I don't think I've ever dived into a book and said "damn" after reading the first page. You know it's about to get emotional when you already feel for the writer and are forming opinions about people based on the first few pages.

For those of you who don't know me, (that was unnecessary as no one knows who I am yet) I was born and raised in Saudi Arabia for over fourteen years of my life. As an African-American living with a father who worked in the avionics field and worked on air bases, I was very privileged to live on compounds with heavy Western influence that permitted women to drive, walk around without abayas, go to pool parties, and even attend bars. But I was always well aware that once we passed the gate and left the compound, Western influence was cut off from that very moment and we were bound to the law of the Saudis.

As times changed, Western influence became more prevalent in other parts of Saudi Arabia, but not in real areas with smaller populations and more conservative people. I can remember there being an uproar when the Crown Prince and the King gave women the right to drive. In the small town I was living in, women weren't even allowed to drive without confrontation from the police and the shaming they would receive from their families until 2018, and even then, some people were angry. Imagine living in a country where people are offended that you, as a woman, are allowed to go to and fro without the permission and watch of a man.

I began reading this memoir, expecting it to simply be about the harsh rules that were implemented and how unfair it was that females were constantly separated from males for fear of any sexual activities, and how women were sexualized by being forced to cover themselves because their bodies were like irresistible candies. However, the memoir went deep into what life is actually like for most Saudi women.

It's worse than just being told you can't drive. It's worse than being told that a man has to watch over you and your decisions. Rahaf was constantly reminded that girls were to be blamed for anything that happened to them and that it was their fault they were being sexualized.

Refusing sex? Get beaten into doing it.
Want to drive? Go and put on a veil and ask a man in the house to do it for you, because you driving is rebellious and inappropriate.
Want to cut your hair? That's a felony.
Want to know what it's like to kiss a boy? You should've faced female genital mutilation. (FGM)
You got raped? If you covered yourself and went out with a male family member, it wouldn't have happened.
Wearing a bikini? You're a whore.

There's an endless list of things that irritated me in this book. Rahaf even revealed the experiences of other women who were killed brutally or disappeared forever because they were trying to escape the wealthy prisons created for them by their families. Even mothers are subjected to their sons.

On the internet, many women talk about how Saudi Arabia isn't as misogynistic as it is portrayed to be in the media. Rahaf's revelations will make anyone who agrees with that statement reconsider their views. Most of the women who make these claims are inexperienced and have never been introduced to the Saudi way of living.

As far as I know my dad never put his arm around my mom or used terms of endearment like honey or sweetheart or other words I heard in the movies. Their relationship was something I couldn’t figure out. My father didn’t control my mom—she followed the rules for women more because of society’s expectations than my father’s—but they fought a lot with each other and, to my child’s eye, didn’t set much of an example of marital love.

Affectionate gestures are discouraged from being displayed publicly in Saudi Arabia, even between husband and wife. In front of children, it is highly discouraged. Regardless of this, Rahaf believed and still believes that there is certainly something wrong with a marriage that doesn't have any love involved. I agree with this. In most Saudi marriages, everything is kept behind closed doors and left for the bedroom, but Rahaf's parents fought in front of her. It's interesting to know that Rahaf's father was lenient about what rights her mother had, but it's sad to see that her mother completely denied herself any right to freely express herself because of society.

My brother Majed was the toughest; he had very strong opinions about girls—their appearance and behaviour usually enraged him, and he was never shy about expressing his angry comments. He thought all women were basically bad and that their evilness only needed to be found out. He’d instruct me to take a ribbon out of my hair. When we watched TV he would say things like, “That girl on the television is bad; she’s probably cheating on her husband. I bet she smokes and drinks.” If an actor was wearing a short dress, he’d be shaking his fist at the TV screen and yelling, “Where is her family?”

This passage right here is a great example of how many older and conservative Saudi men react to the idea of Saudi women having any kind of freedom or expression. In their eyes, women doing anything they please is inappropriate unless the males in her family approve of it. In the book, Rahaf's brother isn't the only one who expresses these archaic beliefs.

My mother held my head tightly with her two hands and forced me to look downward and said, “This is how you should look—with your eyes cast down at the ground if a man passes by you in public places.”

This passage right here was an example of the pure and unhidden misogynist beliefs taught to women and girls in Saudi Arabia. They are to be hidden and kept away from men because they are sex objects that will destroy the purity of men, so they must not look at them.

Then she let go of my fingers and moved her face very close to mine and said, in a voice thick with alarm, “You have something that only your husband should take and you will know what that thing is when you grow up.” I was utterly perplexed. What was “that thing” I wasn’t allowed to know? I wondered if she’d had the same conversation with my older sisters when they were my age, and if Joud, who was only three years old, would be subjected to a lecture like this when she turned ten. I also wondered what my mother had said to my brothers about honour, or if these messages were only for girls.

Yes, these messages must've been mainly for girls, because in Saudi Arabia, people obsess over female virginity. Any woman who is believed to have had sex or a woman is raped but fails to prove it will be publicly executed for the honor of her family, so they won't have to be blamed for her actions or ashamed of her.

Towards the end of the book, we begin to see it focus on Rahaf planning to escape. (I won't go into detail.) She begins to discover the stories of many other Saudi women and other Arab women as well. She begins to learn about the veil of oppression and starts to study misogyny.

The part when Rahaf escapes is the most interesting part for me and is a great adventure. If you want to learn something about women in the Middle East, particularly in Saudi Arabia, this book is for you. It dives deep into sensitive topics and there are even some parts that give plenty of facts to back up the belief that Saudi Arabian women are greatly oppressed. Many of them are fighting for their rights. Two examples from the book as Loujain al-Hathloul and Manal al-Sharif, both of which are women who fought for the right to drive.

I just want to say that Rahaf is brilliant for writing this book and spreading awareness. She even opened my eyes to the blatant sexism that still exists in Saudi Arabia and all of the double standards that Muslim Saudi Arabian women face from their families and society. I hope that one day, Saudi Arabia can make a full reform and become a country with gender equality implemented into its system. ( )

Now I know that Gilead is real and it`s called Saudi Arabia. In her book Rahaf Mohammed gives us a shocking insight of the women`s life in the kingdom and how she managed to flee from there. ( )