Married to the Sheikh (4 page)

“The waiting room is always full of patients desperate to see a doctor. Is tomorrow too early?”

“I can start now if you want.” Sarah was thrilled. She’d found a job within an hour. She couldn’t wait to go back and tell Akbar. She could prove to him that she didn’t need his stupid letter in order to work.

“That’s great!” the older woman said. If Sarah was thrilled, Alaa Al-Mashid looked even more pleased, doubtless because she had just gained a highly-qualified doctor to add to her staff. “First, you’ll need to fill out a few forms with some of your details. We can do that now if that’s okay.”

“Of course.” Sarah had all her certificates and the dates and details of all her training, as well as her passport with all of her visa details.

Alaa rummaged around the cluttered surface of her desk for a few minutes and finally located the necessary paperwork. She handed over a sheaf of papers to Sarah, along with a cheap black pen. Alaa said that she would leave Sarah to fill them in while she went out to get them both some tea and maybe a few cakes to celebrate.

After about fifteen minutes, Alaa returned with a small metal tray. On it were two glass cups of hot black tea and a chipped plate holding a small collection of local cakes made from pastry, honey, and pistachio nuts.

Sarah had just completed the last sheet of paper. She took a sip of the tea and then bit into one of the cakes. When she first arrived in Yazan, she found these cakes unbearably sweet; they were like eating pure sugar, but recently she’d developed quite a taste for them.

Alaa studied the forms that Sarah had filled in. She fiddled with her headscarf and began chewing on the end of her pen.

“Is something the matter?” Sarah asked.

“You wrote here that you’re married.” The woman pulled up her scarf and wrapped the ends of it tightly around her neck.

“That’s correct. I got married less than a month ago.” The cloying sugar of the cake seemed to stick in her throat. Sarah hoped that the woman wouldn’t ask to see a letter from Akbar.

“Congratulations! What’s your husband’s name?” Alaa held the chewed pen in her hand, ready to complete the form with the missing information.

“Akbar Al-Zafir.”

The colour slipped away from Alaa’s face. “Sheikh Akbar, leader of the Al-Zafir?”

“That’s correct. Is there a problem?”

“Your husband’s brother, Sheikh Omar Al-Zafir, murdered my husband,” the woman said in a voice that was little more than a whisper.

Sarah apologised on behalf of a brother-in-law she had never met.

“I was a young bride when it happened; newly married like yourself. The Al-Zafirs left me a widow, a woman that no one wanted.”

“Omar Al-Zafir is dead. He died of a heart attack before I even met his brother. I can assure you that Akbar isn’t like that. He wants to bring peace.”

“The Al-Zafirs will never bring peace. They’ve been at war with the other tribes for centuries.”

“No, really. He told me—he wants to change that.” Sarah tried to reassure the woman.

“Listen to me and take my advice. Find a way to get out of Yazan. Go back to your country. Forget about this place.”

“Thank you but I’m not leaving my husband. I just want a job. I want to work as a doctor and help people.”

“No one will give a job to the wife of Sheikh Akbar Al-Zafir. I doubt he’s even given you a letter of consent allowing you to work.”

Sarah reluctantly had to agree.

“I thought so and even if you had a letter, most clinics would be too scared to employ you, unless, of course, Sheikh Akbar himself told them to. Please, go home—go back to England.”

“So you won’t let me work here?” Sarah knew what the answer was, but she still had to ask.

“I’m sorry, but no. We really need a good doctor, but we don’t need the wife of the leader of the Al-Zafirs.”

Sarah thanked the woman for her time and left. She tried various other clinics, but everywhere the answer was the same: they wouldn’t employ her. Some people were honest and said the same as Alaa; others were more covert. As soon as they found out who Sarah was, vacancies suddenly no longer existed. One interviewer said that there was a problem with her paperwork but refused to explain what, though by then, Sarah had a pretty good idea what the problem was. She tried filling in forms using her maiden name and stating that she was single, but word spread quickly and everyone seemed to know that there was a blonde, British doctor who was looking for a job and who was also the wife of Sheikh Al-Zafir.

After three days, Sarah finally admitted defeat. She wasn’t going to get a job in the capital. She sat, hot and tired, in her flat, and wondered what she should do next. Without a job, she would have to give up her flat as she would no longer be able to afford the rent and she very much doubted that Akbar would give her the money for it. She had enough money in her local bank account to pay the next month’s rent but after that, she’d have to start using her savings in the UK. Sarah knew that keeping the flat was an unnecessary expense that she would have to give up, at least in the short term until she sorted out her work situation.

She wondered what she would do with all her things. Most of what she owned would look wildly out of place in a Bedouin tent. However, much of it was of little or no value, such as the pictures she’d bought in the local market, which weren’t really that attractive; she’d just bought them to cover some of the empty wall space. She’d also bought a few local rugs but they were of such inferior quality compared to the ones that Akbar had given her that there was no point in hanging on to them. She could easily take her jewellery with her as it wouldn’t take up much space, but her books would be more of a problem. Maybe they could be kept in one of the few wooden chests that the Bedouin owned and which they used for storing bedding and clothes. She wondered where they kept their books. The more she thought about it, the more she realised that she hadn’t seen any books anywhere in the camp. However, as many of the women in Yazan were illiterate, especially among the Bedouin, it wasn’t all that surprising. Maybe she could teach a few of them to read and write. The next day she would speak to her landlord about the flat and then she would buy some supplies, such as pens, pencils, and paper, and head back to the camp.

When she arrived back at her tent late the next day, Fatima told her that her son wanted to see her immediately. Sarah didn’t like being told where to go and she didn’t want to see Akbar. She knew that he would be angry because she’d been away for several days, but she was angry with him, too. Because of him, she had to give up a good job and was now unemployable. She was interested in teaching the local women how to read and write, and she was willing to tend to their medical needs, but it was hardly the same as a hospital career. She therefore stayed in her tent and accepted Onnab’s offer of some food. Onnab was technically a servant, who waited on Fatima and her daughters, but Sarah thought of her as more of a friend and she regularly shocked the other women by asking Onnab to sit and eat with her.

Sarah and Onnab were just finishing a plate of flat bread, soft cheese, and dates when Sheikh Akbar called out in front of her tent, asking whether he could come in. Immediately, Onnab started clearing away her plate.

“Sit down and finish your food,” Sarah said.

Akbar called out again. “Please, will you let me come in? I want to see you.” He didn’t sound angry or belligerent.

Sarah called out that she was busy and told him to wait. Akbar agreed and told her that he’d wait as long as she asked. Sarah helped herself to another plateful of food and served some to Onnab as well. Once they’d completely finished, Sarah called out to Akbar, telling him to come in.

When he walked into the tent, he blinked several times. The tent was relatively dark compared to the white light of the sun outside and it took him a while to adjust to the change. Sarah could see the sweat dripping down his face. He’d been waiting outside her tent in the sun for a while. She was sorry that she’d made him wait so long, especially as he looked genuinely pleased to see her. She reached over and poured him a glass of lukewarm mint tea.

“I’m sorry the tea isn’t very hot, but you look thirsty,” she said as she handed it to him.

“I only have one thirst and it’s for you,” he replied.

Sarah heard Onnab scuttling out of the tent.

“I’m so relieved that you’re back,” he continued. “I was worried that I had lost you. Maybe someone had taken you. Maybe you had gone off with another man. Maybe you had left me.” He tried to wrap his arms around her, but she held her distance. She was glad that he wasn’t angry with her, but it would take a bit more than standing in the sun to stop her being angry with him.

“I didn’t leave you. I went to look for a job,” she replied.

“I know, I know, but you were gone for so long and this is a dangerous country.”

“I wasn’t gone very long and you know where my flat is in the capital. You knew where to find me.”

“And what would you have said if I’d turned up looking for you? You would’ve told me to leave you alone.”

Sarah could hardly disagree with him. Instead, she just repeated that she’d been looking for a job.

“And did you find one?” he asked.

“No. Apparently no one’s willing to employ the wife of Sheikh Akbar Al-Zafir.”

“And why not? The ignorant dogs! You’re an excellent doctor. Is there something wrong with them? What’s the problem?”

“The problem is that I’m your wife. Everyone’s too scared to employ me.”

“My brother, Sheikh Omar, was a great man. He brought power and prestige to the Al-Zafirs, but it came at a price.”

“I tried to tell people that you wanted peace, but they didn’t believe me.”

“You see what I am up against, but I hope that with your help, I can show people that the Al-Zafirs are no longer a people to be feared, but a people to be respected.”

“But how are you going to do that?”

 “By not killing their sons, not stealing their camels, and not raping their wives for a start. I’ve been thinking; maybe, if you’re willing, you could go to the other tribes and help their women in the same way that you’ve helped my mother and some of the other women here. Perhaps that would show them that we want to be peaceful.”

When Sarah first met Akbar’s mother, Fatima, she had a severe leg wound which Sarah had treated simply by cleaning it up and giving her a basic course of antibiotics. Since then, Sarah had treated several other people in the camp for various illnesses ranging from a toothache which required an extraction, to treating headaches with paracetamol. Sarah wondered how many other women were suffering from similar, but treatable, complications and illnesses in the other tribes.

“Maybe together, we as a couple could show everyone that we’re here to bring peace.” She liked the idea of them being a team and working together as a pair: a partnership of equals. “How would I approach the other tribes?” she asked.

“You could start with the friendliest tribes, the ones that came to our wedding and then as your reputation grew, other people would let you come to them.”

“But how would you feel about me travelling around this dangerous country?” She couldn’t understand why he would encourage her to do this, but wouldn’t let her work at the hospital.

“Some of my men could come with you.”

“As bodyguards?”

“Yes, but also to negotiate your access to the women’s tents.”

Sarah could see the sense in that. Sarah could hardly walk into a strange Bedouin camp and ask to meet some of the women.

“What if you came, too? While I treat anyone who needs help, you could sit with the men, talk to them, and show them that we want to be friends with them.”

“I thought you wanted your independence. I thought you wanted to get away from me.”

“No, never! I just want to work as a doctor.”

“And you will. You will be the greatest doctor that the Bedouin have ever had. You’ll also be the mother of great sons.” He slowly ran his hands over her breasts, down to her belly. He lifted up the hem of her blouse so that her stomach was exposed and began kissing it.

That night, Sarah didn’t bother to take her contraceptive pill and a few weeks later, she threw the remaining packets away.

It was mid-morning when they arrived at the camp of the Mansoori tribe. Sheikh Akbar said that several of the Mansooris had attended their wedding, though Sarah couldn’t see a single familiar face.

They brought a camel with them as a gift in return for the wedding presents they had received and the first half of the visit was spent discussing the animal. All the men agreed that the camel was a very fine specimen. It had good teeth, large beautiful eyes, and soft golden hair. Everyone patted it and admired it as if they were discussing a glamour model and not an imposing beast with a foul temper.

Finally, the camel was taken away to get some food and water, and the head of the tribe, an older man with a long shaggy beard, invited Sheikh Akbar into his tent and Sarah was invited to visit his wife, Neema.

When Sarah walked into Neema’s tent, the first thing she noticed was how dilapidated it was. Instead of a multitude of bolsters and cushions on richly woven rugs, there were just a few large pillows lying on threadbare carpets. It certainly didn’t appear to be the tent of a sheikh’s wife, but Sarah knew that she was in the correct one as it was full of women sitting in a line along the far side, staring at her, with the sheikh’s wife perched in the middle on a noticeably higher cushion.