Growing Up Bin Laden - Jean P. Sasson [158]
I finally approached Abu Haadi and asked if he would be willing to go with me. Although he wanted me, a young boy, to escape, he said, “No, Omar. I cannot. My place is with your father.”
I sat silent and sad, nibbling on that dried camel meat for weeks, dreaming of my lost opportunity to escape, yet I did not give up on the idea.
That’s when my mother caught my full attention. Watching her one day when she was laboring in a steaming hot kitchen, cooking a simple meal of rice on a single gas burner, I was struck by the dreadful idea that perhaps my mother might not live through her upcoming delivery.
Pregnant so many times and now enduring pregnancy later in life without medical care or proper nutrition, my long-suffering mother appeared unwell. Not that she complained—indeed, never once during all those years did I hear my mother voice displeasure about anything. She lived without air-conditioning in the hottest weather, without proper heating in the coldest weather, without modern appliances to store or cook food or wash her family’s clothes, without proper food for her children, without medical care for anyone, and without a way of communicating with her mother and siblings. She accepted all these circumstances with the sweetest composure, always voicing positive thoughts to her husband and children, yet surely she must have had many silent doubts about the path my father had chosen. She had started her marriage with great hope, traveling to a wealthy country to live out her life with the man she loved. I knew that her girlhood dreams had not come true, even if she refused to acknowledge it.
Suddenly I was glad that I had not run away and left her. With my father so occupied with his Jihad and other business, my mother mainly depended upon me.
That’s when I knew that someone must take my mother out of Afghanistan. She should return to her mother in Syria, where she could receive proper medical care. Her youngest children must go with her. There were three youngsters between the ages of three and nine years. Pretty Iman was nine, cute Ladin was six, and adorable Rukhaiya was three.
Thinking that perhaps the dried camel meat would be useful after all, I began to hatch a second escape plan, focusing this time on the safety of my mother and youngest siblings.
Little did I know that other shocking ideas were brewing in my father’s mind, plans that would push me away forever.
Chapter 25
Young Marriage
NAJWA BIN LADEN
I knew that my boys were growing up when I overheard them discussing marriage. Osman and Mohammed were both too young for marriage talk, but were influenced by the eager discussions they overheard among their older brothers.
Abdullah and Sa’ad were the only two sons who had married. Abdullah had now been gone for five or six years. When Auntie Allia visited, she brought the welcome news that our eldest son was a father. I had not had any opportunity to meet with my first grandchildren, although those babies were in my day-dreams.
Sa’ad and Omar had actually traveled to Sudan to find brides, but only Sa’ad was successful, bringing his wife back to live near us. Within a year Sa’ad and his wife had a son they named Osama, which greatly pleased my husband.
I could scarcely believe that my husband and I were grandparents. Where had the years gone?
During that time Osama called the older boys together and presented them with some land, telling them that they should till the earth and produce food as he had taught them to do in Sudan. My husband believed that our boys could become financially self-sufficient by harvesting the land. Such a business enterprise would put fresh vegetables on the table as well as providing extra cash from any sales.
None of my sons was enthusiastic about farming, although they were respectful as always, each one replying, “Thank you, my Father. We will tend to this matter.” His sons did not inherit Osama’s great love of agriculture.
Omar