In the land of invisible women: a female doctor's journey in the Saudi Kingdom by Qanta Ahmed

Author:Qanta Ahmed
Language: eng
Format: mobi
Tags: Physicians, Ahmed, Muslim physicians - Islamic countries, Women physicians, Women physicians - Islamic countries, Medical, Women in medicine, General, Qanta, Muslim physicians, Islamic countries, Biography & Autobiography, Cultural Heritage, Women in medicine - Islamic countries, Biography, Women
ISBN: 9781402210877
Publisher: Sourcebooks, Inc.
Published: 2008-09-01T07:30:16.698128+00:00

WAHABI WRATH

EVERYONE STOPPED EATING. THE AIR was pregnant with fear. Across from me, I watched Alon, a visiting professor from Johns Hopkins, turn sallow as all color drained from his face. The door flung open revealing a single, glowering Muttawa. We were in the company of our deepest fears.

The Muttawa entered the room triumphantly, pushing through our cross-legged ranks. He stood in the middle of the durries laid with food, sandaled feet abutting salad trays. From our seated position he towered over us. His lean, sharp carriage emanated a mean, rigid spirit. Narrowed eyes shone with the triumph of his catch: over a dozen men and women, seated at dinner without segregation or veiling. His bisht, a material of thin brown muslin worn over a white robe, trembled with excitement. Swelling with a ripe, turgid rage he prepared to ejaculate his fury upon us. He moistened his full, purple lips with a fat pink tongue. His sour mouth was fringed with coarse facial hair. Around him we retreated into impotence, actually shrinking. He radiated evil.

Beyond the dining room we could hear his colleagues apprehending the restaurateur, several waiters, and one woman from our party (who had been unfortunate enough to be returning from the restroom when she encountered the Muttawa raid). For the first time, I noticed the room had only one exit, now blocked by a Wahabi Muttawa, and then glanced at my stilettos, useless in a getaway. We were trapped. A sharp scream rang out. Alarm rippled through the gathering. We were really in danger.

“Let me go! You are hurting me! Ow!” It was Diana's voice, sounding more indignant than afraid. “You have no right to touch me! How dare you lay a finger on me, a Muslim woman! My husband will file a complaint! I am a married Muslim woman. You will regret this!”

Diana was defying the Mutawaeen. An American, she had lived in the Kingdom for more than a decade and was married to a Saudi man by whom she had two children. She had accompanied us to dinner in her role as the events manager. Her blonde hair and her white skin hid her conversion to the Muslim faith, fooling most who crossed her path. Even ten years of living in the Kingdom had not lessened her leonine, if foolish, courage. She especially detested the religious police.

Thick retorts in pharyngeal Arabic rose in objection to her protests. The Mutawaeen sounded even angrier. My fears began to grow. When the lone Muttawa sentry had turned his back, I signaled to Sami (an Egyptian toxicologist sitting diagonally across from me) to hand me my shoes. I sidled my stockinged foot from under me and began strapping the glittering stilettos in place. My fingers fumbled in fear.

Friends had warned me of the Gestapo-like raids of the Mutawaeen. Just before I had arrived, a Western secretary to the ICU chairman had been repatriated after her relationship with a fellow Westerner had been discovered at a restaurant in Riyadh where she had dined with her then-boyfriend.

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