Saudi Tales of Love

Nassiba, a fashion designer, plays with her son Bilal in their home in Jeddah. After her marriage ended, Nassiba kept sole custody of Bilal, a rarity for divorced mothers in Saudi Arabia.

“Society constrains the definition of a divorcee. What you can or can’t do remains under the control of others. As an independent single mother, I’ve made peace with the sacrifices I’ve had to make, but also managed to find happiness on my own.”

—Nassiba

My daughter Yara stands in a small riverside structure in a Jubail Industrial City park.

My daughters tell me, “Mama, I never want to get married. I just want to have kids, like you.” They’ve watched me endure a tiresome 10-year struggle for a divorce, and now have a negative view of marriage.

Sura and Yara ride a scooter in their neighborhood in Jubail Industrial City.

I’m lucky I have two daughters. Sura and Yara understand each other—and me. If I had only one, she’d feel lonely. If I had a son, I don’t think I’d be as good a single mother.

I started off photographing weddings, but I soon became interested in the reality that comes later. What happens after the big day? Here, the bride’s parents were from Palestine, so the wedding wasn’t segregated by gender, like most Saudi ceremonies.

I was 16 when my now ex-husband proposed. His aunt had introduced us. I saw marriage as an escape from my parents, whom I considered overprotective. We married in 2002.

Five years later, I was a mother of two daughters, Sura and Yara. I expected that one day I might come to love my husband as I did my children, but that never happened. After a decade of marriage, we finally divorced.

For years, I blamed my parents. How could they allow me to wed so young? And why couldn’t they support my divorce years later?

They told me that they didn’t force me to be a teenage bride and that they objected to the divorce to help my kids. I didn’t understand them. I felt alone.

As a divorced woman in Saudi Arabia, I faced many challenges. Saudi Arabia is the only

Mai, a dentist in Jeddah, dresses in the wedding gown she wore 15 years ago.

“I married my college classmate in dental school. Sharing two children and a happy marriage, we finally bought our dream house. The day after signing the lease, he died in a motorcycle accident. Then, my father died. I was legally required to have a male guardian. I now wait for my son to turn 16 to take that role. Until then, my stepbrother decides on my behalf.”

—Mai

Every week, Mai’s daughter attends a gym for young girls in Jeddah. She aspires to be an actress and acrobat.

country that requires women to have a legal male guardian. I cannot attend university, travel abroad, or open a bank account without the approval of my guardian. Not only do Saudi women confront constraints like these, but we must also observe social taboos around our clothing and public behavior.

Out of this experience came my project, Saudi Love Stories. I started photographing weddings in 2012, but as I shot more and more of these events I wondered what happened to love and marriage next. I began interviewing women and sharing (with their permission) a few of their moving vignettes. It’s been inspiring to listen to such a cross section of empowered Saudi women. They find many ways to overcome obstacles, sometimes with humor. For many women, experiencing heartbreak was most difficult; for others, it was being deprived after a divorce of the right to raise their children. I even met a...