Muslim Woman from Saudi Arabia Faces Execution for Attending A JESUS PARADE IN LONDON
My name is Amamira Al- Farci and I am the daughter of one of the wealthiest businessmen in Saudi Arabia.
A man with close ties to the royal family itself. On December 23rd, 2022, I made a decision that would cost me everything.
My family, my country, my identity, and nearly my life. I was walking through the streets of London on my first trip outside the kingdom when I stumbled upon something I had never witnessed before.
Thousands of Christians marching through the city, singing, dancing, and celebrating the birth of Jesus.
I should have walked away. I should have remembered every warning I had ever received about mixing with unbelievers.
Instead, I joined them. I took photographs. I recorded videos. And when those images were leaked to my father months later, all hell broke loose.
I was arrested, stripped of my title, and sentenced to death for apostasy. But in my darkest hour, locked in a prison cell awaiting execution, something happened that no one could explain.
Jesus himself appeared to me. And what followed shook my entire family to its core.
My father, Kad Alarscy, built an empire from nothing, rising from humble beginnings to become one of the most influential men in Riyad with close ties to the royal family itself.
I grew up in a mansion that most people could only dream of. Marble floors imported from Italy, chandeliers from France, furniture from the finest craftsmen in the world, and servants who attended to our every need before we even spoke our desires aloud.
From the outside, my life appeared to be a fairy tale of wealth, privilege, and endless possibility.
But what I am about to share with you is how that fairy tale became a nightmare.
And how a parade I stumbled upon in the streets of London led me to face execution in my own homeland.
And how Jesus Christ himself intervened to save my life. I was raised as a devout Muslim in one of the strictest Islamic households you could imagine.
My father was not merely wealthy. He was deeply religious, a man who believed that his success was a blessing from Allah and that our family had a sacred duty to uphold the traditions of Islam with absolute precision.
From my earliest memories, I was taught to pray five times daily, to recite the Quran in Arabic, even before I understood what the words meant, and to submit completely to the will of Allah as revealed through his prophet Muhammad.
My mother, Fatima, was gentle and loving, but always deferred to my father in all matters of religion and family governance.
She taught me that a woman's highest calling was to be obedient to her father, then to her husband, and always to Allah above all else.
I accepted these teachings without question because I knew nothing else. My older brother Omar was groomed from childhood to be my father's successor in business and the enforcer of family honor.
He was strict and serious, rarely smiling, always watching to ensure that everyone in the household, especially the women, behaved according to the rigid standards our father had established.
I had two younger sisters as well, but I was the eldest daughter, which meant I bore the greatest weight of expectation and scrutiny.
Every aspect of my life was controlled and monitored. I wore the full Abbya and Nikab whenever I left our family compound.
I was never permitted to speak with men outside our immediate family. I could not drive, could not travel without a male guardian, and could not make any significant decision without my father's explicit approval.
My life was a gilded cage, beautiful on the surface, but suffocating beneath. Despite these restrictions, my father was progressive in one unusual way.
He believed that education was essential for all his children, including his daughters, because educated women could better manage households, raise intelligent children, and represent the family with sophistication in social settings.
But sending his daughters to school where they might interact with male teachers or be exposed to dangerous ideas was out of the question.
So my father devised a solution that was considered quite innovative among his circle of wealthy friends.
He hired private tutors from Western countries to teach us through online video sessions. From the age of 12, I sat before a computer screen in our home library, receiving instruction in English, mathematics, science, literature, and history from teachers in Britain, America, and Canada.
These tutors opened windows into a world I had never seen with my own eyes.
Through those glowing screens, I glimpsed a reality completely different from the one I inhabited.
I learned about countries where women walked freely in the streets, pursued careers of their own choosing, and spoke their minds without fear of punishment.
I read literature written by women who challenged societal norms and demanded equality with men.
I studied history that told stories different from those I heard in my Quran lessons, stories of revolutions, reformations, and people who questioned everything they had been taught.
My tutors were always respectful of my background and never directly challenged my religious beliefs, but simply by teaching me to think critically and exposing me to diverse perspectives.
They planted seeds of curiosity that would eventually grow into something my father never anticipated.
I began to wonder whether the world I lived in was the only possible world, or whether there might be other ways of understanding life, meaning, and truth.
But these were dangerous thoughts that I kept locked deep inside my heart, never daring to express them aloud.
I continued performing my religious duties with outward devotion, memorizing additional Quran chapters to please my father, wearing my covering without complaint, and accepting the future that had been predetermined for me, an arranged marriage to a suitable man from a wealthy family, followed by a lifetime of domestic responsibility and religious observance.
I told myself that my online education was simply making me a more cultured and capable woman, not changing who I fundamentally was.
I suppressed the questions that occasionally surfaced in my mind and focused on being the perfect daughter my father expected me to be.
I was, after all, an alarsy, and our family's reputation depended on every member upholding the highest standards of Islamic virtue.
The year I turned 27, something unexpected happened that would alter the course of my entire existence.
My father announced during a family dinner that he had decided to reward my years of obedient behavior and academic achievement with a gift I had never dared to request.
He was sending me to London for a holiday, my first trip outside Saudi Arabia in my entire life.
I would stay with his sister, my aunt Ila, who had married a Saudi diplomat decades ago and had lived in London ever since.
Aunt Ila was still Muslim, but had become more relaxed in her practice after years of living in the West, which made her an acceptable guardian in my father's eyes, while also being progressive enough to show me the sights of the city.
I would travel in December 2022 and spend 2 weeks experiencing the world I had only seen through computer screens.
I could barely believe what I was hearing. The weeks leading up to my departure were filled with a mixture of excitement and terror that I had never experienced before.
I was finally going to see the world beyond the borders of Saudi Arabia, to walk the streets I had studied in photographs, to breathe air that was not filtered through the expectations and restrictions of my homeland.
But I was also frightened of the unknown, uncertain whether I was prepared to navigate a world so different from everything I had known.
My mother helped me pack appropriate clothing, reminding me repeatedly to maintain my modesty and Islamic identity even while abroad.
My father gave me a long lecture about representing our family with dignity and avoiding any behavior that could bring shame upon our name.
My brother Omar looked at me with suspicious eyes, as if he already doubted whether I could be trusted with such freedom.
But none of their warnings or concerns could dampen the flame of anticipation that burned inside my chest.
The night before my flight, I lay awake in my bed, staring at the ornate ceiling of my bedroom, unable to sleep as my mind raced with possibilities.
I wondered what London would smell like, what the people would look like, how it would feel to walk through streets where women moved freely without male guardians accompanying them everywhere.
I wondered whether the world outside Saudi Arabia would match the images I had seen on screens, or whether reality would prove to be something entirely different.
I wondered whether I would return home as the same person who left or whether this journey would change me in ways I could not yet imagine.
Little did I know that my questions would be answered in ways more dramatic and lifealtering than anything I could have conceived in that moment of innocent anticipation.
In less than a month, I would be facing execution for something I was about to witness in the streets of London.
As I finally drifted towards sleep, my last conscious thoughts were prayers to Allah, asking him to protect me on my journey and bring me home safely.
I had been taught that Allah was the only God, that Islam was the only truth, and that everything outside our faith was darkness and deception.
I had no reason to question these teachings and no expectation that my holiday in London would challenge the foundations of everything I believed.
I was simply a wealthy Saudi woman going abroad for the first time. Eager to see the sights and experience a brief taste of freedom before returning to my predetermined life.
I had no idea that the God I would encounter in London was not the Allah of my childhood prayers, but a savior named Jesus who had been pursuing me since before I was born and who was about to reveal himself in the most unexpected way imaginable.
The airplane lifted off the runway in Riyad and I pressed my face against the small window, watching my homeland shrink beneath the clouds.
The golden desert that had been my entire world for 27 years became smaller and smaller until it disappeared completely, replaced by an endless sea of white clouds stretching toward the horizon.
My heart pounded with a mixture of fear and exhilaration as I realized that for the first time in my life, I was truly leaving everything familiar behind.
The flight attendants moved through the cabin offering drinks and snacks, and I noticed immediately that they were women who walked and spoke with a confidence I had rarely witnessed among the females in my life.
They smiled freely at passengers, made eye contact with men, and carried themselves with an ease that seemed almost scandalous to my Saudi sensibilities.
The 7-hour flight to London gave me time to process the enormity of what was happening.
I was sitting in business class, surrounded by strangers from different countries, traveling through the sky toward a world I had only experienced through the filtered lens of computer screens and carefully selected textbooks.
My online tutors had taught me about Western culture, history, and society. But they had always maintained a professional distance, never fully revealing what life outside Saudi Arabia truly felt like.
Now I was about to discover that reality for myself, and the anticipation was almost overwhelming.
I tried to calm my nerves by reviewing the itinerary my father had approved. Visits to museums, historical landmarks, and shopping districts, but my mind kept wandering to possibilities beyond the official schedule.
What would I discover in London that no one had prepared me for?
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