Chapter 2: The First Day

Sex and the Supermarket - shopping in a Cadillac and a black mask

In the afternoon I sit on the back seat of a Cadillac. I am shrouded in black. I have boldly asked Princess Abtah if I may go out of the Palace grounds to shop for my own kitchen. Soon after I hear a knock on my bedroom door.

"Princess say wear this."

Zahara, a small African woman from Eritrea, comes in. Silently she ties my burqa at the back of my head. The burqa is a facemask made from soft black material with openings for my eyes. Islamic law forbids women to show their faces in public.

Next she stands behind me, still silently, holding out a black gown. An abaya is a floor-length cloak with sleeves. Last comes the tarha, a black gauze scarf to cover my head.

In the car I hate the mask. The air conditioning is on but I cannot breathe. I open the window and think I am going to faint. The mask is hot and claustrophobic and maddening…but I want to keep my job. Hail is a conservative stronghold of Bedouin traditions and Islamic principles. I must conform. I must respect this oh so foreign culture. The Cadillac glides past herds of sheep and goats grazing in the scrub. My identity has disappeared. I am anonymous.

And I could be punished. The muttawa are the moral and religious guardians easily spotted with their long beards and chastising sticks. They parade the souks usually beside a policeman, checking each woman has her face covered, and is wearing a skirt to her feet. I see two young men who are trying to flirt with some young women and talk to them in the street being fiercely reprimanded by the muttawa.

This visit to a supermarket is a real adventure outside the Palace walls. A Palace employee cannot just walk out. I have to get permission from Princess Abtah. The Princess has to ring and ask if a driver is free. Women may not use taxis in Hail and the law forbids females to drive a vehicle.

I am the only single woman in the supermarket. In Hail women shop only with their husband or their family. My driver waits at the checkout and I am conspicuous. My face itches inside the burqa. I bravely pull it off. I need to put on my glasses to see what is on the shelves. Now I am attracting attention. Solitary men stare hard at me. I am anxious and cross and remember English warnings about the sexual appetite of Arab men particularly towards blue-eyed blondes.

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