Growing Up Bin Laden - Jean P. Sasson [160]
After the wedding, my daughter and her husband moved into a compound house close to me, which brought me joy. I remembered years before when I had married Osama, and my mother had balked at her daughter moving so far away. For the first time I understood my mother completely.
Omar appeared strangely subdued. Although glad to have the chance to recommend the best grooms, Omar confessed that during the weddings he had been struck by apprehension at seeing his baby sister Fatima become a wife at such a young age.
After Omar said those words, I confessed that worry ate away at my heart as well. Fatima was so young and innocent, completely protected by her mother. She had never known anyone outside her family. On the other hand, in our culture, a woman needs a good husband to protect her. I could only pray that her husband, Mohammed, would be the best husband for my young daughter.
A few weeks after Fatima’s wedding, Omar came to me in a very serious state of mind. My son said, “My Mother, I would like you to travel to Syria to have this child. I will take you.” He paused. “We will take the youngest children with us.”
I was so surprised that I did not know what to say. None of Osama’s wives was in the habit of leaving Afghanistan, for any reason. In fact, I had already given birth to one child in the country, my youngest daughter, Rukhaiya.
Truthfully, I had not once considered leaving.
Omar appeared obsessed, pushing me to agree. He said, “My Mother, if you will not ask your husband for permission to leave, I will do it for you.”
I stared at my handsome son, his brown eyes flashing with determination. Who could have guessed that of all my sons the most sensitive Omar would be the one whose courage would soar with each passing year? It was not easy for anyone to stand up to Osama’s tremendous force. My son was a brave man, and I loved him all the more for his concern for me and his younger siblings.
Chapter 26
The Beginning of the End
OMAR BIN LADEN
During those tense days, it was impossible to find an opportunity to have an easy exchange with my father. By his very nature, he was an obstinate man, always quick to say no when one of his sons had an idea. So I knew that I needed time alone with him to state my case, to choose my words carefully. I could not mention Abu Haadi’s warning, or my friend would be severely punished. I must speak only of my mother’s health, and the need for her to have special attention for the upcoming birth. However, having a private conversation with my father was difficult, for he was always surrounded by his loyal men, men who seemed determined to hover closely.
Then one day my father called a meeting with all the fighters. My brothers and I tagged along, wondering what was so urgent.
My father’s talked about the joys of martyrdom, how it was the greatest honor for a Muslim to give his life to the cause of Islam. I looked around the room as my father spoke, studying the faces of the fighters. I noticed that the older fighters looked a bit bored, while the young men newest to al-Qaeda had a kind of glow on their faces.
When the meeting ended, my father called for all his sons to gather, even the youngest. He dismissed the men who generally hung by his side, so I was thinking that I might have the perfect opportunity to discuss my mother’s health, and her need to have a good doctor to deliver her eleventh child.
My father was in a rare good mood, having just finished a successful talk with the fighters. Certainly, he had the power to inspire young men to give up their lives, for as we filed out of the meeting room, I saw several of the younger fighters scrambling to put their names on the list of potential martyrs.
In an excited voice, my father told us, “My Sons, sit, sit, gather in a circle. I have something to tell you.”
Once we were at his feet, my father said, “Listen, my Sons, there is a paper on the wall of the mosque. This paper is for men who