Growing Up Bin Laden - Jean P. Sasson [171]
The most difficult leave-taking came when I bade farewell to my mother and siblings, struggling with a sinking feeling in my heart that I might never see any of them ever again.
When I left my mother, I told her for a final time, “Please leave this place, my Mother. Come back to real life.”
Chapter 29
Leaving Afghanistan Forever
NAJWA BIN LADEN
My son’s visit had renewed my worries. All I could think about were his words of warning. For the first time, I felt that Omar had been speaking the truth, that it was best for me to leave Afghanistan. In fact, for the first time during my marriage to Osama, I wanted to take my children and return to my family home in Syria. However, I was not brave enough to approach my husband.
I found myself thinking about leaving all the time, becoming obsessed with the idea that I must get out of Afghanistan. However, I did not want to leave without my children, at least my children who were unwed. That would be Abdul Rahman, and my four youngest, Iman, Ladin, Rukhaiya, and Nour.
Osman had recently married a daughter of the one of the fighters, so I had four children, Sa’ad, Osman, Mohammed, and Fatima, who were bound with their spouses to Afghanistan. I knew that they would not go with me.
I fretted until I was exhausted. Omar’s worries became my worries. With this worry ballooning into a huge fear, I finally realized that I would be happier if I at least made an effort. If Osama said no, then there was nothing to do, and I would accept whatever God sent my way. If Osama said yes, then I would take it as a sign that I should go.
The hot summer came to an end in August, and that is when an opportunity arose for me to approach my husband. Not wanting to lose my nerve, I asked without hesitation, “Osama, can I go to Syria?”
Osama did not move. He stared at me, thinking. During all the years of our marriage, Osama had always said that any of his wives were free to leave any time they felt the desire to do so. He said, “You want to go, Najwa?”
“Yes, my husband. I want to go to Syria, to my mother’s house.”
My husband and I did not speak of divorce, because that was not what I was asking. I only wanted to go to Syria, with my youngest children.
Osama said, “Are you sure you want to go, Najwa?”
“I want to go to Syria.”
He nodded, his expression a bit sad. He said, “Yes, Najwa. Yes, you can leave.”
“Can our children leave with me?”
“You can take Abdul Rahman, Rukhaiya, and Nour.”
“And Iman? And Ladin?”
“No. Iman and Ladin cannot go. They belong with their father.”
I nodded, knowing that I would be unable to change Osama’s mind about those two, but why, I will never know, for both were very young.
“All right. I will take Abdul Rahman, Rukhaiya, and Nour.”
Osama said, “I will arrange it. You will leave in a few weeks.” Then my husband turned and walked from the door, as though we were discussing the most mundane matters.
Doubts stirred. Perhaps Omar was wrong. Perhaps there was no reason for me to go away.
Osama saw me several times before I left. He made a particular point of telling me, as he had when I had gone to Syria to give birth to Nour, “I will never divorce you, Najwa. Even if you hear I have divorced you, it is not true.”
I nodded, believing my husband. I knew that our family ties would ensure Osama’s loyalty. Besides, I was not seeking a divorce.
In fact, on the morning I was leaving, I presented my husband with a round ring, a token of our years together. Osama had always been in my life, as my cousin before he was my groom, my groom before he was the father of my children.
Early in September 2001, my son Osman drove me out of Afghanistan and far, far away from my sons Sa’ad, Mohammed, and Ladin and my daughters Fatima and Iman. My mother’s heart broke into little pieces watching the figures of my little children fade into the distance.
But I did save Abdul Rahman, four-year-old Rukhaiya, and two-year-old Nour.