Princess Salme: Between Two Worlds — The Story of an Arab Princess with Circassian Roots (Part 1)
Nine years ago I conceived the idea of writing down some facts for the information of my children, who at that time knew nothing about my origin except that I was Arabian and had come from Zanzibar. Exhausted in body and in mind, I did not then expect to live until they were grown up, did not think I should ever relate to them verbally the happenings of my youth and the course of my fate. Hence I determined to record my story on paper. My memoirs were not at first intended for the general public, but for my children, to whom I wished to bequeath them as a heritage of faithful motherly love. Finally, however, upon urgent persuasion, I consented to have them published. — Memoiren einer arabischen Prinzessin by Salme / Emily Ruete.
Born in 1844 in Zanzibar, Princess Salme (Salama bint Said)
was the daughter of Jilfidan, a Circassian concubine of Sultan Sa’id of Oman.
In her memoir Memoirs of an Arabian Princess, she began with the words
above. Writing first as a legacy for her children, she later hoped her story
would also bring some income. While living in Germany, she aimed to present the
East—the land she longed for—in a truthful light to Western societies.
A Turbulent Life Across Two Continents
Princess Salme lost her beloved father at an early age and
was caught in a power struggle between her brothers. After Majid took the
throne in 1856, a rivalry arose between him and Bargaš (their mother being an
Abyssinian concubine), which forced Salme into a difficult choice. Although she
felt a closer affinity to Majid, under pressure she became part of Bargaš’s
household, serving as his secretary when she was only 15.
Bargaš’s reign was short-lived, and when Majid assumed
power, Salme was completely ostracized by her siblings. With the death of her
mother, she was left completely alone. Outside the palace she began spending
time among foreigners in Zanzibar—especially Europeans.
She fell in love with a young German merchant, unaware that
this relationship would change the course of her life forever. When Sultan
Majid discovered the affair—especially after Salme became pregnant—he intended
to send her to perform the pilgrimage (or umrah/hajj) to Saudi Arabia. Fearing
execution for her forbidden relationship, she fled Gaza (Yemen), helped
secretly by the wife of a British physician. Her child was born in Yemen but
died shortly afterward.
In Yemen, seeking to distance herself from her identity,
Salme converted to Christianity and took the name “Emily.” In her memoir she
described this transformation with anguish and ambiguity: “I left my home as an
Arab woman and a good Muslim; now what am I? A bad Christian and part German.”
Not long afterward, the German merchant Rudolph Heinrich
Ruete tracked her down in Aden. They married and together left for Hamburg,
Germany. It was there, at only 26, that Salme, who had borne three children,
lost her beloved husband in a car accident. Despite this loss, she chose to
remain in Germany so that her children could receive an education and grow up
there, rather than return to Zanzibar.
After struggling in her early years—selling jewelry, giving
private lessons in Arabic and Swahili to make ends meet—she continued her fight
to clear her name and reclaim lands in Zanzibar she believed were rightfully
hers. Her correspondence and legal suits with the German state, including with
Emperor William and Otto von Bismarck, were ultimately unsuccessful.
Years Between East and West
In 1888, in hope of reuniting with her family, Salme visited
Zanzibar. However, her brother Sultan Bargaš’s unwelcoming attitude—and the
German government’s refusal to send her son to Zanzibar—prompted her to seek a
new place in the East.
She spent four years in Jaffa, Palestine, and in 1892 moved
to Beirut. In her memoirs she wrote of how at last she felt at peace in the
East—where she could speak her native language and not be alienated. She
expressed, “I have lived without being forced to choose between European and
Arab identity.”
After World War I, feeling unsafe, she returned once again
to Germany. Four years later, in 1924, she passed away at the age of 80. Her
funeral in Hamburg was held with a handful of Zanzibar soil she carried with
her always. On her grave, in gold letters, is inscribed her name in Arabic.
As she reflected on her European years, her language in her
memoirs betrays the anguish of being cast aside by her siblings and the grief
of losing her mother, but also the fleeting solace she found in love. Her
renunciation of her name and faith as soon as she stepped into Aden seems like
a reaction to betrayal and loneliness. Despite the identity she longed for, her
memories show she never ceased to struggle—most vividly—to represent Islam
truthfully to her Western audience.
Sources:
https://digital.library.upenn.edu/women/ruete/arabian/arabian.html
https://ch-gender.jp/wp/?page_id=13575
This article was originally published in Independent Türkçe,
on May 29, 2024.
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