PRINCESS ISABEL is getting married. There is much excitement at the palace. As tradition dictates, Mona and I are given exquisite pieces of material for our dresses and we are told we may choose our own designs. The material given to me is heavy with crystals and little pearls. On top of that, we are each given money to buy matching accessories like handbags, sandals and costume jewellery.
We organise a visit to the Princess’s dressmaker, Madam Lorraine. At her premises on the other side of the city, we go through many international design magazines. In the photos that show spaghetti-strap dresses, the arms are blacked out. I narrow it down to three designs, leaving Madam Lorraine to advise me on the final choice for the elaborate and heavy material.
Despite her limited English, she and I agree on a design and she takes my measurements in a curtained cubicle. One week later, we are called for a last fitting. The dress looks exquisite. Mona and I take samples of our material to shop for accessories. Sultan takes us to a shoe and handbag shop the size of a rugby field. He finds a parking space in the shade and puts his seat down before we are out of the vehicle. There is no rush.
We walk up and down the long aisles, overwhelmed by the variety of styles, until we are both happy with our choices. Next stop, an accessory shop. One whole corner of this large store has shelves from ground to ceiling filled only with tiaras. We are in the Kingdom of Arabia, after all.
Two weeks later, our outfits ready and heady with anticipation, the big day arrives. We are given the day off but have to be at the palace at nine in the evening. Mona is in a good mood and we laugh and joke as we get ready. I feel like Cinderella – though the wedding only starts at midnight. I am at least three inches taller in the stiletto sandals I bought for the wedding. First time in high heels in years. What was I thinking?
There is chaos as we arrive at the palace. Hairdressers, makeup artists and tailors jostle around the royals, pampering them. As I briefly pass my princess in one of the passages in the main palace, she scowls and doesn’t return my greeting.
Eventually, at half past eleven, we make our way outside to the fleet of luxury cars. Each driver stands next to his car and waits. Tonight my princess travels with her family and the staff travel separately. For a moment, she stands next to me, and I compliment her on how lovely she looks. She hardly acknowledges me but I know the unspoken apprehension she feels about this wedding.
We arrive at the hotel at midnight. Three thousand guests are invited but as women and men don’t mix socially, 1 500 women will gather in one hall with 1 500 men in another.
The hall is breathtaking – the largest I’ve ever seen – with trees full of blossoms and fairy lights in keeping with the summer theme. The women’s outfits are even more breathtaking. Never have I seen anything as beautiful. Jewels hang like chandeliers from their ears, and are tucked into their hair. Diamonds the size of apricots hang from their necks. Each woman’s dress and set of jewels outdoes the next.
The Filipino staff settles in at the back of the hall as Mona and I are shown to our section further to the front. As we take our seats, I see the person who emptied the contents of my purse on day one. I glare at her for the briefest moment before she looks away. I think she got the message that I know it was her. Did I pay for the elaborate dress she is wearing?
Servants dressed uniformly in beautiful tunics and trousers circle the hall with trays of snacks – mostly sweet biscuits and chocolates made from cashew or pistachio nuts, a great favourite in the Middle East. It will keep us going for a while but the nuts have stuck in my teeth and there isn’t a toothpick in sight. I don’t dare smile at anyone, and try to dislodge the offending particles without looking like a masticating cow.
Several servants spread smoke from incense burners they swing around as they walk. A fog now hangs over everything. Incense is burnt every day in every palace. The women stand in front of the incense burners and fan the smoke into their faces, one going as far as to take the incense holder from a servant to place it under her skirt for a couple of seconds. I watch this through teary eyes – I am not used to the smoke.
Two hours later, the bride still has not made an entrance. It is two in the morning. Mona and I have not moved off our chairs. As exciting as it is watching all the goings on, the fight against nodding off becomes a challenge. Yet this time of the morning is the peak hour for socialising for most Saudis.
The women dance with one another, fully aware that they are being observed in all their splendor. The Arabian music pulses loudly through the hall, making conversation difficult.
I watch my princess as she joins the Amira on the dance floor. I feel so proud of her. She is a vision in her pink floaty designer gown. Her hair is worn swept up with little tendrils hanging down. I know how much looking good for this meant to her; with exercise and a special diet, she had lost about five kilograms. I also know the wedding can’t be easy for her.
At quarter to three, everyone takes a seat as the bright lights suddenly dim. All eyes are on the long aisle the bride will walk down to get to the stage where there are seven thrones decorated in fairy lights and flowers. The effect is stunning.
At three, there is a drum roll. Princess Isabel appears in the large doorway that is lit up with blue ultraviolet lights. She stands alone. Her dress is magnificent – a soft blue that shimmers in the light with a train about three metres long. Her hair is swept up, held in place by crystals, with a few curls hanging loose. Suddenly there is a shrill noise as every servant starts ululating.
Princess Isabel takes three steps then stops. She looks from left to right with a serene smile on her face, then after about thirty seconds, takes another three steps and stops. This is repeated as she makes her way to the stage – it takes her an eternity to get there. The bride climbs the stairs and sits on the throne as family and close friends come up to greet her.
The back doors of the hall open to reveal the Amir, Prince Abdullah, Prince Khalid and at last, the groom. The men look straight ahead as they make their way to the stage. Some of the women either cover their faces or turn away as the men pass them. Once on the stage, the men stay for only 30 minutes as the immediate family comes up to congratulate them.
The groom takes his bride’s arm and leads her out of the hall. The ululation is deafening. Princess Isabel has four maids carrying her long train as it fans out. She looks so regal until one of the maids accidently steps on her train. The princess turns around and viciously snaps at the poor girl. It is undignified and the onlookers are silent, waiting to see what will happen next. The prince visibly tugs on her arm before the princess turns and proceeds out of the hall. I spot the servant girl who stepped on the train coming back into the hall with red eyes. Did Princess Isabel deal with her once out of the hall? Probably.
For the next two hours, nothing much happens. At five, the guests slowly make their way into the adjoining restaurant. At half past six, we are called in. The restaurant is huge. I have never before seen so much food under one roof; over a hundred different dishes line the periphery of the entire restaurant – and these are just the main courses. Every imaginable dish is there – besides pap and wors and obviously no pork.
The large round dessert table dominates the centre of the restaurant. A two-metre high pyramid of strawberries is surrounded by every desert you can think of.
After an hour, Mona and I make our way back to our seats, refuelled to the brink but dangerously sleepy. The music is still loud, but now, it is grating rather than stimulating. The bridal couple has long since gone so Mona and I hope that the crowd will start thinning. No such luck – the dancing and festivities continue. At half past nine, when I really think I cannot stay awake any longer, my princess calls me over, looking as fresh and lovely as when we left home at midnight. I cannot say the same of myself.
“Mrs C, we are leaving now so after we have gone, you and Mona may go home.” I thank her. I am ready to kiss her feet. Just before I turn around, I smile at her and say, “Your Highness, thank you for allowing me to share in this beautiful evening.” She smiles broadly.
Mona and I leave the hall in high spirits. The blinding sunlight hits hard. Today is Friday but I can’t imagine we will see much of this day. My feet blistered by the high heels, I get out of the car barefoot. My body aches from sitting for so long in a dress that weighs at least 20 kilograms. Once I take it off, I realise quite how cumbersome it is, as afterwards I feel as if I am levitating. I am asleep before my head hits the pillow, smudged make up and all.
Two days later, Mona and I are getting ready for work when the princess calls Mona. She is outside our compound waiting in the car. She gets off the phone,“For fuck’s sakes!” she shouts as she throws her phone down on the couch. “Arabella is outside and she wants to me to go with her to a store but I am not supposed to tell you,” she spits out. She is livid, as she has not yet showered and her hair is standing up in spikes. “So why did you tell me?” I ask. She does not respond. My only thought is, “Rather you than me.”
The princess arrives back at the villa three hours after I have started my work day. She has no packages, which I find strange. No sooner does she settle in her room when Mona makes an appearance and closes the princess’s door after she enters.
I get a text message from the princess to say that I may go. I don’t hesitate.