“And what do people say?” I asked, putting my drink down. The Turk replied this time, slowly in hushed, measured words. “Well, you would disappear,” the Englishman said crisply. The man from Istanbul wearing a pristine grey suit, leaned back into his leather seat, deferring to his British friend. “…So if I were to drive a car in Saudi Arabia I’d be arrested? And then – what?” I asked. I took a sip of my martini trying not to look too alarmed at what the two men were talking about. The Intercontinental was a hub for meetings between men like this, who traveled frequently and spoke several languages. I was wearing one of my silk evening gowns, sitting comfortably in a leather chair at a small table, having a drink with two business partners from different countries. The low-lit room had a long bar stretched across the back where a few affluent businessmen gathered to enjoy the music over a cocktail. It was the first month of my three-month contract as their resident jazz singer. The ambassador’s lounge at the Intercontinental Hotel. Daring to Drive: A Saudi Woman’s Awakening by Manal al-SharifĬairo Egypt, May 2001.
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