Growing Up Bin Laden - Jean P. Sasson [2]
People are not born terrorists. Nor do they become terrorists in a single stroke. But step by step, like a farmer preparing a field for planting, their lives unfold in a pattern that leaves them prepared to receive the seed of terrorism.
And so it was with Osama bin Laden. And the man, men, and events that planted that seed faded away. But the seed grew and the terrorist walked. And the man before, became the terrorist thereafter.
Najwa Ghanem bin Laden knows only the man. The West knows only the terrorist.
—JEAN SASSON
PART I
Early Days in Saudi Arabia
Chapter 1
My Youth
NAJWA BIN LADEN
I was not always the wife of Osama bin Laden. Once I was an innocent child dreaming little girl dreams. These days my thoughts often drift back in time and I remember the little girl that I was and the safe and happy childhood I enjoyed.
Often I’ve heard adults speak of their childhood with regret and even anger, glad that they have escaped the younger years. Such talk is baffling to me, for if I could, I would go back in time to the first part of my life and I would remain a little girl forever.
My parents and siblings and I lived in a modest villa in the port city of Latakia, Syria. The coastal region of Syria is lovely, with sea breezes and fertile land where lucky farmers grow fruit and vegetables. Our backyard was abundant with green trees bursting with delicious fruit. Behind our narrow seaside plain one could see the picturesque coastal mountains, with terraced hills of fruit orchards and olive groves.
There were seven people living in the Ghanem household, so our home was undeniably hectic. I was the second child born to my mother and father and enjoyed good relations with my older brother, Naji, and my younger siblings, Leila, Nabeel, and Ahmed. There was also a half-brother, Ali, a few years older than the children of my mother. My father had been married several times before he married my mother, fathering Ali with an earlier wife.
My closest sibling was Naji, who was one year older. Although I loved my brother dearly, he, like most boys, possessed a mischievous streak that caused me many moments of terror.
For example, I was born with a fear of snakes. One day, Naji used his pocket money to slip into the local bazaar to purchase a plastic snake, then knocked very politely at my bedroom door. When I answered, my brother gave me a roguish grin and suddenly thrust what I thought was a live snake into my hand. My piercing screams stirred the entire household as I dropped the snake to run so fast one would have thought I was riding on air.
My father happened to be home and rushed to deal with the crisis, almost certainly believing that armed bandits had come to murder us. When he finally realized that my hysterics were caused by Naji, who was proudly brandishing the fake snake, he stared long and hard at my brother before he began to scold him.
Naji remained unrepentant, crying out over Father’s yells, “Najwa is a coward! I am teaching her to be brave.”
Had we been able to see into the future, when snakes would become routine visitors to my mountain home in Afghanistan, perhaps I would have thanked my brother.
My favorite spot in the villa was the upstairs balcony, a perfect place for a young girl to escape to dreamland. I spent many enchanting hours lounging there with a favorite book. Generally, after reading a few chapters I would use my finger to hold the page and gaze outward to the street below me.
The houses in our neighborhood were nestled closely together, with small commercial establishments all around. I loved to observe the busy traffic of human beings rushing throughout the neighborhood, completing their daily tasks so that they might retire to