Growing Up Bin Laden - Jean P. Sasson [167]
The great day arrived when I was told that my Saudi passport application had been approved. I was happier than I had been in years to learn that I had regained my birth name and real heritage, for I had never accepted my father’s decision to change my official records prior to our leaving Sudan. In fact, I smiled so widely that all my teeth were exposed. Fortunately there was no one around who objected or who took a count.
The force of the emotion I felt at being a Saudi Arabian once again was greater than I could have imagined. I quickly made plans to return to the land of my birth, to the land I loved.
Arriving in Jeddah was the best moment. I had not seen the city of my childhood for eight long years. I relished everything, the scenery, the smells, the people. I visited my father’s family, who had been instrumental in helping to make my dreams come true. Besides, who else could I turn to, if not my family?
There was so much I wanted to do, but my first trip was to the holy mosque in Mecca. I thanked God that I had not been tempted by my father’s path, that I had been successful in resisting a life of violence, even when I was young and malleable.
After that wonderful experience, I traveled back to Jeddah, enjoying every day as a step toward building my new life. I met many of my bin Laden relatives for the first time, for our father had intentionally kept his children on the perimeter of his father’s family.
One of those relatives was Randa Mohammed bin Ladin, my father’s half-sister and my dear auntie, who was a few years younger than my mother. Not holding my association with my father against me, Auntie Randa took me under her protective wing.
This auntie was one of the smartest ladies I’ve ever known, and had accomplished so much with her life. She was not only the first woman in Saudi Arabia to obtain a license to fly an aeroplane, but had gone on to become a medical doctor, taking care of family members when they were ill.
For some reason, my auntie took a great interest in my life. Although my bin Ladin relatives had given me a menial job, she said that in order to achieve any success, I must go back to school. She was so serious about it that she telephoned the Ministry of Education and arranged for me to go in for an interview. I told her that I would, although I was not certain that I could follow it through. School days triggered such terrible memories.
For years I had carried around a seething anger at the teachers at the Obaiy bin Kahab School in Jeddah, particularly one who was so cruel that he had no business working with young children. I decided to return to that school to confront the man. He had beaten me repeatedly, and I thought perhaps I might lure him from the school and cane him, to teach him what it felt like.
The humiliations there had been so great that when I walked up to the entrance of the school, I suffered a rush of dread throughout my body. Although I was nineteen years old and had finally grown to be a big, strong man, I felt as if I were a helpless child.
However, I would not let it stop me from telling that cruel teacher what I thought of him. To my disappointment, I soon learned that he had retired years before. No one would tell me where he lived; in fact, I could not locate any of the teachers who had mistreated my brothers and me. Realizing that revenge was going to be impossible, I stormed away.
That school made me think more seriously about the appointment my Auntie Randa had made. I had to admit that I was uneducated. My father had interrupted our formal schooling, except for religious instruction, when I