The tearoom scene which met my eye looked like a page out of a book whose figures came to life as we approached, for the women were wearing the old-fashioned clothes of Arabia, pantaloons and long overdresses with high collars fastened by gold studs ...
The tearoom scene which met my eye looked like a page out of a book whose figures came to life as we approached, for the women were wearing the old-fashioned clothes of Arabia, pantaloons and long overdresses with high collars fastened by gold studs on a chain, and no makeup on their faces except for a lining of kohl on their dark eyes.
\For someone who had not even known where Saudi Arabia was a few years back I was assuredly now in a unique position. No one of my kind had entered this country before as a member of one of its families. I belonged.]
It was 1945, and Marianne Alireza, who had spent almost her entire life in California, had moved to Saudi Arabia with her new husband, Ali. Suddenly she was a member of an Arabian family, veiled and cloaked like a biblical figure, thousands of miles and two centuries from home.
For twelve years Marianne Alireza lived in a harem, a female group composed of her mother-in-law, sisters-in-law, and various servants. Men outside the family could not penetrate the harem, and women could never join the men socially or be seen in public without veils. Here, in a world both luxurious and humble, she raised her children and grew
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