"Mariam Ali, you have been found guilty of murder, for this the sentence is death by decapitation, to be carried out in thirty days, may The Most High have mercy on your soul," said the Cleric, Ahmad Ibn Youssef, speaking for the High Court of Saudi Arabia. And I looked at them with my head held high, from the pew of the accused. Even in Riyadh's criminal courts, segregation by sex is very much in effect and strictly enforced. Such is life, and death, in my homeland of Saudi Arabia.
"So be it," I replied without fear or shame, and I felt zero guilty for having murdered my sadistic brute of a husband, Ibrahim Wali, son of a prominent Wahabi preacher, in his sleep. All he did was brutalize me, in order to cure me of my western ways and defiant mindset. Apparently, my time spent studying business administration at Carleton University in the City of Ottawa, Capital of Canada, changed me as a woman. Much more than the average Saudi Arabian man cares to put up with...
I'm only five-foot-five, and weigh a hundred and seventeen pounds soaking wet. At my old school, my friends nicknamed me the Saudi Pixie. I was quite involved with the Muslim Scholars Association, where I rose to the rank of vice president. I've been told many times that although I'm a small woman, I have a booming voice. I used that same loud, fearless voice to address the Clerics, and they exchanged looks of consternation at my defiance.
I was led away in fetters by women working for the court, and taken to my cell. From there I was to be transported to Al Nisa Quarters, the women's wing of the Ulaysha Prison, in the City of Riyadh. From there, I would remain in my cell until the fateful day of my execution, where I would be beheaded before a gathering of court clerics, soldiers, as well as ordinary men and women. For defiant women like myself have to be made examples of.
As I was brought to my cell, I sat down at a corner of the cool, cramped room. In many ways it reminded me of my one-bedroom spot on Bronson Avenue, not far from the Carleton University campus in Ottawa. I remember those heady, wonderful days with great fondness. Not for the first time I lamented the fact that I gave in to the whims of tradition and returned to Saudi Arabia. Where would I be if I had followed my heart and chosen love instead of tradition? Not here, certainly. I'd be far away from this prison, probably in the arms of my beloved...
"Omar," I murmured, and a smile came to my face as I thought of the only man I've ever loved. I first met the big and tall, handsome young black man in the Carleton University library. He was working on an accounting paper and asked me if I could help. I'm really good with numbers and Omar had seen me work on similar papers as he walked by a few times. I looked at this handsome young man with the dopey smile, and wondered what he wanted from me...
"Sorry to bother you, ma'am, these accounting problems are kicking my butt, you seem to know this stuff, perhaps you can help me?" Omar asked, and I looked at him, smiled and nodded. Seated at my computer, I was on the Canadian immigration website, trying to renew my study permit since the international student office at Carleton University had sent me a warning that it was about to expire. I was quite busy with important things, and then this smiling, pretty-faced weirdo came along...
Normally, I am quite reserved around males, and it's not just because I'm a shy person but because of the social and cultural norms of the Kingdom of Saudi Arabia, where I was born and raised. Young men in my homeland don't casually approach young women they don't know to ask for help with mundane things. It's simply not done...and there are grave consequences for both sexes when they commit transgressions. The Mutaween, the religious police of Saudi Arabia, are utterly merciless. Trust me on that one.
"Salaam, sure, I'll help you, what is your name?" I asked, and Omar smiled and introduced himself. When the smiling young man held out his hand, I hesitated and then shook it. Again, I was breaking the rules of my faith and culture by touching an unrelated male, but I guess living in the City of Ottawa, Ontario, was beginning to affect me. Damn the westerners and their strange, at times weirdly wonderful ways, eh?
"Good to meet you, Mariam, you're a life saver," Omar said to me, after I basically did his Intro To Accounting homework for him. After he submitted the assignment to his prof via email, he logged onto his Facebook profile and asked me if I had one. I smiled and nodded, and he fired up a friend request. Whatever, I thought, for I seldom went on my Facebook account. I wished Omar a good day, then got up to get back to my seat.
