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I'm cutting and pasting this article mostly for my own records.  Just reading it made me sick.
Where are the people who screamed about apartheid with South Africa?  Would we regard the situation any differently if it were people of a different color they were doing this to?  Or do we ignore it because well, it's WOMEN and we don't want to interfere with their culture? Or do we ignore it because we get an awful lot of oil from there? 

But seriously...where are the feminists?

As a woman in the male-dominated kingdom, Times reporter Megan Stack quietly fumed beneath her abaya. Even beyond its borders, her experience taints her perception of the sexes.
By Megan K. Stack, Times Staff Writer
June 6, 2007

Riyadh, Saudi Arabia — THE hem of my heavy Islamic cloak trailed over floors that glistened like ice. I walked faster, my eyes fixed on a familiar, green icon. I hadn't seen a Starbucks in months, but there it was, tucked into a corner of a fancy shopping mall in the Saudi capital. After all those bitter little cups of sludgy Arabic coffee, here at last was an improbable snippet of home — caffeinated, comforting, American.

I wandered into the shop, filling my lungs with the rich wafts of coffee. The man behind the counter gave me a bemused look; his eyes flickered. I asked for a latte. He shrugged, the milk steamer whined, and he handed over the brimming paper cup. I turned my back on his uneasy face.

Crossing the cafe, I felt the hard stares of Saudi men. A few of them stopped talking as I walked by and watched me pass. Them, too, I ignored. Finally, coffee in hand, I sank into the sumptuous lap of an overstuffed armchair.

"Excuse me," hissed the voice in my ear. "You can't sit here." The man from the counter had appeared at my elbow. He was glaring.

"Excuse me?" I blinked a few times.

"Emmm," he drew his discomfort into a long syllable, his brows knitted. "You cannot stay here."

"What? Uh … why?"

Then he said it: "Men only."

He didn't tell me what I would learn later: Starbucks had another, unmarked door around back that led to a smaller espresso bar, and a handful of tables smothered by curtains. That was the "family" section. As a woman, that's where I belonged. I had no right to mix with male customers or sit in plain view of passing shoppers. Like the segregated South of a bygone United States, today's Saudi Arabia shunts half the population into separate, inferior and usually invisible spaces.

At that moment, there was only one thing to do. I stood up. From the depths of armchairs, men in their white robes and red-checked kaffiyehs stared impassively over their mugs. I felt blood rushing to my face. I dropped my eyes, and immediately wished I hadn't. Snatching up the skirts of my robe to keep from stumbling, I walked out of the store and into the clatter of the shopping mall.


THAT was nearly four years ago, a lesson learned on one of my first trips to the kingdom. Until that day, I thought I knew what I was doing: I'd heard about Saudi Arabia, that the sexes are wholly segregated. From museums to university campuses to restaurants, the genders live corralled existences. One young, hip, U.S.-educated Saudi friend told me that he arranges to meet his female friends in other Arab cities. It's easier to fly to Damascus or Dubai, he shrugged, than to chill out coeducationally at home.

I was ready to cope, or so I thought. I arrived with a protective smirk in tow, planning to thicken the walls around myself. I'd report a few stories, and go home. I had no inkling that Saudi Arabia, the experience of being a woman there, would stick to me, follow me home on the plane and shadow me through my days, tainting the way I perceived men and women everywhere.

I'm leaving the Middle East now, closing up years spent covering the fighting and fallout that have swept the region since Sept. 11. Of all the strange, scary and joyful experiences of the past years, my time covering Saudi Arabia remains among the most jarring.

I spent my days in Saudi Arabia struggling unhappily between a lifetime of being taught to respect foreign cultures and the realization that this culture judged me a lesser being. I tried to draw parallels: If I went to South Africa during apartheid, would I feel compelled to be polite?

I would find that I still saw scraps of Saudi Arabia everywhere I went. Back home in Cairo, the usual cacophony of whistles and lewd coos on the streets sent me into blind rage. I slammed doors in the faces of deliverymen; cursed at Egyptian soldiers in a language they didn't speak; kept a resentful mental tally of the Western men, especially fellow reporters, who seemed to condone, even relish, the relegation of women in the Arab world.

In the West, there's a tendency to treat Saudi Arabia as a remote land, utterly removed from our lives. But it's not very far from us, nor are we as different as we might like to think. Saudi Arabia is a center of ideas and commerce, an important ally to the United States, the heartland of a major world religion. It is a highly industrialized, ultramodern home to expatriates from all over the world, including Americans who live in lush gated compounds with swimming pools, drink illegal glasses of bathtub gin and speak glowingly of the glorious desert and the famous hospitality of Saudis.

The rules are different here. The same U.S. government that heightened public outrage against the Taliban by decrying the mistreatment of Afghan women prizes the oil-slicked Saudi friendship and even offers wan praise for Saudi elections in which women are banned from voting. All U.S. fast-food franchises operating here, not just Starbucks, make women stand in separate lines. U.S.-owned hotels don't let women check in without a letter from a company vouching for her ability to pay; women checking into hotels alone have long been regarded as prostitutes.

As I roamed in and out of Saudi Arabia, the abaya, or Islamic robe, eventually became the symbol of those shifting rules.

I always delayed until the last minute. When I felt the plane dip low over Riyadh, I'd reach furtively into my computer bag to fish out the black robe and scarf crumpled inside. I'd slip my arms into the sleeves without standing up. If I caught the eyes of any male passengers as my fingers fumbled with the snaps, I'd glare. Was I imagining the smug looks on their faces?

The sleeves, the length of it, always felt foreign, at first. But it never took long to work its alchemy, to plant the insecurity. After a day or two, the notion of appearing without the robe felt shocking. Stripped of the layers of curve-smothering cloth, my ordinary clothes suddenly felt revealing, even garish. To me, the abaya implied that a woman's body is a distraction and an interruption, a thing that must be hidden from view lest it haul the society into vice and disarray. The simple act of wearing the robe implanted that self-consciousness by osmosis.

In the depths of the robe, my posture suffered. I'd draw myself in and bumble along like those adolescent girls who seem to think they can roll their breasts back into their bodies if they curve their spines far enough. That was why, it hit me one day, I always seemed to come back from Saudi Arabia with a backache.

The kingdom made me slouch.


SAUDI men often raised the question of women with me; they seemed to hope that I would tell them, either out of courtesy or conviction, that I endorsed their way of life. Some blamed all manner of Western ills, from gun violence to alcoholism, on women's liberation. "Do you think you could ever live here?" many of them asked. It sounded absurd every time, and every time I would repeat the obvious: No.

Early in 2005, I covered the kingdom's much-touted municipal elections, which excluded women not only from running for office, but also from voting. True to their tribal roots, candidates pitched tents in vacant lots and played host to voters for long nights of coffee, bull sessions and poetry recitations. I accepted an invitation to visit one of the tents, but the sight of a woman in their midst so badly ruffled the would-be voters that the campaign manager hustled over and asked me, with lavish apologies, to make myself scarce before I cost his man the election.

A few days later, a female U.S. official, visiting from Washington, gave a press appearance in a hotel lobby in Riyadh. Sporting pearls, a business suit and a bare, blond head, she praised the Saudi elections.

The election "is a departure from their culture and their history," she said. "It offers to the citizens of Saudi Arabia hope…. It's modest, but it's dramatic."

The American ambassador, a bespectacled Texan named James C. Oberwetter, also praised the voting from his nearby seat.

"When I got here a year ago, there were no political tents," he said. "It's like a backyard political barbecue in the U.S."

One afternoon, a candidate invited me to meet his daughter. She spoke fluent English and was not much younger than me. I cannot remember whether she was wearing hijab, the Islamic head scarf, inside her home, but I have a memory of pink. I asked her about the elections.

"Very good," she said.

So you really think so, I said gently, even though you can't vote?

"Of course," she said. "Why do I need to vote?"

Her father chimed in. He urged her, speaking English for my benefit, to speak candidly. But she insisted: What good was voting? She looked at me as if she felt sorry for me, a woman cast adrift on the rough seas of the world, no male protector in sight.

"Maybe you don't want to vote," I said. "But wouldn't you like to make that choice yourself?"

"I don't need to," she said calmly, blinking slowly and deliberately. "If I have a father or a husband, why do I need to vote? Why should I need to work? They will take care of everything."

Through the years I have met many Saudi women. Some are rebels; some are proudly defensive of Saudi ways, convinced that any discussion of women's rights is a disguised attack on Islam from a hostile Westerner. There was the young dental student who came home from the university and sat up half the night, writing a groundbreaking novel exploring the internal lives and romances of young Saudi women. The oil expert who scolded me for asking about female drivers, pointing out the pitfalls of divorce and custody laws and snapping: "Driving is the least of our problems." I have met women who work as doctors and business consultants. Many of them seem content.

Whatever their thoughts on the matter, they have been assigned a central, symbolic role in what seems to be one of the greatest existential questions in contemporary Saudi Arabia: Can the country opt to develop in some ways and stay frozen in others? Can the kingdom evolve economically and technologically in a global society without relinquishing its particular culture of extreme religious piety and ancient tribal code?

The men are stuck, too. Over coffee one afternoon, an economist told me wistfully of the days when he and his wife had studied overseas, how she'd hopped behind the wheel and did her own thing. She's an independent, outspoken woman, he said. Coming back home to Riyadh had depressed both of them.

"Here, I got another dependent: my wife," he said. He found himself driving her around, chaperoning her as if she were a child. "When they see a woman walking alone here, it's like a wolf watching a sheep. 'Let me take what's unattended.' " He told me that both he and his wife hoped, desperately, that social and political reform would finally dawn in the kingdom. He thought foreign academics were too easy on Saudi Arabia, that they urged only minor changes instead of all-out democracy because they secretly regarded Saudis as "savages" incapable of handling too much freedom.

"I call them propaganda papers," he said of the foreign analysis. "They come up with all these lame excuses." He and his wife had already lost hope for themselves, he said.

"For ourselves, the train has left the station. We are trapped," he said. "I think about my kids. At least when I look at myself in the mirror I'll say: 'At least I said this. At least I wrote this.' "


WHEN Saudi officials chat with an American reporter, they go to great lengths to depict a moderate, misunderstood kingdom. They complain about stereotypes in the Western press: Women banned from driving? Well, they don't want to drive anyway. They all have drivers, and why would a lady want to mess with parking?

The religious police who stalk the streets and shopping centers, forcing "Islamic values" onto the populace? Oh, Saudi officials say, they really aren't important, or strict, or powerful. You hear stories to the contrary? Mere exaggerations, perpetuated by people who don't understand Saudi Arabia.

I had an interview one afternoon with a relatively high-ranking Saudi official. Since I can't drive anywhere or meet a man in a cafe, I usually end up inviting sources for coffee in the lobby of my hotel, where the staff turns a blind eye to whether those in the "family section" are really family.

As the elevator touched down and the shiny doors swung open onto the lobby, the official rushed toward me.

"Do you think we could talk in your room?" he blurted out.

I stepped back. What was this, some crazy come-on?

"No, why?" I stammered, stepping wide around him. "We can sit right over here." I wanted to get to the coffee shop — no dice. He swung himself around, blocking my path and my view.

"It's not a good idea," he said. "Let's just go to your room."

"I really don't think … I mean," I said, stuttering in embarrassment.

Then, peering over his shoulder, I saw them: two beefy men in robes. Great bushes of beards sprang from their chins, they swung canes in their hands and scanned the hotel lobby through squinted eyes.

"Is that the religious police?" I said. "It is!" I was a little mesmerized. I'd always wanted to see them in action.

The ministry official seemed to shrink a little, his shoulders slumped in defeat.

"They're not supposed to be here," he muttered despondently. "What are they doing here?"

"Well, why don't we go to the mall next door?" I said, eyes fixed on the menacing men. "There's a coffee shop there, we could try that."

"No, they will go there next." While he wrung his hands nervously, I stepped back a little and considered the irony of our predicament. To avoid running afoul of what may be the world's most stringent public moral code, I was being asked to entertain a strange, older man in my hotel room, something I would never agree to back home.

I had to do something. He was about to walk away and cancel the meeting, and I couldn't afford to lose it. Then I remembered a couple of armchairs near the elevator, up on my floor. We rode up and ordered room-service coffee. We talked as the elevators chimed up and down the spine of the skyscraper and the roar of vacuum cleaners echoed in the hallway.


ONE glaring spring day, when the hot winds raced in off the plains and the sun blotted everything to white, I stood outside a Riyadh bank, sweating in my black cloak while I waited for a friend. The sidewalk was simmering, but I had nowhere else to go. As a woman, I was forbidden to enter the men's half of the bank to fetch him. Traffic screamed past on a nearby highway. The winds tugged at the layers of black polyester. My sunglasses began to slip down my glistening nose.

The door clattered open, and I looked up hopefully. But no, it was a security guard. And he was stomping straight at me, yelling in Arabic. I knew enough vocabulary to glean his message: He didn't want me standing there. I took off my shades, fixed my blue eyes on him blankly and finally turned away as if puzzled. I think of this as playing possum.

He disappeared again, only to reemerge with another security guard. This man was of indistinct South Asian origin and had an English vocabulary. He looked like a pit bull — short, stocky and teeth flashing as he barked: "Go! Go! You can't stand here! The men can SEE! The men can SEE!"

I looked down at him and sighed. I was tired. "Where do you want me to go? I have to wait for my friend. He's inside." But he was still snarling and flashing those teeth, arms akimbo. He wasn't interested in discussions.

"Not here. NOT HERE! The men can SEE you!" He flailed one arm toward the bank.

I lost my temper.

"I'm just standing here!" I snapped. "Leave me alone!" This was a slip. I had already learned that if you're a woman in a sexist country, yelling at a man only makes a crisis worse.

The pit bull advanced toward me, making little shooing motions with his hands, lips curled back. Involuntarily, I stepped back a few paces and found myself in the shrubbery. I guess that, from the bushes, I was hidden from the view of the window, thereby protecting the virtue of all those innocent male bankers. At any rate, it satisfied the pit bull, who climbed back onto the sidewalk and stood guard over me. I glared at him. He showed his teeth. The minutes passed. Finally, my friend reemerged.

A liberal, U.S.-educated professor at King Saud University, he was sure to share my outrage, I thought. Maybe he'd even call up the bank — his friend was the manager — and get the pit bull in trouble. I told him my story, words hot as the pavement.

He hardly blinked. "Yes," he said. "Oh." He put the car in reverse, and off we drove.


DRIVING to the airport, I felt the kingdom slipping off behind me, the flat emptiness of its deserts, the buildings that rear toward the sky, encased in mirrored glass, blank under a blaring sun. All the hints of a private life I have never seen. Saudis are bred from the desert; they find life in what looks empty to me.

Even if I were Saudi, would I understand it? I remember the government spokesman, Mansour Turki, who said to me: "Being a Saudi doesn't mean you see every face of Saudi society. Saudi men don't understand how Saudi women think. They have no idea, actually. Even my own family, my own mother or sister, she won't talk to me honestly."

I slipped my iPod headphones into my ears. I wanted to hear something thumping and American. It began the way it always does: an itch, an impatience, like a wrinkle in the sock, something that is felt, but not yet registered. The discomfort always starts when I leave.

By the time I boarded the plane, I was in a temper. I yanked at the clasps, shrugged off the abaya like a rejected embrace. I crumpled it up and tossed it childishly into the airplane seat.

Then I was just standing there, feeling stripped in my jeans and blouse. My limbs felt light, and modesty flashed through me. I was aware of the skin of my wrists and forearms, the triangle of naked neck. I scanned the eyes behind me, looking for a challenge. But none came. The Saudi passengers had watched my tantrum impassively.

I sat down, leaned back and breathed. This moment, it seems, is always the same. I take the abaya off, expecting to feel liberated. But somehow, it always feels like defeat.


( 16 comments — Leave a comment )
Jun. 7th, 2007 10:27 pm (UTC)
But seriously...where are the feminists?

Exiled or dead.
Jun. 7th, 2007 10:38 pm (UTC)
I meant HERE. I mean, where is the outrage on THIS side of the ocean about it?
Jun. 8th, 2007 10:11 am (UTC)
What? Why? It's not your country!

You can't make other people do what you think is right. It's their country. There are only two things that would be "right":

1) If they are in our countries we CAN and SHOULD make them obey our rules. I.e. no infibulations, no killing of female family members, that's NOT cultural identity. Still. If they do it in their countries, that's their thing. Or do you feel WE have the right to tell YOU what to do in your country? If we say Capital Punishment is barbaric and the Geneva Convention is an essential part of being a so called civilised country? Believe me, many here would like to do that, too.

One decent thing to do would be to allow in immigrants into our countries, who want to get away from the oppression. Yeah. If hell freezes over we'll put our money where our mouth is now, right?

2) Hence, if we leave their countries alone, we must REALLY leave their countries alone and not treat those countries politically as if they were civilised. The same is for Russia and China, who trample human rights with booted feet. But hey, those are such important business partners, we can't make them uncomfortable, right?

Also, one more thing: I would not, never, go there as a woman. Because living by their rules means consent, too, no matter how much you glare while doing it.
Jun. 7th, 2007 10:45 pm (UTC)
People said we didn't need feminism anymore. People said feminism was wrong, stupid, discriminatory, stupid and radical. People said feminists were all lesbians. And now we wonder why so few young people these days identify as feminists or try to pursue feminist causes.

Re: Saudi Arabia, Andrea Dworkin raised a lot of these same issues back in the 1970s:

You're right that people are too ready to forgive oil-rich allies anything as long as the oil keeps flowing.
Jun. 7th, 2007 11:04 pm (UTC)
My fahter served for over a year in the Gulf War. When he was on a US airforce base in Saudi, he witnessed one of the women in his EOD unit accosted by the religious police and beaten for wearing shorts, on the US base, indoors, at a bowling alley. If she had been Saudi, her punishment would have been much worse.

Unfortunatly the USA is not interested in liberating women, or helping the civilians in any significant cultural way. They wanted to make a new US Oil friendly nation and get out. If the women and children suffer, it's an unfortunate side effect.
Jun. 7th, 2007 11:16 pm (UTC)
BUT *WHERE* are the WOMEN in the USA? I'm not talking politicians and policy wonkys... I'm talking about the NOW gang and other so called feminist leaders. I'm talking about half the freaking population!

Where ARE we?!

Why aren't we demanding something be done about this? Seriously...if you changed "women" to "Black" or some other US minority, can you *imagine* the outrage?!

My new sister in law posted an article about that nutjob who shot up an Amish school house... and shot only the girls. Everyone said "oh, that's so sad," which is true...but could you imagine the outrage if he had shot only black kids? Or hispanic kids? Or WHITE kids?

Not a word of outrage that he specifically targeted FEMALES.

I don't know why i'm suddenly so incensed about this...maybe John Dehlin's recent podcast has set a match to a fuse.
Jun. 7th, 2007 11:24 pm (UTC)
Women have been tricked into thinking that they are treated equally, or in the case of religions like these, that being put on a pedastal and being so special that they are treated differantly, is the same or better as being equal.

And because it is a differance based in religion, it's more touchy. If god says that women should wear veils, or burkas or not hold the priesthood, or not be able to drive a car, it must be right, right?
Jun. 7th, 2007 11:48 pm (UTC)
I posted that quite awhile ago, right? I can't find it in anything recent.
Jun. 8th, 2007 03:11 am (UTC)
I honestly don't know what the answer to your question is - I find it puzzling, too. However, I can do a little speculating, which you are free to discount because I'm male. ;)

First, I don't think that the reason is as simplistic and trite as "women have been marginalized for so long that they're afraid to speak" and "women are convinced that they're equal in our society so they can ignore it." I think a lot of women, like you, who might speak up are simply not informed. The powers-that-be in this country do a lot to control the flow of information about our "good Muslim" allies in Saudi Arabia, while making sure that assaults on women in Taliban Afghanistan or among the Iraqi insurgents, for example, are widely publicized. And they also control access to the stories, so all the media can write about is how dismally we are or aren't doing in Iraq. The powers-that-be in this country aren't doing this out of sexism; they're doing it out of a realpolitik perception of larger issues at stake. Good relations with Saudi Arabia, to maintain oil supply and stage for the war in Iraq, are more important to US foreign policy than allowing or instigating a big foofaraw in the US about something we can't change anyway (and don't kid yourself; we can't change it).

Second, the feminist establishment in the US is pretty entrenched and has its own issues to deal with, and they don't have any more real self-interest in helping Saudi women than the US government does - there's not a buck in it for them. These leaders are professionals; their income depends on defining and redefining discrimination issues here at home. They can also be hypocritical; very few acts of craven chickenshit in American public life have made me as sick as watching the "feminist leadership" try to make excuses for Bill Clinton. Frankly, they believe that if the pro-life movement makes any more headway in the US, Life As We Know It Will End, and fighting this Threat To Civilization is more important than rocking the boat in Saudi Arabia. And they act on that belief.

In short, none of the people you'd like to see act on this have an ox being gored. If you look to the politicians and professional feminists in the US to act on overseas stuff, you're bound for disappointment. I hate to say this, but it's often about the money/power/oil/policy/whatever.
Jun. 7th, 2007 11:19 pm (UTC)
Something more to digest. . .
Jun. 8th, 2007 12:39 am (UTC)
uppity woman you are so right that women have been tricked into believing we are treated equal, right in our own society. Women see feminism as bad and useless (cause we're already equal - right?). We've stopped fighting and stopped thinking we need to fight. I find it funny because I considered myself a social feminist for a long time, but now wouldn't tell anyone least they think I was nuts or something.

I'm sadden by this article, but not surprised.
Jun. 8th, 2007 01:13 am (UTC)
I have incredibly mixed feelings about the role of American feminists in foreign sexist cultures. Because on one hand, yes, this SUCKS.

And on the other hand, it is not the job of America or American feminists to police the world. There has to be a line drawn somewhere.

Change has to come from within a culture or it doesn't work. Change has to come from within a culture or it is even more resented by those in power. Change has to come from within a culture and that we are even having this discussion is a powerful indication that change IS happening in that culture.

I am all for women shedding the hijab and drivin themselves and throwing off the strictures with which they have been shackled. And I will serve as an ally to anyone who asks for help fighting that sort of oppressive culture. But for me to impose my own cultural values on an entire culture? That's not a healthy approach - it's just replacing one broken paradigm with another broken paradigm.
Jun. 8th, 2007 01:49 am (UTC)
But for me to impose my own cultural values on an entire culture?

Shouldn't this generous outlook be extended to "orthodox" polygamist Mormons, Christian Dominionists, Supremists and the like?

Why do the Saudis -- or any nation/religion/culture-- get off the moral hook for such foul behavior toward half their population? Because dirty American Imperialists must only berate their own?

Putting multiculturalism before human dignity is one of the great hypocrisies of progressive thought. I don't buy it ... wrong is wrong. Saudia Arabia and their ilk need a bitchslap into reality ... too bad we enjoy their oil so much.
Jun. 8th, 2007 03:16 am (UTC)
Musing re. bitchslaps
I'm curious as to what form this bitchslap should take. Personally, I'd like to see it, but I don't think the folks who brought us Iraq have much interest in it.

After all, what are those folks over there gonna do - stop selling us oil? Right. How can the House of Saud maintain its precarious hold over its society without oil revenue? And one of the reasons we support them is because we, and they, fear a Muslim fundamentalist revolution in Saudi Arabia. It's not a homogenous society; a lot of the stuff that Jett's post speaks of is due to cultural pressure. The Saudi government is scared to death to oppose Islamist morality, because they're afraid of an Islamic coup a la Iran.

I'm not sure that would be an optimal outcome for anyone, especially not for Arabian women.
Jun. 8th, 2007 04:57 am (UTC)
That's some of the best writing I've seen on the subject. I was pleased to see a feminist writer on Stephen Colbert the other night. She had written a book called Full Frontal Feminism, aimed at educating young women on why feminism shouldn't be a dirty word.

Her point was that many young women believe in feminist principles without actually using the word, because they associate it with the stereotypes the anti-feminists have promoted. And my husband and I were debating whether, if the actions are there anyway, the word was necessary?

Well, a little while later, here's why:

Because the word gives life to the actions. It lifts them from the realm of unconsciously learned behaviors and places them in the context of moral action and understanding. It helps people fight this kind of imbecility. Undermining it allows those who find sexism acceptable to regain ground. Look at the recent Supreme Court decision on pay inequity. It completely undid decades of effort.

Did you read Joss Whedon's recent post on the subject? Most excellent.
Jun. 8th, 2007 11:55 pm (UTC)
Here are some additional sites from a friend of mine. She sent me this

My friend is also very involved with Equality Now, which fights for women’s rights, especially in places where genital mutilation (female circumcision) and trafficking are still occurring.





Here's a little more info: http://www.middleastwomen.org/html/bulletin/bulletin-46.htm

She's a big Amnesty International fan: http://web.amnesty.org/library/Index/ENGMDE130562006

Hope that helps!! :)

If you are interested in something more try www.invisiblechildren.com and www.savedarfur.com .

( 16 comments — Leave a comment )

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