Growing Up Bin Laden - Jean P. Sasson [112]
The rest of that day I was very quiet, saying nothing as I cared for my smallest children.
The following morning Omar came for us with a caravan of small trucks. Omar shared our vehicle and, in his way, provided few details. We talked casually about the other children and what had happened in Khartoum since Omar’s departure. I did not probe, but I felt that my son had a sense of trepidation about him, the cause not becoming clear until I saw what he already knew. I was relieved that Omar did not question me about his beloved horses, for I knew only that they had been abandoned, as had our horses in Saudi Arabia.
The geography of Afghanistan was as amazing as I had heard. My eyes were seeing a breathtakingly beautiful land. I had a thought that I would like to paint the striking landscape, but then I remembered that all my artist supplies had been left in Khartoum.
I was so weary that my eyes closed. My first months of pregnancy sapped my energy, but the road was so bumpy that sleep was impossible. Iman and Ladin soon exhausted themselves and napped fitfully.
Soon we were climbing a big mountain with our truck slipping and sliding across a dirt road not much larger than a pathway. I was convinced we would all perish! I was glad that I was wearing the veil so no one could see the alarm on my face, but Omar spotted my knotted hands. “My mother, the first time is scary. But our drivers are the best. No one has gone over the edge yet.”
My son wanted to make me feel better.
The mountains were so closely connected that they appeared as one. Omar, so sensitive that I accused him of being a reader of minds, said, “Soon you will be used to this,” before relating the very surprising news that one of those huge mountains had been given to my husband by the man recently killed in a tribal feud, Mullah Nourallah. I admit that information did not make me feel any better, as I was not fond of my husband becoming too personally attached to such a high mountain in such a distant land.
At that moment we passed a security checkpoint, my husband’s men guarding the area with their big guns. Of course they were expecting us, so we passed freely. Once the trucks were parked, Omar shocked me with his words, “My mother, we must walk the remainder of the way.”
Thankfully the walk was not so long. I had several worries. Perhaps I would stumble and harm my unborn child. Or perhaps one of the younger children might plunge off the tall mountain. I glanced back to see Khairiah and Siham following closely, and although we were all wearing our veils, I knew in my heart that their faces were filled with worry. Where on earth was our husband bringing us?
When I turned my face upward to the sky, I saw Osama’s large figure standing on the edge of a ledge. His men had alerted him to our arrival and he was now intently watching as a human trail of women and children climbed his mountain. He appeared to be standing on a flat area of the mountain and I wondered if he had ordered his workers to chisel down the granite. I was surprised to see that Osama had company. There was a tall dog standing near my husband. Omar told me, “That is Bobby, my watchdog. Mullah Nourallah gave Bobby to me a few weeks before he died.”
I began to wonder about that man Mullah Nourallah. He was a great giver of gifts, from dogs to mountains. Arabs honor those who are so charitable. A very generous man who cared about my husband and my son had been killed. I felt sorry for that, although most likely the man was in white paradise even as my children and I were in danger due to his generosity, braving the steep mountain he had so graciously given to my husband.
We drew nearer to Osama. I could see some ramshackle buildings made of dark gray rock behind him. I admit those buildings did not excite me. While my heart was made heavy by what I was seeing on the mountain,