Growing Up Bin Laden - Jean P. Sasson [169]
I would have to work my way up in business without a formal education.
Then came October 12, 2000, and the attack on the U.S. ship USS Cole at the Aden harbor in Yemen. While the Cole was waiting to be refueled, a small boat approached, with the men on board pretending to be friendly fishermen, waving at the American sailors on the boat, who started waving back. When the boat reached the port side, a huge explosion occurred, killing seventeen sailors and wounding thirty-nine others.
I felt a wave of nausea. Was my father celebrating, as he had after the bombings in Africa? Of course, I had no way of knowing the full truth, no more than any other ordinary Saudi citizen. I was no longer on the inside looking out, but was on the outside looking in. In truth, I preferred my new viewpoint, although I never stopped worrying about my mother and siblings.
Before too many days had passed, international news reports were saying that my father’s al-Qaeda organization was behind the Cole bombing. Was this the big attack Abu Haadi had warned me about? Instinct told me it was not, for despite the damage done and the lives lost, the Cole attack was much less destructive than the American embassy bombings. Abu Haadi’s words had implied that the coming attack would be so gigantic that few could imagine it.
My nerves were shattered, and there was no one with whom to share my worries. My father’s family in Saudi Arabia had an unspoken agreement not to speak about such awkward matters as my father and his activities. Even my full brother Abdullah rarely said our father’s name. My half-brother Ali was living in Mecca with his mother, but Ali and I had little to say to each other. Our childhood memories were so painful that we had no desire to revisit those days.
So I agonized in private, with Abu Haadi’s words ringing in my ears, still hoping that the big event my friend had warned me of would never occur.
During December 2000, my Grandmother Allia and her family received an invitation to travel to Afghanistan for my brother Mohammed’s wedding. She was excited about seeing her eldest son.
Not surprisingly, I did not receive an invitation. I was amazed, however, to hear that my young brother Mohammed was going to marry the daughter of Abu Hafs; to me, both the bride and the groom were still children.
My younger brother’s wedding also brought my own unmarried status to mind.
When my grandmother returned from the wedding, she summoned me to her home. I was eager to hear the details of family life in Afghanistan, and although she told me little, she did reveal that the wedding was one of the grandest, and that Mohammed was the happiest groom. She reported that all members of my family were doing well, which brought me a nice feeling of relief.
Then my grandmother surprised me by saying, “Omar, your father is very angry with you for leaving Afghanistan. He commands you to return.”
Dazed and startled, I asked for further details. “Why is he angry? He was not angry with Abdullah for returning to Saudi Arabia. Why is he angry at me?”
She would only say, “I do not know the reason for my son’s anger. He is your father. Go back, Omar, go back and find out. Your father commands it.”
The unexpected message plunged me into turmoil. No son could ignore such a direct command from his father, but what had happened to cause him to issue the order?
I thought about many possibilities. Perhaps the command had something to do with my friend Abu Haadi. Had my father called a special investigation as to why I failed to return from Syria? Had someone discovered that Abu Haadi had warned me of a secret mission? Although Abu Haadi had refused to say more than that I should run away, even that information could get him into such serious trouble that he might be executed for treason.
Had my father asked my mother to reveal our conversations? While my mother would never volunteer information about me, should my father ask a direct question, my mother would never lie to him.
After a week of vacillating, I decided