Growing Up Bin Laden - Jean P. Sasson [145]
Over time I had become closer to some of my father’s Russian war veteran friends than to my own brothers. When I returned from Khartoum, my good friend Sakhr seemed particularly pleased to see me. He even agreed to let me practice my driving, which was not something I got to do every day. I climbed into the driver’s seat and Sakhr sat beside me, advising me to be careful; the last time he had driven, the bad roads had damaged the steering. Sakhr was very patient, doing all the things most fathers do for their sons, guiding me, allowing me to drive all the way into Kandahar, teaching me the tricks of maneuvering along single-lane roads, watching out for all the donkey carts and horse-drawn carriages. In many ways the scenes of Kandahar were enchanting, even though we both knew that war and terrible poverty had reduced the Afghan people to substandard living conditions.
Such lighthearted occasions were about to end, for an event was on the horizon that would take us one step closer to hell on earth.
Chapter 23
True Terror
OMAR BIN LADEN
During the summer of 1998, the Kandahar compound reminded me of a disturbed beehive. Leaders were coming and going without explanation. Whatever they were doing, it excited the fighters, who set about testing their weapons, monitoring the roads, and peering at the skies, all with equal intensity. I searched the skies, too, but for what I did not know. I sensed a great conspiracy, but no one would tell me anything. I approached my father gingerly, asking if something big was at hand.
He replied, “My son, it is not for you to know. It is the family business.” That was his code for al-Qaeda business, his usual barbed response when his sons became too inquisitive for his liking.
The secret was well kept. Even my friend Sakhr was unaware of the exact nature of affairs, although he agreed with me that my father and his commanders were as prickly as porcupines.
Time passed slowly until August 7, 1998, when those of us who were out of the loop finally discovered the reason behind the energized activity. I had risen early as usual, gone to the mosque to say my prayers, and then walked over to my father’s main office within the Kandahar compound.
My father did not speak; he was listening intently to the world news on the radio. Soon afterwards, he announced, “All men of fighting age must prepare to leave Kandahar.” We rushed to do his bidding, discovering that we were going to a nearby training camp to await some important news.
The camp was only an hour away, and once there, all the leaders tuned their radios to the news. I did the same, eager to discover what it was my father was waiting for. Around 12:30 P.M. local time in Afghanistan, and 10:30 A.M. local time in Africa, the news reported that there had been simultaneous car bomb explosions at the United States embassies in Dar es Salaam, Tanzania, and Nairobi, Kenya. According to the report, there was massive loss of life.
The breath left my body. I studied my father’s face; in my life, I had never seen him so excited and happy. His euphoria spread quickly to his commanders and throughout the ranks, with everyone laughing and congratulating each other. I soon heard someone shout that a successful strike had been made against the enemy: America!
After a few moments of shock, I expressed gladness as well, mirroring the reactions I was seeing, especially since I had been taught since childhood that Americans were determined to murder me because I was a Muslim.
With reports coming in about the terrific damage and loss of life, the fighters celebrated by firing their weapons into the air. I heard some of the fighters boast about how the explosives for the bombing had been prepared in one of the homes of the ammunition