Growing Up Bin Laden - Jean P. Sasson [110]
I thought of my husband and Omar every day they were away. I tried to be patient, but after they had been out of my sight for nearly 120 days, I began to despair of ever seeing them again. Then one happy day my husband’s faithful employees suddenly informed us that on the following morning we would all be leaving Khartoum to join Osama and Omar. I was not told where we were going and I did not ask. I was most surprised when I learned that my husband had ordered that we were to leave all personal items behind. We were instructed that we could only bring two changes of clothing for each person. We were not to take any household items. I was not even to take a sewing needle! I could only assume that our belongings would follow us later. My husband always organized everything just so.
There were other considerations more worthy of my worry: How would the move affect my children? My thoughts also drifted to Omar and his love for the horses. Once again his father’s beloved horses were to be abandoned to an unknown fate. Since Osama’s departure, some of my husband’s men had taken Abdul Rahman, Sa’ad, Osman, and Mohammed to the stables, so the horses were still fit. But what would happen to those beautiful horses once my sons were unable to supervise their care? I did not know. Realizing how such news would afflict Omar, I felt sad for his sadness. I had many other questions but they remained private to me, tucked away in my heart.
The departure on the following morning was not as complicated as the time we moved out of Saudi Arabia because we had no personal items to pack. We walked away as if we were a family going on holiday, soon to return.
My husband’s workers arrived at al-Riyadh Village in a convoy of minibuses and automobiles. We were led to our assigned vehicles to be driven to the airport. I looked back only once as al-Riyadh Village disappeared from view. Another chapter of our lives was closed.
A large plane had been chartered for our private use. Osama’s family was not traveling alone, for his men and their families were going, too.
My husband’s wives and children had been assigned seats at the front of the plane. Every other seat was filled with Osama’s men and their families. Without speaking to anyone, I settled in with my children. My sister wives and their children sat nearby, close enough to converse, although none felt stirred to idle chatter.
With Abdullah in Saudi Arabia, and Omar with his father, I left Khartoum with only seven children. Khairiah and eight-year-old Hamza were on the plane with us, as were Siham and her four children. In total, there were fourteen members of Osama’s family on the flight, four fewer than had first flown into the country from Saudi Arabia. My mind was calmer than you might think, for when one has no control, it does no good to fret, although I did pray for peace to envelop the entire world and for my little family to be settled nicely. I held that thought close to my heart.
Ours was a mystery flight, as no one on board had been given any indication of where the journey would conclude. From what we women were told, not even the men knew if we were returning to Saudi Arabia, or perhaps moving to Yemen or Pakistan.
From what I remembered of Pakistan, I would not be unhappy there. I knew little about Yemen, other than that both of our families had come from there, but felt it was a conservative Arab Muslim country that would be well suited to our traditional style of living.
The flight seemed to last forever, leading me to believe that