Sariah is a real princess from The Kingdom Of Black Gold. Her powerful father, one of the richest men in Africa, according to The Forbes List, gave her as a present to be married to a member of The Royal Family when she was a very young teenage girl. Sariah has a big dream: She wants to go to school, have an education and live a free live of her own choosing. One day she comes to London and falls in love. She is only fourteen but she forgets who she is, where she comes from: a married Arabian Princess! Back home in The Kingdom Of Black Gold, Sariah finds out that she is pregnant. The only person she can trust is her maid Khatiba. Together they plan to stay in London on Sariah’s next visit. After giving birth to her daughter in London she seeks asylum in Britain. But is The Black Gold of higher priority for Britain’s Prime Minister? She can’t go back home – she fears for her life and the life of her child, being beheaded or stoned to death back in The Kingdom Of Black Gold…
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AN ARABIAN PRINCESS
Original Edition © Copyright Delilah Jay, Annette Juengling
www.delilah-jay.comfacebook.com/delilah.jay125Twitter @jaydelilahYouTube delilah jay
Delilah Jayc/o Pellybay Films GmbHAn der Alster 1820099 HamburgGermany
Phots/Pictures © Frank Zauritzwww.frankzauritz.com
Cover Layout 2015 by Nicole Lakawww.nima-typografik.de
Layout & Production 2015 by Anita Boeningwww.typo-im-fluss.de
I dedicate my novel
“An Arabian Princess”
Sara & Amani
With full respect and honour from my heart.
All events described in this book are fictitious.
Similarities to living or dead persons were coincidental and not intended.
The reason I started writing novels was the overpowering wish I felt when I was a teenager.
Telling the stories about extraordinary protagonists expresses my deep desire for justice. I met innocent women and children who were abused by their families, their husbands, a religion, the Mafia or even the media – in short words: By the rich and powerful of this planet.
An Arabian Princess
Somewhere in the Middle East there is a country between the Blue Sea and the Persian Gulf. The two seas smoothly create a border to other Arabic countries. The Blue Sea has the deepest royal blue colour anyone can imagine. This Arabian peninsula is the size of Western Europe and many years ago a handsome, charismatic patriarch, who might have stepped right out of “One Thousand and One Nights” took over this piece of land between the two seas. His name was Ahmed Al-Assudi and he was born to conquer his empire.
He was often seen as a Lawrence of Arabia but actually he was much stronger and more successful than Lawrence. He was a conquerer, a visionary. He succeeded in every battle. He killed the governor of the largest town and then married his daughter. But as this wasn’t enough for him, he carried on to conquer the whole country racing on his beautiful white camels across the desert. He took over the Holy Place of his country and charged muslim pilgrims from all over the Middle East to enter the Holy Place.
Later he named his conquered land The Kingdom of Black Gold and proclaimed himself the King. Some years later fewer pilgrims were able to afford to come to the Holy Places in the golden Kingdom, due to the depression and King Ahmed found himself in financial difficulties. All of a sudden an American oil company offered him a sum of 200.000 US dollars. Ahmed consulted the British ambassador in the Kingdom of Black Gold who said: “Just take it. There isn’t any oil there anyway and if these stupid Americans want to pay you the money for nothing then go for it.” So he accepted the deal and only found out later that his Kingdom had huge resources of oil – the Black Gold. The Americans sent their oil drillers and workers into the country but not for long as the men had to be called into service for the Second World War.
“America faces crisis in oil!” – so the newspaper headlines said. After the war ended there were hardly any oil reserves in the US.
The American President invited King Ahmed to meet him and the king went to the US even though he suffered from severe arthritis. He was so disabled that the President offered him a wheelchair. In further discussions The President talked to the king about the Jews and how badly they had been treated by the Germans during the war. He asked if the king would be able to give the Jews a homeland? The king looked straight into the President’s face and said:
“Yes, it was terrible what had happened to the Jews but why couldn’t Germany give the Jews a homeland because it wasn’t the Palestinians who caused The Holocaust, they never would.” The President promised the king he would be consulted in the future regarding the homeland issue for a decision but the President died shortly after this. The next President of the United States of America supported the UN resolution for the creation of the state of Israel without consulting the King.
American Oil companies made a deal with the King who considered the Black Gold as his personal property and the Kingdom changed from one of the poorest countries into one of the richest in the world.
With the immense wealth came a hugely luxurious lifestyle …
“This is a part of the history of the country of gold, of the black gold. I was married to a member of the Royal Family of the Kingdom of Black Gold. My name is Sariah which means princess and I am a real Royal Highness, an Arabian Princess!”
“Hey, mum! Turn the page! This is Aamina’s mum in the newspaper! I know her!” Feliciano, my son, shouts out loud. We are on a flight from London to Berlin and I am reading today’s newspaper.
“She is so nice. I really like her!” Felix, so I call him in short form, lets me know. I turn the page carefully trying not to spill the coffee over my white dress and read the headline
PRINCESS IN A VEIL GAVE WRONG IDENTITY
Next to this a photograph of Sariah, Aamina’s mum. Yes, Felix is right! We know her and she is such a lovely gentle lady. Felix went to school with Aamina some years ago in Chelsea and I remember when the two of them had play dates or met at the kid’s birthday parties. Sariah, Aamina, Felix and I had lunch a few times around Knightsbridge. So what is this all about?
I carry on reading …
They call her ‘the Princess in the veil’ and she has been accused of conning a property developer in Knightsbridge. She even might be sent out of the country … I can’t believe it!
“Mum, I’d like to see her again and Aamina! Please …!” Felix is begging me.
“Hang on. Let me read this.”
The paper doesn’t even know her age, so they write. But they accuse her of not being a princess, a Royal Highness. Oh I can testify to that! She is a princess, a real princess! She came to London asking for refugee status which she finally got after ten years of being in the country.
I remember that …Sariah was waiting a long time in London without a passport for herself and her daughter Aamina. It was very hard for her staying here waiting without knowing what will happen to her and her child. Then finally they got their passports and I remember how happy she was. The first holiday the two of them made was to Disneyland in Paris. Aamina was so excited!
Now I get back to the article in the newspaper and try to ignore my memories of Knightsbridge days hopping around Harrods and Harvey Nichols buying clothes for the children, going to one of the Sushi places or just chilling out with a mezze platter smoking a shisha and having a chai.
The newspaper says a certain Mrs. Chatterbox told the courts that Sariah is a penniless princess. She saw herself as being the victim in a court case where she claims that the princess robbed her fiancé by getting some blocks of apartments in the streets behind Harrods, worth around 20 million pounds, put in her name. Apparently Her Royal Highness the Princess Sariah is not a princess at all. She was described as being a prostitute from some African country before coming to London. So the newspaper wrote, this is what the journalists apparently learned from the property developers in the court. Reference to her car, a black Rolls Royce Phantom edition was made, as well as to her driver and her bodyguards.
I drop the paper. I just can’t believe a word of it. I order a glass of champagne. Oh yes, that’s what helps me now survive each line of the article!
“Here you are madam. Enjoy!” The young steward pleases me. Zzzz… the ice cold bubble thrills me. So I carry on …
The so called Princess Sariah is not the daughter of the Middle Eastern billionaire Moktader Al-Quad even though she carries the same surname. It is reported that by giving wrong identity she tried to con the Home Office as well as the property developers and one of the biggest of English banks to trust her because of her honorable name and so to get outrageous advantages for herself.
The champagne doesn’t help me. I drop the newspaper again.
“Mum, when can I see Aamina? Is she still going to the Chelsea School?” Felix nags me.
“No, I’ve heard she doesn’t but I also don’t know where she is at school now.” I remember the Headmaster of the Chelsea School telling me something about Aamina and her mum. Felix and I had visited the school about a year ago. I asked for Sariah but the only response I got was:
“Well, after all that has been in the news about her,” so the headmaster said. “She probably had to leave the country”, he continued knowingly. I didn’t know what he was talking about and I didn’t really know anyone who was close to Aamina or to Princess Sariah to contact. I remember having tried her mobile phone number a few years ago but with no success. She kept changing the number frequently. I didn’t ask why but I’m sure she had good reasons. I liked Sariah a lot. She was friendly and very natural and also very generous. She was easy, totally uncomplicated.
“Ladies and gentlemen, we are landing in a few minutes at Berlin-Tegel airport. Please fasten your seatbelts …” The steward’s announcement drags me out of my peaceful memory.
“Excuse me, may I please have another glass of champagne?”
“Certainly!” Ringo is his name on the badge of his jacket. He is tall, cute and black. I love his accent. Must be from the Caribbean. Where would he be staying in Berlin, I’m asking myself.
“Felix, I don’t know how to get in touch with her. But I will do everything I can to find her. Promise!” With these words I take the glass full of sparkle in my hands touching Ringo’s smooth hand – coincidently, of course. Feliciano is rolling his eyes. I can’t hide anything from him. Is there anything they don’t know at that age these days?
I tear the article from the newspaper and put it in my golden Zatchel handbag which I normally use for my events, filling it up with my latest novel Mistress – The Italian Way Part 2. I’m a writer and I never stop. I can’t stop my fingers typing on the computer, finding new plots that are too dangerous for other authors to tell. My previous book is called ‘A Liberal Temptation’ coming soon in English and German. It will rock the Liberals and some snooty snobs in the entire United Kingdom. “Be careful!” So my friends usually warn me in regards to the subjects I love so touch. But I am fearless!
Right now I’m on my way to the Leipzig Book Fair via Berlin. Here I will show up as the world’s one and only ‘It Girl of Literature’ – stylish in my white faux fur coat with my long blond hair extensions, my golden shoes and my golden school bag full of books.
Yes, I can see a new novel, a story I will tell for revenge and justice for Princess Sariah! As soon as I’m online I will start my precise research…
If anyone would know what it means being an Arabian Princess? They have no clue, how can they? And I cannot talk to them, can’t trust anyone. I am in danger even here in London, the so called civilised world, just like a beautiful white tiger in the jungle trying to hide behind the biggest leaves of the rain forest not to be caught.
I’m not talking about getting sued for the things I’ve never done, as the newspapers write, as my ex boyfriend Brian Pardon, the property developer, and his devious fiancée, Mrs. Chatterbox, testified in courts. No, my fear is based on real worries of serious dangers.
I was born in the Middle East and I even went to school, this is not necessarily an obligation for parents in my homeland. Especially when it is a girl and they send her to a western school. But I was privileged and loved every single day sharing little secrets with my girlfriends. We shared our beauty secrets, loved our designer outfits under the abaya and even got our hands beautifully painted with henna. My sisters and cousins went to the school as well. For me the days of sunshine and butterflies did not go on for long. After only two years my father took me out of school.
He said: “Sariah, you will be thirteen years old shortly. You will get married soon. So you will have to leave school and get ready for the big ceremony. Your mother will take care of you and you will be assisted by the servants in the palace.”
My father is Moktader Al-Quad. Moktader is an Arabic name and it means ‘The Powerful’.
And so he is: A Forbes List ranked billionaire, one of the wealthiest men in the world and the richest in his countries. He holds a few passports and calls “home” wherever he opens a company, a bank account or where he simply owns a property. He is a man of power, of success and he will make sure that nothing ever shakes his reputation for that. Women don’t have much say in my country and nothing to decide. So I felt my heart dropping when one day my father told me about his decision to take me out of school.
“Oh no, please, you cannot do that to me! I enjoy school so much! I want to have an education, please! I don’t want to get married!” He turned around and left me there. I was only twelve years old at that time.
“How can I find Sariah? I called the school in Chelsea which both kids attended. I spoke to the other parents of their school friends, but apparently nobody knew anything about Aamina. Should I go to Sariah’s house? Maybe that’s an idea!
I can imagine she must be very careful who she trusts at all …” Even I feel that I cannot talk openly about my new book project ‘An Arabian Princess’ either. The newspapers are full of the dangerous subject. Here I read:
“The Sultan of Shunai broke his Sharia Law with me” as today’s headline on HooHoo news. A woman tells her story. She had an affair with a member of the Sultan’s family when she was a teenager.
“These boys were just like normal guys”, so she says, “the only difference was that they were impossibly rich”.
She wondered what she would have done being in their shoes given the immense wealth and the power they have. She tells that she never found a satisfactory answer to the question which she asked herself so often.
Now the Sultan of Shunai, that ordinary guy from past days of her life, exactly the man she had an affair with, is implementing Sharia Law in his country that includes stoning to death for adultery, cutting off limbs for theft, flogging for abortion or alcohol consumption or homosexuality. She cannot believe this so she tells.
“I remember this friend and his pals drinking alcohol all night long in his penthouse in Malaysia where I went with him at the age of 17. I was very young at the time.”
She carries on about the lifestyle that included sex and drugs and the glorious luxury that, of course, impressed her. But here and now we are in 2014 and exactly this same man is going to implement Sharia Law in his country! Stoning is one of the most brutal forms of violence perpetrated against women to control and punish their sexuality and freedoms. And this man probably escapes with his private jet to a European destination of freedom to get a few under age young girls to his posh hotel suite, and at the same time making laws that legislate morality!
Slowly I think I start to understand Sariah. The mothers at Chelsea school always talked about her. First because she was hardly around at all. Her daughter Aamina was brought to school and picked up by her nanny. I remember I said to a friend:
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