had echoes of biblical parable and of old European tales, but the image of the sleeper who lives a fantastic life in a dream world that is almost beyond imagining, and believes it gone when he wakes, carried uncomfortable resonances for Damien.
The shadows from the intricate wooden grilles sent the moonlight in dappled shadows that traversed the stone floor as the night progressed. The intrusions from the modern world faded and, as Damien read, it seemed as though the dreams of the thousand and one nights were in ascendance.
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Article from New Societies magazine, posted by Red Rose, 1 Shawwal 1425
Veiled Knowledge
Ayesha Chamoun
The Kingdom of Saudi Arabia is shortly to hold elections for the first time in forty years. Women have been banned from the poll. What is the view of Saudi women about this election?
Times are a-changing for women in the Kingdom. They are beginning to make their way in areas that have traditionally been closed to them–in academia, in the media and in industry. The role of women within the wider society is no longer a taboo subject. But does this debate–and a few minor reforms–mean that women can expect to make real progress in gaining significant rights?
The decision to exclude women from the poll has come as a blow to the fledgling movement for democratic reform. In the last year, leading male liberals have been imprisoned, and the news that prisoners would be allowed to vote whereas women would not, has angered many who hoped that Saudi Arabia was at last moving forward.
But these voices are in the minority. For the majority of Saudi women, the concept of ‘rights’ is not an issue they even think about. 7 see the way you live in the West, and it shows to me that women’s lives are very hard if their society does not look after them, ‘ says one student at Riyadh’s King Saud University.
These attitudes, instilled in women by their education and by the way they live, are hard to uproot or challenge. All her life, a woman has a male guardian–her father, her husband, her brother or her son. She must have his permission before she can be educated, travel or go to hospital. It is difficult for a woman even to leave her home without a male escort….
At first, Roisin thought that their life in the Kingdom was going to work. They moved their stuff into the house they were renting–characterless, but comfortable enough, with more rooms than they could possibly use–and tried to fight off the jet lag by exploring the compound where Roisin would spend all her time when she wasn’t working.
It was small but adequate. The streets were an uneasy pastiche of small-town America, a residential suburb with the sunlight reflecting off the road and sidewalks, off the pale stucco of the houses. There was a library, a gym, and a commissary where Roisin could get supplies. Inside the compound, Western rules and customs prevailed. She was allowed to wear what she liked, to drive, and to wander freely. Outside, she was restricted by cultural taboos that were rigidly enforced.
On their first weekend, Joe organized a trip to the desert. I’m going to be busy after this,’ he said. ‘I don’t know when we’ll get another chance. If you only see one thing in Saudi, you should see the desert sky at night.’ He borrowed an SUV, and they drove west of the city, out into the open wilderness. They pitched their tent where a sandstone canyon formed a jagged edge along the skyline and watched the sun set as the cold of the desert night began to close around them.
And the stars came out and blazed in their thousands. Roisin sat outside the tent, her hands wrapped round a mug of coffee, entranced by the icy, indifferent glory. Joe sat behind her and put his arms round her waist as they pointed out the constellations to each other. ‘There’s Orion,’ she said, surprised that she could see the same constellations that shone in the night sky over the northern cities. ‘The hunter.’
She felt rather than heard him laugh. ‘Orion wasn’t just a hunter. He was the most beautiful man in the world. The gods sent a scorpion to kill him, and Diana asked for him to be placed in the sky so she could remember him.’
They made love under the stars, and she lay awake for a long time afterwards, listening to the sounds as the desert, so dead during the day, came to life. And as she listened to Joe’s quiet breathing, she wondered about the goddess huntress who had had to be content with her lover blazing in the night sky instead of in her arms.
They were going to be happy here.
She wasn’t due to start work for a fortnight, so she threw herself into the task of getting the house organized, and of familiarizing herself with her new country. She wanted to see more of Riyadh than the brief tour that Damien O’Neill had given them on their first day. Usually, when she came to a new country, she spent time exploring. She liked to walk, to drive around and get the feel and measure of the place. Here, once she left the compound, she had to rely on taxis, and her ability to explore was severely limited. It wasn’t wise for a woman to be on her own on the streets of Riyadh.
The city hid itself behind a veil. The centre was a sweep of concrete, ugly, dirty and crowded, where the past had been eradicated. She remembered Joe’s fascination with finding the lost sectors of old cities–the