Princess (14 page)

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Since the entire family was on a holiday in Europe, the young Yemeni had been given a two-week leave, and had returned to Yemen to marry. At this time, the only men on the villa grounds were the old Yemeni and a gardener from Pakistan.

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I looked at my watch and Antoine looked at his watch. Finally, we heard the shuffling of feet as the old man returned. The gate creaked with a slow swing. I shivered for I had a feeling I was entering the gates of hell. The old Yemeni grunted and made a motion with his hands that Antoine was to stay outside with the car. Only I would be allowed inside.”

I tensed up as I imagined the fear Marci must have felt. “How did you dare? I would have called the police!”

Marci shook her head. “The police do not help Filipinos in this country. We would be reported to our employer and then jailed or deported, according to the wishes of your father. The police in this country are for the strong, not for the weak.”

I knew what she said was true. Filipinos were a notch below us women. Even I, a princess, would never receive aid if it meant the police had to go against the wishes of the men of my family. But I did not want to think of my problems at that moment; I was wrapped up in Marci’s adventure.

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Go on, tell me, what did you discover inside?” I imagined the inner workings of a Saudi Frankenstein’s monster!

Having the full interest of her mistress, Marci became enlivened and began to make facial expressions and describe her experiences with relish.

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Following his slow steps, I was able to look all around. The concrete blocks had never been painted. A small block building nearby had no door, just an open space with a stringy old rag pulled across the top. Judging from the clutter of dirty mats, open cans, and garbage smells, I knew the old Yemeni must live there. We walked by the family pool, but it was empty of water except for a black, foul residue at the deepest end. Three tiny skeletons—which looked like the remains of baby kittens—were lying at the short end of the pool.”

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Kittens? Oh, my goodness!” Marci knew how I loved all baby animals. “What a terrible death!”

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It looked like kittens. I guessed they were born in the empty pool and the mother cat was unable to get them out.”

I shuddered with despair.

Marci continued. “The villa was large but had the same coarse look as the wall. Paint had been splashed on the blocks at some time in the past, but sandstorms had left it ugly. There was a garden, but the plants had all died from the lack of water. I saw four or five birds in a cage hanging under a large tree. They looked sad and skinny, without a song in their hearts to sing.

Through the front door, the Yemeni yelled something in Arabic to an unseen person; he nodded his head at me and motioned for me to enter. I hesitated at the doorway as the bad-smelling air rushed over me. With great fear and trembling, I called out Madeline’s name. The Yemeni turned and walked back to his interrupted sleep.

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Madeline came down a long dark hallway. The light was very dim, and after the bright sunshine outside, I could barely see her walking toward me. She began to run when she saw it was really her old friend Marci. We rushed to embrace and I was amazed to see that she was clean and smelled good. She was skinnier than when I last saw her, but alive!”

A feeling of relief flooded my body, for I had expected Marci to tell me she had found her friend half-dead, lying on a dirty mat, struggling to give her final instructions to take her body back to Manila.

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What happened then?” I was in a rush to discover the end to Marci’s story.

Marci’s voice took on the tone of a whisper, as though her memories were too painful to recall. “After we completed our cries of greetings and our hugs, Madeline pushed me toward the long hallway. She held my hand and guided me to a small room off to the right. Directing me to a sofa, she sat on the floor facing me.

"She immediately burst into tears now that we were alone. As she buried her face in my lap, I stroked her hair and whispered for her to tell me what had happened to her. After she stopped her tears, she told me of her life since she had left Manila one year before.

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Madeline was met at the airport by two Yemeni servants. They were holding a card with her name spelled out in English. She accompanied the two men, for she did not know what else to do. She was alarmed at their wild appearance, and said she feared for her life as they careened through the city. It was late at night when she arrived at the villa; there was no light, so she did not notice the unkempt grounds.

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At that time, the family was away at Makkah for the Haj pilgrimage. She was shown to her room by an old Arab woman who could not speak English. She was given cookies and dates to eat and hot tea to drink. As the old woman left the room she handed Madeline a note that said she would be informed of her duties the following day.”

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The old woman must have been the grandmother,” I said.

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Maybe—Madeline did not say. Anyhow, I do not know. Poor Madeline’s heart sank when sunlight revealed her new home. She jumped at the sight of the bed in which she had slept, for the bed sheets were filthy; last night’s glass and plate were swarming with roaches.

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With a sinking heart, Madeline located a bathroom only to discover the shower was not functioning. She tried to cleanse herself in the sink with a remnant of dirty soap and tepid water. She wished in vain for God to calm her beating heart. Then the old woman knocked on the door.

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Having no choice, she followed the woman into the kitchen, where she was handed a list of responsibilities. Madeline read the hastily scribbled note and saw that she was to assist the cook, be the housekeeper, and care for the children. The old woman motioned for Madeline to prepare herself some food. After eating breakfast, she began to scrub filth off the pots and pans.

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Along with Madeline, there were three other female employees: an old cook from India, an attractive maid from Sri Lanka, and a homely maid from Bangladesh. The cook was at least sixty years old; the other two were in their mid-twenties.

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The cook refused conversation with anyone; she was returning to India within the next two months and her dreams were of freedom and home. The homely maid was silent in her unhappiness, for her work contract had over a year until completion. The pretty maid from Sri Lanka did little work and spent most of her time in front of a mirror. She wished out loud for the return of the family. She hinted strongly to Madeline that she was much loved by the master of the house. She was expecting him to buy her a gold necklace upon his return from Makkah.

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Madeline said she was surprised when the pretty maid ordered her to turn around so she could see her figure. The maid then put her hands on her hips and declared with a grin that the master would find Madeline too skinny for his taste, but perhaps one of the sons would find her favorable. Madeline did not understand the implication and went on with her endless cleaning.

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Four days later, the family returned from Makkah. Madeline saw at once that her employers were of a low-class family; they were crude and ill-mannered and their behavior soon proved her assessment correct. They were accidentally wealthy without any effort on their part, and their only education was from the Koran, which in their ignorance they twisted to suit their needs.

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To the head of the household, the secondary status of women indicated in the Koran was understood to be slavery. Any woman who was not a Muslim was considered a prostitute. Matters were not helped by the fact that the father and two sons traveled to Thailand four times a year to visit the brothels in Bangkok and buy the sexual services of young, beautiful Thai women. Knowing that some of the women of the Orient were for sale convinced the family that all women outside of the Muslim faith were for purchase. When a maid was hired, it was assumed she was to be used like an animal, at the whim of the men of the house.

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Through the mother, Madeline immediately learned that she had been employed to serve as a sexual release for the two teenage sons. She informed Madeline that she was to serve Basel and Faris on an every-other-day basis. This information was given without emotion to Madeline’s utter despair.

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To the surprise of the sexy maid, the father decided that Madeline was to his taste. He told his sons they could sleep with the new maid as soon as he had his pleasure.”

I gasped and then held my breath; I knew what Marci was going to tell me. I did not want to hear it.

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Ma’am Sultana, that first night the family returned, the father raped Madeline!” She sobbed. “That was only the beginning, for he decided that he liked her so much, he continued to rape her on a daily basis!”

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Why did she not run away? Get someone to help her?”

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Ma’am, she did try. She begged the other servants to assist her! The old cook and the ugly maid did not wish to become involved, and perhaps lose their salaries. The pretty maid hated Madeline, and said she was the reason she did not get her gold necklace. The wife and old woman were not treated well themselves by the master; they ignored her and said she was hired to please the men of the house!”

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I would have jumped out of a window and run away!”

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She tried to run away, many times. She was caught and everyone in the house was ordered to guard her. Once, while everyone was sleeping, she went to the roof and dropped notes on the sidewalk begging for help. The notes were given to the Yemenis by some Saudi neighbors and she was beaten!”

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What happened after you found her?”

Marci’s face was sad and resigned as she continued. “I tried many things. I called our embassy in Jeddah. I was told by the man that answered that they received many such complaints but there was little they could do. Our country relies on the monies sent from workers abroad; our government did not want to antagonize the Saudi government by lodging formal complaints. Where would the poor Filipino people be without money from abroad?

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Antoine checked with some of the drivers about going to the police, but he was told the police would believe any story told by the Saudi employer and Madeline might get into a worse situation.”

I cried out, “Marci! What could be worse?”

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Nothing, Ma’am. Nothing. I did not know what to do. Antoine became frightened and said we could do nothing else. I finally wrote Madeline’s mother and told her of the situation and she went to the employment agency in Manila and was told to go away. She went to our mayor in our town and he said he was helpless. No one wanted to get involved.”

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Where is your friend now?”

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I received a letter from her only a month ago. I am thankful she was sent back to the Philippines at the end of her two-year contract. Two new Filipinos, younger than Madeline, had replaced her. Can you believe, Ma’am, Madeline was angry at me? She thought I had left her without trying to help.

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Please believe that I did all that I could. I wrote her a letter and explained all that happened. I have not received a reply.”

I could not say a word in defense of my countrymen. I stared into Marci’s face, at a loss.

She finally broke the silence. “And that, Ma’am, is what happened to my friend in this country.”

I could tell Marci was heartbroken for her friend. I myself was stricken with sorrow. How does a person respond to such a tale of horror? I could not. In shame at the men of my country, I no longer felt superior to the young girl who, only moments before was my servant, my inferior. Engulfed with remorse, I buried my head in my pillow and dismissed Marci with a flick of my hand. For many days, I was quiet and withdrawn; I thought of the myriad accounts of abuse that torture the minds of the people, both Saudis and foreigners, living in this land I call my home.

How many more Madelines are there, reaching out to uncaring souls and discovering the nothingness that is dressed in the official uniform of those paid to care? And the men of the Philippines, Marci’s land, were little better than the men of my country, for they fled from the face of personal involvement. When I awoke from my unsettling sleep of mortification, I began to interrogate my friends and ferret out their passivity regarding the fate of their female servants. Through my tenacity, I was inundated with firsthand accounts of unspeakable and vile acts committed by men of my culture against women from all nations.

I heard of Shakuntale from India, who at age thirteen was sold by her family for a sum of SR 600 ($170). She was worked by day and abused by night in much the same manner as the unsuspecting Madeline. But Shakuntale had been bought. She was property that would not be returned—Shakuntale could never go home again. She was the property of her tormentors.

I listened in horror as a mother laughingly dismissed the plight of her Thai maid who was raped at will by the son of the house. She said that her son needed sex, and that the sanctity of Saudi women forced the family to provide him with his own woman. Oriental women do not care whom they go to bed with, she stated with assurance. Boys are kings in the eyes of their mothers. Suddenly aware of pervasive evil, I asked Ali why he and Father traveled to Thailand and the Philippines three times a year. He scowled and told me it was none of my business. But I knew the answer, for many of the brothers and fathers of my friends made the same trek to the beautiful lands that sold their young girls and women to any beast with money.