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My name is Princess Amira.
Princess Amira shares her testimony of escaping a royal life in Saudi Arabia to find faith and freedom through discovering the Bible.
Key Takeaways
- Material wealth does not guarantee spiritual fulfillment or happiness.
- Strict religious environments can suppress personal questioning and spiritual growth.
- Encountering new perspectives can profoundly change one’s beliefs and life direction.
- Faith in unconditional love and grace can provide hope and purpose.
- Courage is required to embrace and live out one’s true convictions in hostile environments.
What the video covers
- Princess Amira, born into Saudi royalty, lived a life of luxury yet felt spiritually empty.
- She was raised with strict Islamic teachings and witnessed harsh religious enforcement.
- Despite wealth and privilege, she longed for authentic connection and purpose.
- During a diplomatic trip to London, she discovered and secretly read the Bible.
- The Bible’s message of love and grace deeply contrasted with her prior religious experience.
- She hid the Bible upon returning to Saudi Arabia, reading it in secret.
- Her cousin discovered the hidden Bible, leading to a moment of confrontation.
- Amira’s faith in Jesus transformed her understanding of God’s love and purpose.
- She risked severe punishment, including execution, for possessing the Bible.
- Her story is one of supernatural deliverance and spiritual awakening.
Full Transcript — Download SRT & Markdown
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I'm 32 years old, and on September 12th, 2019, I was supposed to die.
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I was sentenced to execution for reading the Bible in Saudi Arabia.
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But Jesus had other plans for my life, this is my testimony of supernatural deliverance.
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I was born into the Saudi Royal Family in 1992, the third daughter of Prince Abdullah bin Rashid.
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From my first breath, I was surrounded by unimaginable wealth and privilege, our palace in Riyadh sprawled across 50 acres.
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With marble floors imported from Italy and chandeliers that cost more than most people earn in a lifetime, I had my own wing with 12 rooms, each decorated in the finest silks and gold.
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Servants attended to my every need, from dressing me each morning to preparing my meals on dishes made of pure silver.
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But let me tell you something about golden cages, they are still cages.
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Despite having everything money could buy, my soul was starving.
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I owned hundreds of designer gowns, drove luxury cars that most people only see in magazines, and traveled on private jets to the most exotic destinations, yet every night I would stare at the ornate ceiling of my bedroom, wondering if this was all there was to life.
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The emptiness inside me grew larger with each passing year.
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My religious education began when I turned 5 years old, every morning at dawn my Islamic tutor would arrive to teach me Quran memorization.
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I spent hours reciting verses in Arabic, perfecting my pronunciation and intonation.
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By age 12 I had memorized over half of the Quran, the five daily prayers were enforced with military precision.
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My tutors would monitor me constantly, ensuring I performed every ritual perfectly.
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From the ablutions to the prostrations, I performed all the rituals flawlessly, but felt absolutely nothing inside, the words felt empty.
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Like reciting a shopping list during prayer time, while my body went through the motions, my mind wandered to questions that frightened me, why did I feel so disconnected from Allah?
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Why did the prayers feel like meaningless repetition, why was I forbidden to question anything about our faith?
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The religious police monitored even our royal family, they would make surprise visits to ensure we were maintaining proper Islamic conduct, I witnessed public executions in the town square, watching as people were beheaded for crimes like adultery and apostasy.
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These scenes disturbed me deeply, but I was taught that questioning such punishments was itself a sin.
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Women in our kingdom had fewer rights than the horses in our stables.
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And yet I was told this was God's perfect design.
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As I grew older, the pressure to marry intensified.
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My parents arranged meetings with various princes and wealthy men discussing my future as if I were a business transaction.
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I felt like a beautiful ornament, valuable for my bloodline and appearance, but worthless as a human being with thoughts and dreams.
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The suitors looked at me the way men examine horses at an auction.
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Calculating my worth based on my breeding potential.
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Ask yourself this question.
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Have you ever felt completely alone while surrounded by people?
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That was my reality every single day.
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I had everything the world considered valuable, yet I felt spiritually bankrupt.
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The longing for authentic connection, for real purpose, for genuine love grew stronger each day.
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I was drowning in luxury while my soul cried out for something real, something true, something that could fill the aching void inside my heart.
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In March 2018, my father invited me to accompany him on a diplomatic mission to London.
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This was unusual as women in our family rarely traveled on official business.
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But he needed a female presence for meetings with British dignitaries' wives.
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I was 26 years old and had never been alone in a foreign country without supervision.
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The flight to London felt like traveling to another planet.
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We stayed at the Savoy Hotel, and for the first time in my life, I had my own room with no servants, no guards, no one watching my every move.
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The silence was both terrifying and exhilarating.
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That evening, after my father retired to his suite, I found myself completely alone.
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I wandered around the elegant room, touching the furniture, opening drawers, experiencing a freedom I had never known.
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I opened the nightstand drawer, looking for hotel stationary, and there it was, a small black book with gold lettering that read Holy Bible.
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My heart pounded as I picked it up, as if I were holding a dangerous explosive.
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In Saudi Arabia, possessing a Bible was a serious crime, punishable by imprisonment and possibly death.
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Yet something drew me to this forbidden book like a magnet.
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My hands trembled as I opened to a random page.
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The words in the beginning was the word, and the word was with God, and the word was God seemed to leap off the page.
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And pierce through my heart like lightning.
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I had never read anything like this before.
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The language was so different from the Quran.
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So personal and intimate, it spoke of love rather than fear, of grace rather than punishment.
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I spent the entire night reading, unable to put the book down.
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When I reached the stories of Jesus healing the sick, feeding the hungry, and treating women with dignity and respect.
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Tears streamed down my face.
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This Jesus was nothing like the prophet I had been taught about in Islamic school.
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He was compassionate, loving, and revolutionary in his treatment of outcasts and sinners.
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The most shocking moment came when I read John 3:16.
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For God so loved the world that he gave his one and only son, that whoever believes in him shall not perish but have eternal life.
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I felt like someone was speaking directly to my soul, answering questions I had carried for years.
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This was not about earning God's favor through perfect ritual performance.
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This was about love, pure and unconditional love.
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When we returned to Saudi Arabia.
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I knew I had to have that book.
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I carefully removed the Bible from the hotel room, hiding it in my carry-on luggage.
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The flight home felt like smuggling contraband, which technically I was.
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My heart raced every time we went through security, certain that someone would discover my secret and arrest me on the spot.
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Back in Riyadh.
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I hollowed out an old Islamic commentary book and hid the Bible inside it.
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Every night after midnight, when the palace was quiet and the servants were asleep.
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I would retrieve my hidden treasure.
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Under my covers with a small flashlight, I devoured every page.
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Each chapter revealed more of Jesus's incredible love and sacrifice.
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Look inside your own heart right now.
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Have you ever discovered something so powerful?
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So life changing that you knew you could never go back.
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To who you were before.
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That is what happened to me.
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With every page I read.
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The emptiness in my soul was being filled with hope.
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Love and purpose I had never imagined possible.
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On August 15th, 2019.
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My world collapsed in a single moment.
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My cousin Fatima had come to visit as she often did on Thursday afternoons.
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We were discussing wedding preparations for another cousin when she asked to borrow one of my Islamic books for her religious studies.
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Without thinking, I directed her to my bookshelf while I continued arranging flowers.
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The silence that followed was deafening.
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When I turned around, Fatima was standing frozen, holding my hollowed out Islamic commentary book.
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With the Bible clearly visible inside.
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The look of horror and disgust on her face still haunts me to this day.
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Her hands shook as she stared at the forbidden book.
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Then at me as if she were looking at a demon.
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Amira, she whispered, her voice barely audible, what is this?
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Please tell me this is not what I think it is.
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I could have lied.
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I could have claimed it belonged to one of the servants or that I was studying it to refute Christianity.
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But in that moment, something inside me refused.
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To deny the truth that had transformed my life.
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It is the Bible, Fatima.
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I said quietly.
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And it has shown me the truth about God's love.
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Her face went white as marble.
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She dropped the book as if it had burned her hands.
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And ran from my room without another word.
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I knew my life as I had known it was over.
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Within two hours, my father burst into my chambers with my uncle and several religious advisors.
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His face was purple with rage, veins bulging in his neck.
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As he screamed accusations at me, how could you bring this shame upon our family?
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How could you corrupt yourself with this filth?
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My mother stood behind him, tears streaming down her face, wringing her hands in despair.
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They gave me one chance to save myself and the family honor.
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Burn the book, my father commanded.
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Declare your repentance publicly, and we will say you were temporarily possessed by evil spirits.
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The family will survive this scandal.
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I looked at the Bible lying on my bed.
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Remembering every precious word I had read, every prayer I had whispered to Jesus in the darkness.
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I cannot deny what I know to be true.
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I told them, Jesus Christ is my Lord and Savior.
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The slap across my face from my uncle's hand was so hard.
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It knocked me to the floor.
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My own mother turned her back on me and walked out of the room without a word.
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The religious police arrived at our palace before sunset.
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These were not ordinary officers, but members of the committee for the promotion of virtue and the prevention of vice.
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Saudi Arabia's most feared religious enforcers.
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They stripped me of my royal robes.
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And dressed me in a gray prison uniform.
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The symbolic transformation was complete.
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I was no longer Princess Amira.
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I was prisoner no 4758, condemned for the crime of apostasy.
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The ride to the detention center was a blur of sirens and shouting.
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They put a black hood over my head and shackled my hands and feet.
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When they finally removed the hood, I found myself in a concrete cell.
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Barely 6 feet by 8 feet.
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The walls were stained with the blood and tears of previous occupants.
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A single light bulb hung from the ceiling, casting harsh shadows that danced like demons.
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Look inside your own heart right now.
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Could you imagine losing everything you had ever known?
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Everyone you had ever loved for your faith.
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The interrogation began immediately.
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And lasted 18 brutal hours.
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They wanted names of other converts, details about how I had obtained the Bible, confessions of other crimes against Islam.
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Three weeks after my arrest, I stood before the Islamic court in chains.
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No longer recognizable as the princess who had once lived in luxury.
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The judge, a stern man with cold eyes, read the charges against me with deliberate slowness.
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Apostasy from Islam, blasphemy against Allah and his prophet, and corrupting Islamic values.
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Each word fell like a hammer blow against my heart.
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The courtroom was packed with religious officials, government representatives, and members of my own family.
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My parents sat in the front row.
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My mother's face hidden behind her hands.
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My father staring straight ahead as if I no longer existed.
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When the judge asked if I understood the charges.
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My voice echoed in the silent chamber.
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I understand the charges, but I do not accept them as crimes.
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Do you renounce your belief in Jesus Christ and return to the true faith of Islam?
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The judge demanded.
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The entire courtroom held its breath.
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I could hear my mother's muffled sobs.
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Could feel the weight of expectation pressing down on me like a physical force.
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This was my final chance to save my life.
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To return to my family, to reclaim my royal status.
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Look inside your own heart right now.
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Could you deny Jesus to save your own life?
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Could you call the greatest love you had ever known a lie?
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I thought of Jesus on the cross dying for my sins, choosing torture and death rather than abandoning his mission.
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How could I do less for him?
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I cannot and will not renounce Jesus Christ, I declared.
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He is my Lord and Savior.
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And I would rather die as a Christian than live as a lie.
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The gavel came down like thunder.
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Death by beheading to be carried out on September 12th, 2019.
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The courtroom erupted in chaos.
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But I felt a strange peace wash over me.
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They transferred me to death row in a maximum security prison.
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My new cell was even smaller.
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With concrete walls that wept moisture and a bucket in the corner for sanitation.
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The only light came from a small barred window high above my head.
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They fed me one meal a day.
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Stale bread and murky water that tasted of rust and despair.
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The prison Imam visited me daily.
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Offering salvation in exchange for conversion back to Islam.
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You are young and beautiful.
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He would say, you could still marry.
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Have children, live a full life.
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All you must do is say the Shahada.
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And renounce this Christian madness.
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Each time I politely declined.
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My certainty in Christ only grew stronger.
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With each passing day, my mother made one final visit.
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Three days before my scheduled execution.
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She fell to her knees in the visiting room.
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Clutching the bars that separated us.
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Begging me to save myself.
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Please, my daughter.
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She wept.
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Just say the words.
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You can believe whatever you want in your heart.
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But just say the words to save your life.
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Mother.
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I said gently.
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I love you more than my own life.
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But I love Jesus more than even you.
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I cannot deny him now.
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She left that day and never returned.
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My father sent word that I was dead to the family.
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That my name would never be spoken in their house again.
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On the night of September 11th, 2019.
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I lay on the thin mattress in my cell.
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Knowing that in 12 hours I would face the executioner's sword.
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I had written farewell letters to family members.
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Though I knew they would never be delivered.
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Every sunrise for weeks had felt like a countdown to eternity.
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And now the final countdown had begun.
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Sleep was impossible.
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I spent the entire night in prayer.
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Pouring out my heart to Jesus, telling him about my fears, my hopes, my gratitude for the time he had given me to know him.
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Jesus.
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I whispered into the darkness.
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If you are real, if you truly love me as the Bible says.
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Please show me.
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I am about to die for you.
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Please let me know you are with me.
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At exactly 3:33 in the morning.
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Everything changed.
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At 3:33 in the morning, my dark cell suddenly filled with brilliant light.
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Brighter than the Saudi sun at noon.
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I thought the guards had turned on floodlights for some reason.
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But this light was different.
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It was warm, peaceful, and seemed to come from everywhere at once.
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Then I saw him.
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Jesus stood before me in radiant white robes that seemed to glow from within.
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His face was kind and loving, with eyes that held depths of compassion.
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I had never imagined possible.
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When he spoke, it was in perfect Arabic.
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His voice like gentle thunder that resonated through my entire being.
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My daughter.
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Fear not.
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I am with you.
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I fell to my knees.
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Overwhelmed by his presence.
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This was not a dream or hallucination.
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Brought on by stress and fear.
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This was the living Christ.
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Standing in my death row cell.
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Speaking words of comfort to a condemned princess.
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Lord.
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I whispered.
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Tomorrow they will kill me.
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Child.
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He said, extending his hand toward thee.
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Your suffering has not been wasted.
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It has prepared you for the work I have planned.
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Your deliverance is at hand.
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And through your testimony, many will come to know my love.
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He placed his hand on my head.
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And peace flooded my heart like a river of liquid gold.
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You will walk out of this place.
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Jesus continued.
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And you will carry my message to the nations.
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Trust in me completely.
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The vision lasted only minutes.
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But when the light faded and Jesus disappeared, everything had changed.
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The fear was gone.
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Replaced by unshakable faith and supernatural peace.
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Within an hour, the impossible began to happen.
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I heard the distinctive click of my cell door unlocking.
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Though no guard had approached.
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The heavy steel door swung open silently on hinges that usually groaned and protested.
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I stepped into the corridor.
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Expecting alarms to sound and guards to come running.
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But the hallway was eerily quiet.
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Every security camera I passed was dark.
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Their red recording lights extinguished.
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The central monitoring station, usually buzzing with activity, was completely silent.
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As I walked through the prison, I discovered why.
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Every single guard was in a deep supernatural sleep.
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They sat slumped in their chairs or lay on benches, breathing steadily but completely unconscious.
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It was like the Red Sea parting.
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Impossible, but happening right before my eyes.
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I walked through locked doors that opened at my approach.
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Past sleeping guards who should have been alert and vigilant.
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The Holy Spirit guided every step.
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Whispering directions in my heart about which corridors to take and which areas to avoid.
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The main exit required a complex electronic code and biometric scan.
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But when I approached, the massive door simply clicked open.
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No alarm sounded, no emergency protocols activated.
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I stepped out into the cool predawn air of Riyadh.
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A free woman when I should have been hours from execution.
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A taxi appeared at the corner as if by divine appointment.
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The driver, a kind elderly man, asked no questions when I requested transportation to King Khalid International Airport.
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God had gone before me and prepared the way.
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My royal passport, which should have been flagged in the security system.
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As belonging to a condemned prisoner.
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Scanned normally at every checkpoint.
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So I'm asking you, just as someone who experienced the impossible would ask.
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Do you believe God still performs miracles today?
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I boarded a KLM flight to Amsterdam.
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With tears streaming down my face.
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Not from fear, but from overwhelming gratitude.
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As the plane lifted off Saudi soil.
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I pressed my face to the window.
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And watched my homeland disappear below the clouds.
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When I landed in Amsterdam 12 hours later.
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I fell to my knees on foreign soil and wept.
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Tears of pure gratitude.
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I was alive.
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I was free and Jesus had kept his promise.
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The customs officer who processed my asylum request later.
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Told me he had never seen anyone so grateful.
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Just to be breathing.
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Three months after my miraculous escape.
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I stood waist deep in the baptismal pool at New Life Christian Church in Amsterdam.
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Pastor Henrik had spent weeks preparing me for this moment.
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Ensuring I understood the significance of public declaration of faith.
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As I looked out at the congregation of 200 believers who had welcomed me with open arms.
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I felt overwhelmed by God's grace.
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Princess Amira, Pastor Henrik said with a warm smile.
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Do you accept Jesus Christ as your Lord and Savior?
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My voice rang clear and strong as I replied.
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Yes.
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I do.
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As I went under that water, something profound happened.
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Princess Amira, the woman who had lived in fear and emptiness.
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Died in that moment.
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When I emerged, gasping and laughing through tears of joy.
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I was reborn as a daughter of the King of Kings.
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The congregation erupted in celebration.
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Singing hymns of praise in languages I did not yet understand, but felt in my heart for the first time in my life.
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I experienced authentic Christian community, these people loved me.
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Not for my royal bloodline or wealth, but simply because I was their sister in Christ.
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The freedom to worship openly, to sing praise songs, to raise my hands in worship without fear.
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Felt like breathing fresh air after a lifetime of suffocation.
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I enrolled in Bible college immediately.
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Hungry to learn everything I could about my new faith.
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Every class was a revelation, systematic theology, church history, biblical exegesis.
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Each subject opened new windows into God's character and plan.
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My professors were amazed at my passion for learning and my detailed questions about scripture.
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I studied 18 hours a day, making up for 27 years of spiritual starvation.
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The painful reality of my new life was the complete severance from my family.
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My parents officially declared me dead.
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Holding a funeral service and erecting a tombstone with my name.
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My siblings were forbidden to speak my name or acknowledge my existence.
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Death threats arrived regularly through various channels.
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Promising that Saudi agents would find me and finish the execution that Jesus had interrupted.
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But I discovered something beautiful about loss.
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When you lose everything for Christ, you realize that everything you thought you needed.
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Was actually holding you back from true joy.
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The loneliness was real.
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The grief for my lost family was crushing at times.
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But the peace and purpose I found in Jesus far exceeded anything I had sacrificed.
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God began opening doors for ministry that I never could have imagined.
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Churches across Europe invited me to share my testimony.
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Each time I stood before a congregation and told my story, I watched faces transform.
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As people realized the power of God to save and deliver.
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Many Muslims in the audience would approach me afterward, hungry to know more about this Jesus.
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Who could free a Saudi princess from death row.
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My ministry expanded beyond speaking engagements.
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I began working with underground networks that help persecuted Christians escape Islamic countries.
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Using my knowledge of Arabic culture and my connections, I have personally assisted in the rescue of 37 believers.
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Who faced imprisonment or death for their faith.
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Each successful escape reminds me that God saved me not just for myself.
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But to be his instrument in saving others.
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In 2022, God blessed me with marriage to David.
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A Dutch missionary who had spent years ministering in the Middle East.
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Our wedding was a celebration of God's faithfulness, attended by believers from 23 countries.
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David understands the price of following Christ in hostile territory.
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And together, we continue the work God has called us to.
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Right now, wherever you are listening to this testimony.
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Jesus is calling your name.
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He may not be asking you to risk execution.
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But he is asking you to surrender everything to him.
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The question you must answer is simple but profound.
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What is Jesus worth to you?
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Is he worth your comfort zone?
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Is he worth your reputation?
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Is he worth your whole life?
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Every breath I take is a miracle.
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Every sunrise is a gift from God.
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Never underestimate the power of our Savior.
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If God can free a Saudi princess from death row.
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He can handle whatever impossible situation you are facing today.
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Jesus is still performing miracles.
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And you might be his next one.
Topics:Princess AmiraSaudi ArabiaBibleChristian testimonyreligious persecutionspiritual awakeningIslamic royal familyfaith transformationChristianity in Saudi Arabiasupernatural deliverance
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