Growing Up Bin Laden - Jean P. Sasson [154]
Chapter 24
The Tightening Noose
OMAR BIN LADEN
Very shortly after Mullah Omar’s visit, my father received word from one of his contacts in Pakistan that his mother had flown from Jeddah to Dubai and that she and her husband, Muhammad al-Attas, would soon arrive. The details of her trip had been carefully coordinated by my father’s brothers, who lived in Saudi Arabia, although my father was unaware she was coming until she was in Dubai.
My grandmother had visited once or twice when we lived in Khartoum, but that was a long time ago and much had happened since then. Everyone was pleased by the news that we would soon see a favored and lovely face in our Afghan home, but none more than my mother, who at forty years of age was pregnant with her eleventh child. She loved her Auntie Allia as a second mother, so she was more excited than I had seen her in a long time.
On the day of their arrival, my father announced that he would drive to the airport himself and I would accompany him in his vehicle. Other brothers and fighters would follow in a caravan. Since we left Saudi Arabia, my father had rarely driven himself. So I knew he was displaying the highest honor for his mother.
As usual, we were fully armed with our Kalashnikovs and grenade belts, thinking nothing of how that might appear to our visiting relatives who were unaccustomed to our militant world. In Saudi Arabia, civilians can end up in prison for carrying weapons, although during his years of fighting the Russians, the Saudi royal family had allowed my father flexibility for his personal security.
My father and I stood together and watched as the plane landed. While I emulated my father’s quiet, serious demeanor, in my heart I could barely contain my excitement. Just then, my grandmother and her husband appeared at the open door of the plane and gave a little wave before starting their descent down the roller-style stairs.
My grandmother was a woman of normal height and build. My father had inherited his height from his biological father. Grandmother was attractive, very smart, and spoke with confidence. My father’s stepfather, Muhammad alAttas, was a short man, about five feet eight with a medium build, gray hair, and a mustache but no beard. He had a very pleasing appearance and a quiet, kindly nature.
My father and I walked rapidly to meet them. Once Grandmother was halfway down the stairs, my father apparently noticed for the first time that she was unveiled, her face revealed for any stranger to see. He quickly motioned with his hands for her to cover her face. She seemed surprised, but took the edge of her head scarf and looped it over her face and eyes. Of course, that made it difficult for her to maneuver down the steps, causing her to stumble, nearly toppling down. We made an instinctive jump to save her from a fall, but she managed to catch her footing at the last minute.
His mother glided gracefully to her son, locking her hand into his and the two of them were in a world of their own. Never had I seen perfect happiness before, but on that day I knew that my father was as happy as a man could be.
My father escorted his mother and Muhammad to the cab of the newest truck in his fleet, telling me to ride in the back, in the open air, as there was not enough room for four to be comfortable. The other automobiles would follow. I leaned over the side of the truck, feeling so good that I wanted to celebrate. By this time I had acquired some of the habits of the fighters in the camps, and thought nothing of discharging my gun in celebratory firing, shooting many times into the air.
My father