Authors: Sadie Mills
But he missed Eve. Every time they left the compound, usually to go to Al Baik's (Aziz, it transpired, was a fried chicken addict), Aziz would hand over his phone. Ben would turn it on.
No new messages
. He wanted to ring her, but he couldn't - not with Aziz ear wigging. It was going to be a difficult conversation as it was, let alone with Dear Deirdre sitting there. The guy had an opinion on everything.
'I need to get out of here,' Ben sighed, lying on his bed, still waiting for Aziz. He hadn't been kidding about the Saudi concept of time, or lack of. He'd promised faithfully to come back in five minutes. Ben was still waiting an hour later.
He felt like a prisoner. He knew it was mostly self-imposed. The door wasn't locked, he could come and go as he pleased. Despite the best efforts of his hosts, he still felt like an outsider. The barrier was the language.
The Prince, Omar, Aziz - even the driver, always spoke to him in English, translated some of their conversations out of politeness. But they couldn't translate everything. Ben spent a lot of the time in the dark.
He'd picked up a handful of phrases.
Inshallah
, that meant 'God willing'. They all used that one a lot.
Ben could leave the compound any time he liked, so long as he took Aziz with him. Having a second shadow was driving him nuts. He was free to go, yet still contained, being followed everywhere.
Not to say he disliked Aziz, he seemed a nice enough guy, but Ben was used to working alone. All of the shoots he'd ever been on, he'd never really wanted to do more than veg out at the hotel once they'd wrapped it up. The palace was more luxurious than any hotel he'd ever stayed at - here was his white marble and golden pavements, with bells on. But Ben was bored. He wanted to escape, explore, take photographs - wander around and get lost. He knew they were doing it for his protection, probably, mostly. It's funny how much we crave something when it's taken away.
There came a knock at the door.
'Come in,' said Ben, getting up.
'Sorry for late,' said Aziz, placing the leather case down carefully on the desk. 'One laptop...' He reached to the top pocket of his white throbe. 'One phone,' he said, sliding it on top with a smile.
'Thanks Aziz. That's great.'
'The Prince say please be ready at the palace mosque at ten o'clock. He just needs a few photographs of the nikah. Don't worry. It's very short. One hour maximum and you will be finished.'
'...I thought there was a big dinner after the ceremony?'
'Ah sorry, my friend.' Aziz gave an awkward smile. 'There will be, but you and I are not invited.'
Ben frowned.
'The bride will be there. They have a special female photographer for that.'
Ben was dumbfounded.
'Who's to know. Maybe the groom feels threatened by your dancing,' Aziz said with a laugh and a waggle of the hips. '...Don't worry, Benjamin. This is normal here.'
Ben hadn't done many weddings, maybe a couple of dozen, but this was the only one where he hadn't got a single snap of the bride.
'Benjamin... When The Prince say 10pm, in this case, it really does mean 10pm. Don't be late.'
He had a nerve.
Aziz paused by the door, gesturing to the laptop.
'There is wifi at the palace,' he said quietly. 'You will get a connection.'
'Thanks,' said Ben.
'
Monitored
wifi. You understand me, Ben? You remember the things I say are not allowed?'
Ben rubbed his head. He sort of remembered, sort of didn't.
'You know, we are not so different in Saudi Arabia. We have chatrooms, those kinds of women... They give you their number, get you to call them, say sexy things - sometimes even get naked for the webcam...'
'...Aziz!'
'I just telling you! Maybe they going to want to meet you...'
Aziz fixed Ben's dumbfounded stare.
'Don't do it, my friend,' he said, lowering his voice. 'It will get you into big trouble.'
'...Aziz! The only person I'll be ringing is my g...' Ben paused. He wasn't sure which way was up anymore. '...My friend,' he said quietly. 'My friend, at home... Hallas!'
'...Hallas?'
'Hallas!'
'Oh, you are learning well Benjamin! We will have you speaking like a real Arab in no time! Mashi, mashi. I will see you later. Marsalam.'
'Marsalam.'
It was too early to ring her. She'd still be at work. He'd have to do it when they got back. Ben lay back on his bed and unzipped the laptop case. He switched it on and waited for it to load up.
He had a good mind to type 'MOSSAD' into his internet browser - see how long it took before the knock at the door. He didn't doubt that Aziz was telling the truth. They were watching him, he was sure. Ever since his arrival, he'd been afraid to break wind. He felt there was constantly someone looking over his shoulder.
He stroked the laptop, reassured by the familiar Windows start-up jingle. Finally, access to the real world. He was still far from it, but he didn't feel quite so cut off anymore.
Ben arrived at the nikah in good time. He got some good shots of the palace mosque. The huge dome gleaming white in the moonlight, surrounded by date palms, a warm yellow glow spilling from the archways and windows.
Ben had to remove his shoes and socks before he went in. The floor was cold underfoot, patterned with bright geometric mosaics. There were only a dozen or so men there. They were all dressed traditionally, all in white - the headgear, the flowing throbes. Ben stuck out like a sore thumb in his navy suit.
Omar looked different tonight. He seemed pensive - anxious even. Ben took a few shots as he stood before the Imam with the bride's father, but he didn't like doing it. He felt it was an intrusion. There was no roudy music or dancing here, the mood was solemn; tense.
The Imam was an old guy with a wiry grey beard, wild eyebrows, surprisingly softly spoken. He gave a reading from Koran, exchanged a few words with Omar and the bride's father. They went off to sign the papers. And that was that, Ben realised. He awkwardly took a few more shots. The whole thing took no more than twenty minutes. The ceremony was over, and not a woman in sight. Not even the bride.
However much of an oddity Ben felt, he suddenly realised, the women on this continent were less than that. They were invisible. He'd only seen one since he entered the palace.
One Thousand and One Days...
No wonder Turandot was so uptight. Imagine the helplessness of it - being married off to someone you'd never met? Omar had never seen her - he'd said as much the previous night.
It didn't sit right with Ben. She could be a kid, for fuck's sake. He lowered his camera, suddenly feeling complicit to something very wrong. He wanted to bolt. He wished he'd never come.
He felt a hand on his left shoulder, another wrap tightly around his right hand; bristles, a kiss on his cheek.
Ben breathed in the aroma of frankincense and rose petals.
'Thank you so much for coming.'
'...You're welcome, Your Highness.'
The Prince led him out of the mosque, trailing behind the other men.
'You know, I realise that all of this must be very strange to you...'
His black eyebrows danced as he spoke. He smoothed his goatee with his forefinger.
Ben gave a pensive smile.
'It's the first wedding I've been to without a bride.'
He'd overstepped the mark. He knew it instantly. When he turned to The Prince, Ben was surprised to find him smiling.
'You are a straight talker Benjamin! I like that... But I can assure you, all the horror stories you hear in the West? Most of them are just that. Stories.
'Omar's bride is very smart. She's just graduated from university. She majored in medicine. Inshallah, she is bright enough to make her own choices in life. Let's credit her with enough intelligence to do that.'
Ben nodded back at him.
'We have our own customs here, but it isn't all like this. Some of my brothers wives don't wear the veil... Some I think don't like to wear very much at all! No. It is all down to the individual - the upbringing, the family. Benjamin, I believe in progress, but not at the people's expense. If my wife wanted to take off the veil, I have no problem at all. But she doesn't want to - this is the point!
'It's no good trying to force change on people who don't want it. They will hate you for it in the end. Maybe what you consider a freedom, they consider a curse? Who's to say who is right and who is wrong?'
Ben was all for freedom of choice. The French face veil ban was outright xenophobia. But imagine, never feeling the sun on your face? Spending your life peering through a slit, covered in black? If people can't see your face, how can you communicate with the world? How can anyone tell whether you're happy or sad?
Maybe a lot of it was self-imposed. Maybe it was just like Ben's solitary confinement at the palace: the door was open, he was just too afraid to go through it? But the paranoia about illicit sex, the segregation, Aziz's stupid comments about 'sharmootas'. A lot of that was patriarchal. He didn't imagine Aziz being OK with his wife not being 'covered' any time soon. He was a small town guy with a small town mentality - there must be millions like him beyond the city walls, even within them. He couldn't dislike Aziz for it - how could you expect any different when that was all the guy had ever known? The Prince could be as forward-thinking as he liked, but if Aziz's narrow outlook was representative of the Saudi people, trying to implement change would just be swimming against the tide.
There was a crowd of men waiting outside the mosque, hugging Omar, kissing him. The Prince excused himself to greet the guests. Ben got to work again with his SLR. Omar was all smiles now - much more relaxed. Ben could hear music thumping from the palace, shrieking, ululation. The high-pitched tongue trill of women of the Middle East - it was deafening. His camera slumped around his neck, he put his hands over his ears. He felt an arm around his shoulder. The Prince was grinning at him.
'We Arab men like to party, Benjamin,' he shouted. 'But believe me, we are nothing compared to the women! Now, we must go. We must get this groom to his bride. But thank you. Thank you for all your hard work.'
Ben shook his hand.
'I'll get these edited tonight,' Ben shouted back, his voice cracking with the strain. 'I'll leave a disc for you and FedEx the hardcopies. They should be with you in a week.'
The Prince patted his back.
'It's OK Benjamin, there is no hurry - relax. We will discuss it tomorrow.'
Ben rubbed his head, smiling politely.
'...You must see the desert before you leave,' The Prince told him.
Ben was half excited, half terrified.
Never refuse an invitation...
'Thank you, Your Highness. That's... that's very kind.'
10.33pm. Aziz wasn't kidding when he said it wouldn't take long. Ben stood in the shower, warm water pouring down his face, spitting gulps from his mouth. It was his third shower today - he'd never felt so clean. His skin was starting to squeak. That's the thing about the desert. It is arid. It is a dry heat, yes. The breeze feels nice on your skin. But along with it comes the dust - it permeates your clothes. At 30 degrees, it sticks to you in seconds.
'Dirty Arab'
- where does that come from?
W
udhu seemed a meticulous business. Muslims wash before prayers, brush their teeth. They pray five times a day. For all the soap and fancy after shave, in Western terms, that's verging on OCD.
He turned off the shower and came out of the frosted glass cubicle, gingerly stepping across the beige marble. He wrapped a little white towel around his waist.
Ben studied himself in the mirror. He needed a shave. He was too tired - he let it go, sprayed himself with antiperspirant, paused. He heard a knock at the door.
'...Who is it?'
'Oh, Mr Benjamin!'
Ben balked. It was woman's voice.
'I have something for you...'
'...I'm OK thanks,' he said gruffly. 'Just leave it outside.'
Ben froze, his heart in his mouth.
The door opened anyway.
A foot appeared; a thonged sandal. It proceeded to glide up the inside of the mahogany door. It wasn't a nice foot. Ben saw hair on the big toe; a swarthy calf; a very hairy leg.
He heard a deep laugh, booming from the hallway.
'...Aziz!'
Ben reached for a pillow. It landed against the door with a thud. He heard a clatter on the other side.
Aziz traipsed in, carrying a large tray. He laughed to himself, setting the tray down.
'Sorry!' he said playfully. 'I could not help myself The Prince, he send this to you... He say to tell you, he is very sorry about tonight, but we going to have a good day tomorrow.'