Writing East of Mecca

“Hello darkness, my old friend.

I’ve come to talk with you again.”

~ Paul Simon

For the past few months I have been working on a second edition of East of Mecca. It will include reviews from Amazon and Goodreads and discussion questions for book clubs. Also included is a “second edition afterword” where I address the question I have been most asked since the original publication in 2013, “Haven’t things improved for Saudi women since you lived there in the late 1980’s?”

The simple and tragic answer is, “No.” Circumstances have worsened for Saudi women—and for Muslim women and girls worldwide. Because of culturally-sanctioned honor violence and radical Islamic terrorist groups, gender apartheid against women has reached epic proportions.

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Last week I wrote about the importance of women in my life—especially as supporters of my book, East of Mecca, and of me in my relatively new career as a writer. This week I want to acknowledge the critical role men have played in my life as a writer—and to express my gratitude.

It was a man who first suggested that my story be told as a movie, after hearing my experiences in Saudi Arabia. The idea appealed to me as a way of accomplishing my mission to enlighten a large audience about the appalling circumstances of women living within the Kingdom. I decided to tell the story in a way that would create a sense of empathy for those who live their lives hidden beneath veils and behind walls.

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First, there was a dream—written in black ink in a spiral notebook—Northwestern University printed in purple across the cover.

My husband tells me that an ancient women’s creed part of the Koran is being carried across the desert by two women on horseback and coming into town.  He orders me to get the story.

I climb into a small white pickup truck and drive a long way into the desert on a road heavily fenced on either side.  It is sweltering hot—my hair is in a pony tail, but sweat drips from my bangs and runs down my face.  At the end of the road is a checkpoint with three male guards who make me sign off the road.  They give me clipboard and a pen, but the pen isn’t working and it takes me three attempts to sign my name.

After the checkpoint, I mount a horse and ride across the desert until I arrive at a ranch.  There, I wait and watch until the two women ride up on horses.  The women are very old.  White scarves wrap their heads, framing tan, wizened faces.  White flowing clothing covers their arms and legs and they wear leather sandals.  They ride up to me and stop.  Their dark eyes regard me silently.  After looking me up and down, they exchange glances then solemnly pass me a colorful woven bag containing the piece of the Koran.

The dream is dated October 17, 1985.  Twenty-eight years ago today.  Four years before I went to Saudi Arabia.  Before I knew Saudi was in my future.  Before I had any exposure to Islam or understanding of the Koran.

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When East of Mecca officially went into publication on June 6th, my friend Robbi asked  how I felt and it was impossible to articulate.  I’ve felt “finished” so many times before. Now it feels like the book is somewhere out there in the ether.  It won’t feel real until I’m holding it in my hands.  And already there is so much to do moving forward.  Showing up in public.  Talking about my book.  Pushing myself far beyond my comfort zone.  The train has left the station and is quickly gathering speed, but I don’t know my destination.

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