Growing Up Bin Laden - Jean P. Sasson [121]
One night after the Pakistani had gone to bed, a young man who spoke no Arabic came fleeing from the room where the Pakistani was sleeping. He was screeching at the top of his lungs that the man was hurt. Everyone dashed to see for themselves, finding the Pakistani with a large hole in his neck. He had been shot and had died instantly.
The young man with the hysterics claimed that it was an accident and he had been “playing with his gun.” Of course, no one knew the truth of that night. Whatever happened, the result was tragic because two men lost their lives when the young shooter was hauled off by the Taliban, most likely to be executed.
There was a practical joker in every camp. I remember one specifically who created havoc by using Super Glue on his sleeping mates. One man had been injured, and the other men were sleeping close to him, trying to keep him warm. While they were sleeping, the joker glued their hands and legs together with the Super Glue. Surprisingly, his friends didn’t beat him bloody, but it took many months before they saw the humor.
Although there have been many reports of men who claimed to be my father’s driver, the truth is that he never had one specific driver. Wishing to avoid jealousy among his followers, my father had a habit of walking up to a trusted follower and saying, “Drive me to Kandahar” or “Drive me to the camp.” None of the men who drove my father’s vehicles knew when they might be asked to transport my father, although all were hoping to be chosen for the honor.
For this reason I was astonished to follow the 2008 trial of a man by the name of Salim Ahmad Salim Hamdan whom the Americans identified as my father’s driver and bodyguard. Salim was charged with some serious crimes after he was arrested at a roadblock in Afghanistan in November 2001. Two surface-to-air missiles were allegedly found in his car, and the Americans believed he had been delivering weapons.
I have no idea if Salim was doing my father’s bidding in transporting weapons, but what did surprise me was to hear Salim parrot one of the arrest charges, claiming yes indeed, he was my father’s driver. The Americans had got it wrong, and Salim admitted to something he never was. Perhaps Salim still so revered my father that he wanted history to remember him as a special follower of my father. He probably believed it impossible to have a fair trial and he might as well have some glory attached to his name. In the Arab world, Salim and his entire family would be highly praised and rewarded to be formally identified as Osama bin Laden’s trusted driver.
I admit I was glad when the American jury found Salim innocent of the most serious charges of conspiring with al-Qaeda to attack civilians because I can say that Salim was never a member of al-Qaeda. Just because a former veteran took pleasure in hanging around my father did not mean he belonged to al-Qaeda. I was with my father for years, and along with my brothers I even observed the fighters’ camps, but I never joined al-Qaeda.
Before my father’s soldiers were allowed to appear in the camps, they were told to choose a fictitious name. The soldiers were also instructed to “forget their past,” and were forbidden to share personal information about their former lives. My father said that it was necessary to create such smoke screens, making it impossible for captured fighters to reveal the real names of other fighters. How could they reveal a name they had never heard?
I believe that is why it has been so difficult for the American security to trace many fighters. Only the veterans of the Russian war knew the real names of other veteran fighters. All newcomers never revealed their true names to other fighters, or if they did, the names were quickly forgotten due to the common use of their bogus names.
For example, my brothers and I knew Salim as Sakhr al-Jadawi, meaning the “Eagle of Jeddah.” Sakhr was born in Yemen and had the typical Yemeni appearance of a small