Growing Up Bin Laden - Jean P. Sasson [165]
During this time, my son Omar was making plans. My son had never accepted the loss of his heritage, and his goal was to be reinstated as a Saudi Arabian. His father’s family was offering their kind help, and it seemed Omar would succeed, although time was needed for his application to be approved.
That’s when I discovered that my son was not only making personal plans, but had ideas about other members of our family. Omar wanted to return to Afghanistan only in order to bring Iman and Ladin out to live in Syria.
I took my time speaking, for I wanted Omar to understand that I could not abandon my children. Finally I replied, “My son, Iman and Ladin must remain where they are. I am going to them. They are not coming to me.” I paused, glancing at little Nour. “When Nour is three months, I will return with her to Afghanistan.”
Omar pleaded, “My Mother, I have heard rumours. Great harm is coming. You must stay out of Afghanistan.”
I had heard Omar’s warning more than once, yet I was but a miserable fragment of a woman without those six children I had left behind in Afghanistan. I was also the wife of a man whom I had never disobeyed. “Omar, I will be returning to Afghanistan, my son. That is where my husband and children are.”
Omar was persistent. “My Mother, please stay away from Afghanistan. A great harm is coming.”
“Omar, if danger is coming, then I must return. I have small children there. They will need their mother.”
Neither of us could erase Iman and Ladin from our thoughts, for Omar blurted, “I cannot sleep. If only I had stopped the vehicle and seized Ladin as he was running along beside me. If only I had grabbed Ladin.”
I looked at my son, a feeling of sadness gripping my heart. I knew my place in life. I was the wife of Osama bin Laden, and I had many children with him. I had to return to my place in the world, which was with my children. But Omar was another story. My most sensitive son had never accepted the life he had been given. He would never be happy with his family, yet I feared he would never be happy without his family.
Osama soon called me, to find out whether the child had arrived safely. He asked when Omar was bringing us back to Afghanistan. That’s when I told him that Omar might not return. Osama paused, but said nothing except that I should arrange to fly from Syria to Pakistan. He would send Osman, our fifth son, there to meet us. If Omar was not returning to our family, then Osman would be responsible for his mother.
The day arrived when I said goodbye to my family in Syria. Omar was still there, waiting for approval of his Saudi passport, at which time he would go to Jeddah, to resume his life there, as had my eldest son, Abdullah.
Before I left, Omar made one last appeal, but my answer was the same: “I must return to my place in life, my son, and that place is with my children.”
And that was that.
The return trip was so unpleasant that I have mainly blocked it from my memory. I missed Omar more than I had imagined, for my fourth son had been my staunch protector since he was a teenager, but now he was in Syria, and I was traveling without him. I did have Abdul Rahman and Osman with me, but both were involved with the dangers of the road journey. I, alone, cared for a tiny baby and a toddler. Both babies cried many tears during that nightmarish journey.
Despite the danger Omar warned was awaiting in Afghanistan, nothing had ever looked quite so welcoming as the walls of our compound in Kandahar.
My husband came quickly to see me and the new baby. Little Ladin was a jumping bean, so excited that his mother had returned. Darling Iman was equally pleased, but stood quietly, waiting for her mother’s touch. My sister-wives were all well, happy that I was back so that we could catch up on each other’s news. By this time it was early in the year 2000, and I spent the rest of that year enjoying my children, although I missed the ones who were not with me, especially Omar.
The biggest surprise came late in the year when my young son Mohammed,