Chapter 10: Nicola

In order to help the new undergraduates in the Department of Mathematics to become acquainted, it was the custom that some form of party in the main lecture theatre would be held. The authorities protested as usual, and as usual finally agreed to the format and the party was held on the middle Friday night of term. Naturally, Princess Sharifa was the biggest person of interest for the male students. It was while she was with a bright but boring student that she first noticed the young woman about her own age sitting on her own being ignored. Sharifa liked the boy she was with, but his level of conversion began and ended with theorems.

“You’re very sweet. Talk to you later,” she said, patting his face gently and then made her way over to the girl, who immediately stood up and gave a small curtsey. “May I?” asked Sharifa as she pointed to the chair.

“Please do,” replied the girl shyly.

“I’m Sharifa, do sit down.”

“Yes, I know. I’m Nicola Price,” said the girl.

“You are the one that won an impossible scholarship. Is that right?” asked Sharifa.

“Yes, well, it wasn’t impossible, obviously,” responded Nicola with a blush.

“Well, I think it was wonderful,” said Sharifa as she held Nicola’s hands.

“Thank you,” responded Nicola.

“Get your drink and come with me,” instructed Sharifa.

Nicola did so and followed Sharifa all that evening. Every boy that spoke to her, Sharifa introduced Nicola and made a point of including her in the conversation.

“Thank you for allowing me to stay in your company, your High...”

Sharifa raised her hand. “Call me Sharifa. I would like to think we are friends,”

“Thank you, Sharifa, but...”

“But what?” prompted Sharifa in alarm.

“Well, it’s just that I’m not from ‘the right background’ or a ‘good school’, as they say by here, and you shouldn’t waste time on me,” concluded Nicola,

“I’m very well aware of your background. If that bothered me we wouldn’t be talking. Friends?” responded Sharifa and she put out her hand.

“Friends,” answered Nicola, taking Sharifa’s hand and then hugged her. “Thank you,” she said, as if she had been given an extraordinary gift.

The girls developed a regular routine of going into Oxford when they didn’t have any lectures. They would browse the shop windows and perhaps buy something before relaxing in their favourite café and chatting. Sharifa’s bodyguard kept a safe but watchful distance. Eventually, Nicola also became accustomed to their presence and accepted it. It was during one of their chats that Nicola decided to satisfy her curiosity.

Nicola laughed and then cleared her throat. “Sharifa, may I ask you something?” she asked uneasily.

“Of course,” was the answer, “What’s the problem?”

“I despair,” said Nicola, “You’re so pretty and lively and you have so many boys chasing you.”

“Hey, don’t be like that,” Sharifa replied, “You’re cleverer than I am, so I need some recompense. You know you can ask me anything. I have nothing to hide,” responded Sharifa confidently squeezing Nicola’s hand.

“Is it true the men in your country have large harems?” she asked.

“Well ... for instance my father has a harem of sixty or so women, two of whom are his wives, and one of his concubines happens to be my mother,” replied Sharifa without hesitation, “She hoped for a second son, but my father took an interest in me because of my maths.”

“Do the women get whipped? I mean, like the rumours say?” continued Nicola.

“What do the rumours say?” asked Sharifa in reply.

“Well, it is said that the women are cruelly treated for the most minor of infractions,” answered Nicola tensely, “Whipped, even.”

Sharifa looked at her friend. “First of all serious whipping is rarely used in my father’s harem. A lot of the time the whipping is a sexual pleasure for the women.”

“But they are not free?” countered Nicola.

“You have a lot to learn, Nicola. Believe it or not, I miss harem life. I have good and trusted friends there. We look out for each other and we care for each other like sisters. It’s more a sisterhood than anything. We live in luxury. We want for nothing. We live in far more comfort than I do here, for example. We are well fed and cared for and we are treated by the finest doctors,” said Sharifa, with a little anger in her voice.

“I’m sorry, I didn’t mean to offend you,” replied Nicola anxiously.

“It’s not you, Nicola. It’s the stereotypical image of harem life I resent. People build up these ideas, usually through films by directors who have never experienced or even seen harem life,” answered Sharifa, assuring her friend she was not angry. “I could show you a sample of harem life. Would you be interested?” asked Sharifa.