Growing Up Bin Laden - Jean P. Sasson [35]
Some Islamic scholars believe such a relationship with four wives is essentially unachievable, and that was the rationale behind Prophet Mohammed’s limiting provision. Other scholars have varying opinions, with a large number saying that it is entirely possible for a fair-minded man to treat four wives identically. For this reason, Saudi men remain free to marry up to four wives.
I have always liked the opposite sex. I was not yet in school when I first realized that love between a man and woman was a very powerful emotion. Women were on my mind, for my father had recently taken another wife.
I first fell in love when I was very young. Despite my immaturity, I was struck so strongly that I felt as though a bolt of lightning had pierced my heart. My love was an “older woman,” a beautiful eight-year-old girl who was the daughter of my mother’s friend. She was tall, with chestnut-colored hair that reached to her waist, lush olive skin, and exotic doe-shaped black eyes. Her physical magnetism was so potent that I just stared at her. Nothing came of it, of course, due to my youth.
Meanwhile, I found great joy in horses and riding. My father, a natural horseman who had ridden since childhood, introduced his sons to his love of horses at an early age.
The first time I rode a horse was when I was four or five. I was with Abdullah, my oldest brother, who was nine or ten at the time. My father had trusted his firstborn son with the honor of easing his youngest into the world of horses. Abdullah felt the responsibility keenly.
I remember little of that day, other than the basics. I do recall being carefully positioned on a saddle with Abdullah behind me. Being on a horse for the first time, I became excited and quickly lost my balance. I was a strapping child, and grasped my brother’s arms and neck with such force that I took him with me as I fell to the hard dirt under the horse’s hooves. Thankfully the mare was accustomed to children, and managed at the last minute to dance around our small bodies.
My brother was shaken by the fall and more than a little worried that he would be blamed if his baby brother was injured, so he announced that we had “learned enough about horses for one day.”
Although I had taken an early spill, I was eager to try again. Within a year or two, I was riding bareback with my brothers.
Occasionally I also rode with my mother. My mother liked riding, although she faced two obstacles. First, she was pregnant during most of my youth, and knew that horse riding would be dangerous for her and the child she was carrying. Second, she could not be seen riding horses by any men outside our immediate family, so her outings had to be carefully planned.
Horses became the center of my life. I hated the fact that my father had given permission for me to ride only the gentlest horses in his stable, and was eager to ride the most powerful stallions, like my older brothers.
I can’t recall my age when I first rode a stallion, but I know I had been riding for only a few years when my three older brothers and I accompanied our father and a group of seven friends into the desert. The adults were riding horses. For some reason I can’t remember, my father’s sons were following along in a four-wheel drive.
Suddenly, our driver came to a skidding stop; one of my father’s friends had been thrown from a rambunctious horse. Thankfully, the man was not badly injured and was able to limp away from the incident, but he decided to continue the day’s journey in the car. That’s when our father galloped up with the reins of the rider-less horse dangling from his fingers. He bent down, glanced into the car, and asked, “Who wants to ride?”
My three older brothers avoided our father’s eyes. I was surprised, thinking that it was a great opportunity. Already bold for my years, I leapt out of the car, declaring, “I will! I will ride!”
I had never been allowed to ride such a big, powerful horse, and was afraid my father would say no, but