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as my room in Riyadh, with the identical clothes
hanging in identical closets. My books and toys were purchased in
fours, one of each item placed in each palace. My mother rarely
complained, but when my father purchased four identical red
Porsches for my brother, Ali, who was only fourteen at the time,
she cried out that it was a shame—such waste—with so many poor in
the world. When it came to Ali, though, no expense was spared.
    When he was ten years old, Ali received his
first gold Rolex watch. I was particularly distressed, for I had
asked my father for a thick gold bracelet from the souq
(marketplace) and he had brusquely turned aside my request. During
the second week of Ali flaunting his Rolex, I saw that he had laid
it on the table beside the pool. Overcome with jealousy, I took a
rock and pounded the watch to pieces.
    For once, my mischief was not discovered, and
it was with great pleasure that I saw my father reprimand Ali for
being careless with his belongings. But of course, within a week or
so, Ali was given another gold Rolex watch and my childish
resentfulness returned with a vengeance. My mother spoke to me
often about my hatred for my brother. A wise woman, she saw the
fire in my eye even as I bowed to the inevitable. As the youngest
child of the family, I had been the most pampered of the daughters
by my mother, sisters, and other relatives. Looking back, it is
hard to deny that I was spoiled beyond belief. Because I was small
for my age, in contrast with the rest of my sisters, who were tall
with large frames, I was treated as a baby throughout my childhood
years. All of my sisters were quiet and restrained, as befitting
Saudi princesses. I was loud and unruly, caring little for my royal
image. How I must have tried their patience! But even today, each
of my sisters would spring to my defense at the first sign of
danger.
    In sad contrast, to my father, I represented
the last of many disappointments. As a consequence, I spent my
childhood trying to win his affection. Finally, I despaired of
attaining his love and clamored after any attention, even if it was
in the form of punishment for misdeeds. I calculated that if my
father looked at me enough times, he would recognize my special
traits and come to love his daughter, even as he loved Ali. As it
turned out, my rowdy ways ensured that he would go from
indifference to open dislike.
    My mother accepted the fact that the land in
which we had been born was a place that is destined for
misunderstandings between the sexes. Still a child, with the world
stretching before me, I had yet to reach that conclusion.
    Looking back, I suppose Ali must have had
good character traits along with the bad, but it was difficult for
me to see past his one great defect: Ali was cruel. I watched him
as he taunted the handicapped son of our gardener. The poor child
had long arms and strangely shaped legs. Often, when Ali’s boyhood
friends came over for a visit, he would summon poor Sami and tell
him to do his “monkey walk.” Ali never noticed the pathetic look on
Sami’s face or the tears that trickled down his cheeks.
    When Ali found baby kittens, he would lock
them away from their mother and howl with glee as the mother cat
tried in vain to reach them. No one in the household dared to
chastise Ali, for our father saw no harm in Ali’s cruel ways.
    After a particularly moving talk from my
mother, I prayed about my feelings for Ali and decided to attempt
the “Saudi” way of manipulation instead of confrontation with my
brother. Besides, my mother used God’s wishes as her platform, and
using God is always an admirable formula for convincing children to
change their actions. Through my mother’s eyes, I finally saw that
my present course would lead me down a thorny path. My good
intentions were squashed within the week by Ali’s dastardly
behavior. My sisters and I found a tiny puppy that had evidently
become lost from its mother. The puppy was whimpering from