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her children were inherited solely from their
father.
    Even today I shudder with dismay while
watching my older sisters attempt to add or subtract. I say little
prayers of gratitude to Auntie Iffat, for she changed the lives of
so many Saudi women.
    In the summer of 1932, Uncle Faisal had
traveled to Turkey, and while there, he fell in love with a unique
young woman named Iffat al Thunayan. Hearing that the young Saudi
prince was visiting in Constantinople, the young Iffat and her
mother approached him about disputed property that had belonged to
her deceased father. (The Thunayans were originally Saudis but had
been taken to Turkey by the Ottomans during their lengthy rule of
the area.) Smitten by Iffat’s beauty, Faisal invited her and her
mother to Saudi Arabia to sort out the misunderstanding of the
property matter. Not only did he give her the property, he married
her. Later, he was to say it was the wisest decision of his life.
My mother said Uncle Faisal had gone from woman to woman, like a
man possessed, until he met Iffat.
    During the years of Uncle Faisal’s reign,
Iffat became the driving force behind education for young girls.
Without her efforts, the women in Arabia today would not be allowed
in a classroom. I was in awe of her forceful character and declared
I would grow up to be just like her. She even had the courage to
hire an English nanny for her children, who, of all the royal
brood, turned out to be the most unaffected by great wealth.
    Sadly, many of the royal cousins were swept
away by the sudden rush of riches. My mother used to say that the
bedouin had survived the stark emptiness of the desert, but we
would never survive the enormous wealth of the oil fields. The
quiet achievements of the mind and the pious religious beliefs of
their fathers hold no appeal for the vast majority of the younger
Al Sa’uds. I believe that the children of this generation have
decayed with the ease of their lives, and that their great fortune
has deprived them of any ambitions or real satisfactions. Surely
the weakness of our monarchy in Saudi Arabia is bound up in our
addiction to extravagance. I fear it will be our undoing.
    Most of my childhood was spent traveling from
one city to another in my land. The nomadic bedouin blood flows in
all Saudis, and as soon as we would return from one trip,
discussions would ensue as to the next journey. We Saudis no longer
have sheep to graze, but we cannot stop looking for greener
pastures.
    Riyadh was the base of the government, but
none of the Al Sa’ud family particularly enjoyed the city; their
complaints never ended about the dreariness of life in Riyadh. It
was too hot and dry, the men of religion took themselves too
seriously, the nights were too cold. Most of the family preferred
Jeddah or Taif.
    Jeddah, with its ancient ports, was more open
to change and moderation. There, we all breathed easier in the air
of the sea. We generally spent the months from December to February
in Jeddah. We would return to Riyadh for March, April, and May. The
heat of the summer months would drive us to the mountains of Taif
from June to September. Then it was back to Riyadh for October and
November. Of course, we spent the month of Ramadan and two weeks of
Haj in Makkah, our holy city.
    By the time I was twelve years old, in 1968,
my father had become extremely wealthy. In spite of his wealth, he
was one of the least extravagant Al Sa’uds. But he did build each
of his four families four palaces, in Riyadh, Jeddah, Taif, and
Spain. The palaces were exactly the same in each city, even to the
colors of carpets and furniture selected. My father hated change,
and he wanted to feel as if he were in the same home even after a
flight from city to city. I remember him telling my mother to
purchase four each of every item, down to the children’s underwear.
He did not want the family to bother with packing suitcases. I
found it eerie that when I entered my room in Jeddah or Taif, it
was the same