Growing Up Bin Laden - Jean P. Sasson [14]
Once Osama returned, we would happily discuss his day and mine, and then we would have our evening meal. Sometimes we ate alone but more often with Auntie Allia and her family, which was very enjoyable. Of course, we would break off social talk for all the required prayers, with the men dashing off to the mosque and the women praying at home.
After family time, my husband often joined other men for impassioned discussions of political or religious topics. It is common in Saudi Arabia for men to spend the evenings with their male friends, rather than with their wives and families. The men will gather in various homes on different evenings of the week, where the men have a special room that is all their own. They will drink tea or coffee and some will smoke cigarettes and enjoy the camaraderie of their peers.
Like all women in Saudi Arabia, I would never attend such gatherings, but would remain with the women of the house. By the time my husband returned late at night, everyone would retire.
The best time for me was the sleeping time.
After a year or so of living in Jeddah, I had girlfriends I had met through my Auntie Allia. We would visit each other’s homes on occasion and sometimes discuss our husbands and our mothers-in-law. I was one of the few young brides who had no complaints about my husband, our marriage, or my mother-in-law.
One of the many blessings in my life was that we lived near Mecca, the Blessed, the most holy city for Muslims, which was only about fifty miles from my new home. I held Jeddah in great affection, but Mecca was the city I loved most.
Our Prophet Mohammed was born in Mecca, and Islam’s most holy mosque, the Grand Mosque, is the heart of the city. Because of this, Muslims from every corner of the world spend long hours dreaming of the day when their happy eyes will see the blessed city and their feet touch the sandy soil.
Osama was eager to take me there soon after I arrived in Jeddah—for obvious reasons, but also because he was proud that the rulers of the kingdom had chosen his family to maintain the holy mosques in Mecca and Medina, which was the greatest honor for a Muslim.
I remember my high excitement on the short drive to Mecca. To travel there from Jeddah takes only an hour, and less with Osama at the wheel. Mecca is 910 feet above sea level, so the highway slowly climbs to that elevation. Nothing had prepared me for the sensations that gripped me at the moment the city dipped into sight and I spotted the vista all Muslims ache to see.
Soon my feet were on the ground. In a dreamy daze I walked in the direction of the great mosque. To my despair, I soon found myself distracted. Although it is not a requirement to wear the veil at the holy mosque in Mecca, I did so in deference to Osama’s wishes.
I had not yet become accustomed to wearing the veil. Although Saudi women familiar with the abaaya appear svelte and elegant, those new to the veil and cloak are not so graceful. The face veil is kept in place by hairpins, while the abaaya is held closed with the right hand, giving the wearer a lot to coordinate. In my inexperience, I remember being worried that I might accidentally expose my face or my garments underneath the cloak. I first adjusted my face veil under my head scarf, then tightly grasped the edges of the cloak with my right hand. As I walked through the huge mosque area, I prayed that I would do nothing to attract attention, humiliating myself before other worshippers.
I was sure that I looked a fool, hanging on to my garment and placing each step with great care. Suddenly, in that most holy place, an unwelcome comic image popped into my mind. I remembered a story I had read as a child about a big black bird who is tricked into dropping some cheese. That children’s fable swirled around and around in my head as though an automatic switch had been flipped. As desperate as I was to savor this sacred moment, I could not get the fable out of my thoughts:
There was once a big black crow sitting high up in