American Chick in Saudi Arabia (3 page)

Soon we arrive at the hospital, large glass doors slide silently open as we eagerly push, wide-eyed, through the front entrance to behold the most beautiful hospital in the kingdom, maybe in the world. The finest materials were used; deep plush carpets make you feel that you are walking on air and it's rumored that gold was used in vast quantities through the entire building.

After leaving college, I worked for six years in a hospital in the United States; the hustle and bustle of this royal hospital feels comforting and familiar.

Many Saudi male visitors to the hospital walk through the lobby wearing bewildered expressions, searching for the correct department. A few men are trailed by three or four women. The women's expressions are unknown because they are all veiled.

Main Lobby of the plush King Faisal Specialist Hospital and Research Centre. A view Jean Sasson saw every day.

All patients were Saudi in national dress, only the occasional staff member clothed in hospital uniform or western dress broke the kaleidoscope of men in brilliant white starched
thobes
with red-and –white-checkered
thobes
; the women concealed head to foot in black
abaaya
s appeared like black specters moving respectfully behind their men, their masters.

The King Faisal Hospital and Research Centre is a specialist hospital built especially by Saudi Arabia's third king, King Faisal, to supplement the care provided by existing general hospitals within the kingdom. Other than certain members of the royal family, and employees of the hospital, every patient admitted into the hospital has been referred from another institution or from a high-ranking member of the royal family. The hospital only has two hundred and fifty admitting beds, so medical admissions are at a premium and greatly coveted by all Saudis.

The extended corridor of the hospital seems a mile long, diverging into areas reserved for administration, specialty medical clinics, private patients' rooms, rehabilitation services, dining facilities, and a pharmacy. Because of the large expatriate community, there's a multitude of conveniences for employees, including recreation areas and even a bank. Before oil money flowed freely, there were few doctors or medical clinics in the kingdom. The ill and dying had little hope of receiving up-to-date medical treatment. Popular treatments were often barbaric.

A cancerous tumor might be removed with a dagger.

Abdominal discomfort was treated by drinking the urine of a camel.

If pain became intense, cautery was the only treatment. Bottles or daggers were held over open flames then held against the parts of the body traditional Bedouin doctors' regarded as appropriate for the illness they were treating. Even tiny infants and young children were cauterized.

Ruling a land where a simple flesh wound could deliver a slow and agonizing death, King Faisal dreamed of building the finest medical facility in the world. He wanted every Saudi, rich or poor, to have access to the most advanced medical care possible.

As early as 1965, Faisal donated one million square meters of his own land for the hospital site. Although a thrifty man, no expense was spared for his favorite project. Technology from around the world was imported to build, equip, and staff the sophisticated hospital.

As we walk through the luxurious hospital lobby to those sliding doors, suddenly I am within inches of King Faisal ibn Abdul Aziz al-Saud's face. I stand silently and stare at the official royal portrait of King Faisal. The illuminated portrait in mosaic consisting of lapis-lazuli and other semi-precious stones hang in the already imposing hospital entrance. Faisal, the third king of Saudi Arabia was a somber-faced man. Bushy black brows dominate his deeply lined brow. Heavy lids droop over large brown eyes that appear resolute yet are glazed with a sad weariness. His aggressive nose angles over a gray speckled mustache and goatee. An unmistakable stoicism lines his face, revealing a lifetime accumulation of disillusionments. His hands held before his face in constant prayer silently speak of his devotion to his God and to his people.

Many believe that under King Faisal's watchful eye, Saudi Arabia was more wisely governed than any other time in the kingdom's history. In his determination to pull Saudi Arabia into the modern world, he made thousands of enemies and an equal number of friends. In one of the bitterest moments in modern Arabian history, this dedicated man was shot to death by one of his nephews. Murdered only three years before, shortly before the grand opening of the medical facility, King Faisal never saw the exciting result of his dream.

A gentle hand is laid on my shoulder. "Jean, it's time to visit a few more departments now." I turn to see a friendly smile freely given from one of my new acquaintances.

Walking past the admitting office, I am a witness to a heartbreaking scene. A young Bedouin girl, who looks to be ten or eleven years old, is squirming while sitting in a wheelchair. The child is in obvious pain. I quickly ascertain that she is an incoming patient waiting to be admitted into the hospital.

She lifts her head.

I gasp and fling one hand over my mouth. Before my eyes is a human nightmare. The child's face is hideous. A grisly mass of blue-and red-tinged flesh covers one eye, her nose, and even edges into her mouth! How is it possible for this child to eat any solid food? I notice that her lips move slightly and silently as though she is praying.

A Bedouin man wearing a soiled
thobe
stands beside her. A veiled woman stands to the side.

Suddenly the girl's unaffected eye meets my dismayed gaze.

Caught with my expression of horror, I'm acutely embarrassed, yet I can't pull my attention away from this young girl.

I overhear a doctor speaking in English to a translator. "Tell her parents that their daughter's surgery is scheduled for tomorrow. I believe her tumor is non-malignant. After we remove the tumor, she will be scheduled for plastic surgery to repair the damage." He kindly comforts the father with the good news, "She will soon return with you to your village and resume a normal life."

The Bedouin gives a brave grimace as he nods in understanding.

How lovely that all people have dreams. I tremble to think of that girl's slow and agonizing death if not for the dream of a king. I quickly walk away, my mood as joyful as if I have won a grand prize to be a small part of this medical institution.

After a busy day, I return to our apartment and begin unpacking my belongings. The days that follow pass quickly, and I settle into my new environment with ease; my home life is comfortable and my work is challenging.

In Medical Affairs, I work closely with Rosalyn, a very attractive American woman from Pennsylvania who has been at the hospital for more than a year. Rosalyn has a gracious personality, and she generously takes the time to lead me through the complications of expatriate life.

I had been told by HCA of Nashville that dating was not allowed in the kingdom, but I really could not believe that would be the case. From the beginning of time, unattached males and females always find ways to link up. It quickly becomes clear that I was right. Living in a land where the native female population is veiled and kept out of public life, every unattached, expatriate woman at the hospital has many social invitations every day from European and American men, and not least from Arab men. My experience in this matter was no exception. From the first moment I arrive in Riyadh, I'm inundated with social invitations. As an unattached woman, I have the opportunity to date many single men.

I refuse most social invitations because I'm in no rush to involve myself in a rash of engagements. Everyday life in the kingdom is busy with work and with new friends.

Despite my happy single state, Rosalyn soon connects me to a European man she knows and whom she wants me to meet. The man's name is Peter Sasson. "Peter is an international man," Rosalyn tells me. "He is a European born in Egypt and raised in Great Britain." She adds, "He's good looking and very likable." She smiles widely when she adds, "Peter is one of the most entertaining people I have met since coming to Riyadh."

Trusting Rosalyn's judgment, I soon accept a telephone call from Peter Sasson and agree to a first date. I've never been on a blind date in my life, but when the doorbell rings at my apartment in MCV, I open the door and my sense of unease vanishes.

Peter Sasson is not tall, but he has a good height. He has the form of an athlete with broad shoulders and a slim body. His dark brown hair is striking but carelessly groomed. He has deep-set, penetrating brown eyes. He has a distinguished nose and full lips. His skin is olive.

Although Peter Sasson is delightfully handsome, I'm most pleased to see that this man is marked by an easy-going nature. His ready smile is bright and amiable. I
like
sunny personalities, and when he speaks, his charming British lilt adds the perfect touch.

Peter Sasson

By the end of the evening, I sense that Peter Sasson will stamp his strong personality on my Saudi experience. After we make plans for a second date, we say goodnight at the door of my apartment.

I go to sleep enthusiastic and happy that I accepted the challenge to travel around the world. I hope my modest skills will help to support this newly formed hospital, and during my stay that I will have the opportunity to travel to many foreign countries.

Something tells me that I've made the best decision of my life. I fall asleep awaiting the sounds of the morning call to prayer,
Allah Akbar
...
Allah Akbar
...drifting through the air.

No one knows my dangerous secret. Although I've been a resident of the Kingdom of Saudi Arabia for less than a year, already I am involved in a risky adventure. I am swathed in the complete Saudi veil, walking through the aisles of the Dirrah gold souk during the mid-morning July heat of Riyadh. I easily find refuge in the anonymity of the crowd of black-cloaked women browsing the shopping bazaar, yet I am nothing like the veiled women surrounding me. Saudi shoppers on all sides of me are unaware that a blonde, fair-skinned American is walking among them, as one of them.

Typical Muslim attire for Saudi women in Riyadh, Saudi Arabia

Generally I would be at my office on a Thursday morning. But I have taken the day off for a specific purpose, to discover more about the life of a Saudi woman.

Female life in Saudi Arabia is not perfect for any woman, not even for foreign women. In fact, there are many restrictions in place for expatriate women at the hospital, and these rules cover a wide range of behaviors, including a ban against dating Saudis or any Arab. There is an order to dress modestly, a ban upon driving an automobile, pedaling a bicycle, drinking alcohol, or becoming involved in social topics such as the issue of women's rights or in political topics such as the ruling family. Women's issues are the most taboo subject, and during orientation all employees were warned to stay away from the dangerous topic of discrimination against women.

I readily relinquished my right to drive and to bicycle, for Riyadh traffic is downright hazardous! I prefer being a passenger protected in the back seat. I always dress modestly, for I do respect the culture of the country that has so warmly welcomed me. I have never dated any Arab, for I understand the personal problems that would arise for a woman with my particular assertive personality. I never drink alcoholic beverages because I cannot even bear the odor of alcohol, and strongly dislike how most people misbehave after having a few drinks. Yet I cannot claim perfection in abiding by the rules, because I can scarcely restrain myself from speaking out about women's issues.

Since I was a teenager, the right of all women to live in dignity and to escape discrimination has been at the forefront of my personal goals. Even at an early age, I recognized the most common human conflict in the world: the power of men over women.

For a full year I have been biding my time and holding my tongue, saying and doing nothing as I observe the lives of Saudi women. Being young and blonde and considered attractive by many Saudis, I am treated like a princess nearly everywhere I go. Most native or Muslim women from other Arab countries are less fortunate. I have come to know many tragic stories.

As I assumed when I first arrived in the kingdom, all important hospital files cross our desks in Medical Affairs. We are notified when Saudi husbands divorce wives who are disease-stricken, or who abandon them in the hospital after the wife births too many daughters. We hear when Saudi female patients are beaten nearly to death by their husbands. It's not uncommon for a Saudi man to visit his disease-weakened wife and insist she sleep on the floor or in a chair while the husband spends the night in her bed.

Such stories are hard for a woman like me to hear. I admit that I can do nothing to assist any helpless women, for in Saudi Arabia, Saudi males are supreme and their superiority is supported by every government agency and religious authority.

Although I can never be a Saudi woman, and will never live the life of a Muslim woman in Saudi Arabia, the one thing I can do is don the face veil and walk the souks. Now I will know exactly how it feels to walk about without being seen, for the black face veil makes women invisible.

My good mood slowly changes. This is in part because of physical discomfort. My stroll has become physically laborious. The souk is not air-conditioned; the pathways are so narrow and so crowded that no breeze stirs. I flap my arms and open up the front of my cloak, drawing a few disapproving stares from the men around me. I shiver with annoyance at their disapproval.

Saudi females are forbidden nearly everything natural to ordinary modern life.

Most females are forced to veil.

Women are forbidden to drive.

Girls are forbidden to date and are obligated to agree to arranged marriages. Most worrisome, young girls can be given in marriage to men twice their age as the second, third, or fourth wife.

A first wife cannot prevent her husband from taking a second or third and even a fourth wife. Some women are unaware of their husband's additional marriage plans until he brings the new brides home. Women have no legal authority to block their husbands from acquiring concubines or traveling to sex-for-hire establishments in Asia.

Wives cannot stop their husbands from divorcing them, even if there is no good cause.

Women cannot protest if their fathers, husbands, brothers, or even sons confine them to their homes.

Females are limited to certain professions. They are not allowed to work with or near men who are not of their family.

Women are prohibited from managing most businesses.

Females are not permitted to eat in most restaurants, or even to enter many shops.

Females are forbidden from traveling unless they have written permission from a male family member.

Females in Saudi Arabia have so little authority and power over their own fate that it is wrenchingly painful to witness. From daughter, to sibling, to wife, to mother, the women of Arabia move through a lifelong loop of complete male domination.

The imposition of the full veil gives men the ultimate control instrument. The full face veil is not required by their God, so why should it be required by their families, their government, or religious clerics?

So long as the Saudi men are able to ensure their women are veiled from head to toe, there are few tasks that a Saudi woman can realistically accomplish.

I have been in the full veil for less than an hour and I can hardly walk while so ensnarled in the black garments. I can understand how the veil would prohibit a woman from assuming various jobs. To perform the responsibilities of my current job would be impossible. I have to be able to move rapidly, read and type quickly, and act on many documents, as well as perform many other mundane office tasks.

Several times I have asked modern-thinking Saudis, "What dark mind fashioned the black veils of Riyadh?"

No Saudi Arabian can give me a satisfactory answer. It seems impossible to follow the exact trail of the veiling custom. Although the veil is barely mentioned in the Koran, it
is
known that veiling can be traced from Persia, Turkey, and India, and that the custom was adopted by Arabia's nomadic tribes. Sadly, this ancient tradition survived into modern life. Even now, even in the twenty-first century, Saudi girls and women must cover their body, hair, and face.

I had worn the veil once before, but that event hardly mattered since it was for a frivolous purpose.

Several months after arriving in the kingdom, Dr. Whitehill, a dentist at the KFSH, assisted me in playing a harmless prank on some unsuspecting hospital friends.

Dr. Padmos and his wife, Pat, had invited me to a private dinner party. The party was planned during the Eid al-Adha Muslim feast. This feast comes at the end of the Haj pilgrimage, one of several occasions in Muslim countries when the wealthy share with the poor.

During this holiday time, veiled Saudi women loitered at the gates of Medical City Village, their palms outstretched. Although most of the women happily accepted the occasional small-denomination riyal note or halalah coin, a few veiled women aggressively voiced their displeasure with the limited charity sometimes handed out. There were rumors that several veiled women had even followed some expatriates into the village, screeching at them in angry Arabic.

The hostile veiled women made everyone in the village edgy.

Dr. Whitehill and I planned the prank very carefully around the theme of an impoverished and hungry veiled woman displeased with the charity extended to her.

On the evening appointed for my practical joke, I dressed carefully in my full Saudi veil, which I had purchased a few weeks after arriving in Riyadh. I then hid behind a large bush alongside the Padmos household. When the party was in full swing, Dr. Whitehill arrived and knocked on the front door. As Dr. Padmos opened the door to welcome his dentist friend, I moved quickly, jumping from behind the bush, lightly shoving the men aside to rush past them into the home.

I paused in the middle of the small sitting room, swiveling my head left and right, searching for the food.

While the men stood immobilized in disbelief, female revelers began to scream and retreat to the corners of the room. Everyone believed the party had been crashed by a crazed veiled woman.

But the fun had not yet ended. When I caught sight of the heavily laden table, I groaned hungrily two or three times and hurried past the women to the table. Guests began dropping their food to the floor and scrambling to avoid me while I shoved foodstuff into a large black bag I carried.

The high-pitched screeches of the expatriate women grew even louder. Amusing to me, none of the men took one step to stop me.

I hurried through the room with the precious food held to my chest. At the doorway, I turned, yanked the veil from my face, and shouted, "Prank!"

That evening was enormous fun. And the entertaining tale of how it all came about was recounted many times. I was told by many of the guests that my practical joke had caused them to become more charitable to the poor veiled women standing by the gates. I felt pleased to have created generosity.

But since that innocent evening, I had become much more serious about the female lives being controlled by the Saudi culture, a male-controlled environment that gave little consideration to women's happiness.

The more injustice I saw, the more I felt an overwhelming compulsion to penetrate the awesome unknowns of the Saudi female life. What is it like to walk among fellow humans while nearly unrecognizable
as
a human being oneself? Does the veil neutralize
all
feelings of individuality? Does the veil dim
every
joy of life?

My intention is to spend the entire day and evening veiled. I will in the morning shop in the souk until
salat
, the mid-day prayer. After prayer, I will buy a few groceries in Spinney's supermarket, one of only two Western-style supermarkets in the city. After grocery shopping, and at the end of the lengthy sundown prayer, I plan to go veiled into my office.

A Lebanese guard I know at the hospital has agreed to meet me at the guard gate at a prearranged time so I can enter the grounds without undergoing the routine security check for all employees and visitors. I am in the swank hospital six days a week as a Western worker, but I want to view hospital activities through the eyes of a native veiled woman.

Since my planned activities are timed around the Islamic prayer schedules, I have already confirmed the prayer timetable in the English-language Arabic newspaper,
The Arab News
.

Soon after my arrival in the kingdom, I discover that the Islamic faith sets the agenda and tone of every aspect of public life, even for me, a Western Christian female visitor.

Most Westerners in Riyadh are uneasy because of the kingdom's strict adherence to religious law. However, the Saudis I personally know have never complained that their everyday lives are ruled by the tenets of the Islamic faith. Indeed, Saudis are rightfully proud that their ancestors were the first Muslims and that they are expected to fulfill important duties as the keepers and enforcers of the faith. Several Saudi friends routinely point out that it is "demanding" to be a good Muslim, while it is "easy" to be a practicing Christian.

***

Aware that the noontime call to prayer will signal the shopkeepers to shutter their storefronts, I discreetly push back the sleeve of the black cloak I am wearing, the
abaaya
, and glance at my watch. According to the prayer schedule, I have only two hours to browse the bazaar.

Covered from head to toe in my
abaaya
, along with the black veil and head scarf, not an inch of my white flesh is on view. Only the most pious Muslim women cover their hands and feet, but the skin of my hands and feet is so fair that to maintain the ruse, I have no choice but to wear black gloves and black stockings.

Certainly, the veil has one advantage. I can thoroughly inspect everyone around me without anyone seeing my impolite stares. I can even make naughty faces, if I am so inclined. Only in this regard, does the veil free the wearer.

The souk is packed with shoppers. Since Friday in Muslim countries is analogous to Sunday in the Christian world, Thursday in Riyadh is the same as Saturday in the West. The souk is filled with many veiled women enjoying a weekend shopping excursion.

Although lured inside by the wide variety of merchandise for sale, the black-veiled women encircling me are so slow in their movements that I fear they will cause a human pile-up. Occasionally a group of women pauses to lean against the shop counters or walls. I feel profound empathy for their desire to rest. Forced to fully cover in black in the desert heat of Riyadh, where temperatures climb above a hundred degrees Fahrenheit, who can blame them if they move as slowly as possible?