‘I’m haunted by her last words’
Latifa, an Emirati princess, is desperate to escape her prison-like life
Ifirst met Latifa bint Mohammed al-Maktoum eight years ago, after moving to Dubai. She wanted a capoeira teacher and agreed to teach her. Not until I first met her at her family’s stables did I learn she was an Emirati princess.
As the daughter of Sheikh Mohammed bin Rashid al-Maktoum, the billionaire ruler of Dubai and prime minister and vice-president of the United Arab Emirates, Latifa was no ordinary citizen. But there were no outward signs of her royal status. I found her a kind, down-to-earth and private person, with no interest in the trappings of her family’s great wealth or power. We became close friends.
But her life was not at all what it seemed. In 2016 she showed me a British newspaper article about her older sister Shamsa, who had escaped from the family’s Surrey estate in 2000 but was later kidnapped from the streets of Cambridge and forcibly returned to Dubai. I saw Shamsa with Latifa at the exclusive Zabeel health club, she didn’t look well. According to Latifa, she is now effectively imprisoned at home, drugged and watched over 24 hours a day.
Latifa told me her childhood was miserable. That where she lived with her mother and two sisters was a “house of depressed women”. Her life, she said, was heavily restricted: she could only get around with her designated driver and could not enter anyone’s private home. Nor could she leave Dubai. She wasn’t allowed her passport, not even a bank account. She couldn’t go anywhere without an approved chaperone.
When we look at Dubai, we see luxury lifestyles, air-conditioned shopping malls, fancy cars, sunshine and sea. But Latifa knows the “real Dubai” only too well, and she too had tried to escape. She told me of her failed attempt to flee over the border in 2002, when she was 16; of how she had been captured and imprisoned for three-and-a-half years; and of how she had also been tortured.
Neither had she abandoned her hopes of escape. Instead, she’d been corresponding for years with a man called Herve´ Jaubert, a former French navy officer and apparent secret agent, who had escaped from Dubai after his submarine firm there ran into difficulties. She wanted him to help her escape.
“Life is short,” she told me. “Certain risks are worth taking.”
She asked if I would meet him and make plans.
“You’re my best friend,” I told her. “Of course I want to help you.”
And so, with Jaubert, an escape plot took shape and we left Dubai on February 24 this year.
Latifa and I met early in the morning after she was dropped off by her driver. Then we drove to Oman. Before we left, she put together evidence of her mistreatment and made a film to be released if we didn’t succeed. “I’m making this because it could be the last video I make,” she said. If she failed to achieve her freedom, she wanted the world to know her story.
We made it to the coast of Oman, boarded a dinghy and travelled 15 miles into the Arabian Sea, where Jaubert was waiting. Together we jetskied another 10 miles, until we reached his yacht and a Filipino crew and set sail for the west coast of India. The plan was to come ashore in Goa and fly onwards to the US, where Latifa would claim political asylum.
At first she felt happy and free. But as the days passed her mood became increasingly fearful. These fears were realised, six days into our voyage, when we saw planes flying above us: it was clear we were being followed.
About 30 miles from India, and eight days into our journey, we came under attack. We heard what sounded like gunfire. In terror, we locked ourselves in the bathroom, but the cabin started filling with smoke. We climbed out and came face to face with a group of Indian commandos, armed with machine guns.
I was pushed to the floor, where I found myself lying in a pool of blood. They tied my hands behind my back and told me, “Don’t move or we’ll shoot you.”
As I was taken to the front deck, I saw Latifa. She was putting up a fight. “Leave my friend alone,” she cried. “I’m seeking political asylum.” The last words I heard from her, kicking and screaming, haunt me to this day: “Just shoot me here,” she begged. “Don’t take me back to the UAE.” That was the last time I saw her.
They took me to a prison in the UAE, where I was interrogated. They threatened me with life imprisonment and the death penalty. Eventually, I was released and put on a flight out of the UAE. When I got home to Finland, I was shocked to find out that the whole world knew what had happened. Latifa had made contact with an NGO called Detained in Dubai who had told our story.
I still don’t know what has happened to Latifa, as no one has heard from her since. Sheikh Mohammed and the government of Dubai have not responded to requests for comment, though a source close to the government has been quoted as saying Latifa is “with her family” and “doing excellent”.
Through the Free Latifa campaign (freelatifa.com) I am doing all I can to fight for her release.
I’m not going to give up hope and I’ll never give up on her dream of improving the lives of women in the Middle East who just want to be equal and free. I have at least succeeded in making one of her dreams come true: telling her story to the world.