Growing Up Bin Laden - Jean P. Sasson [36]
The shock came quickly. Before I was even settled in the saddle, my father and his friends abruptly galloped away. Without prompting, my big stallion shivered in excitement and leapt forward after the other horses. Had my horse wings? I wondered, because I was flying through the desert so rapidly that I couldn’t tell which way I was going, positioned so high above the ground that I felt like I was on top of a mountain. Clinging on for dear life, I tried every trick I knew to stop the horse, but the stallion ignored every command of his tiny passenger. In fact, rather than slowing his pace, my horse gained momentum. Too late I learned that although I was a proficient horseman for my age, that didn’t mean I could handle any situation. I screamed for my father, “Father! Stop the horse! Stop the horse!”
Thanks to Allah, my father finally heard my cries for help. He turned around and came to me, skillfully plucking the reins out of my hand, slowing the stallion to a full stop.
I tried not to show my immense relief, although I silently admitted that my riding skills were not yet perfect. I jumped down from that frisky stallion, determined to walk the remainder of the journey. Thinking I was safe, my father and his friends left me in the dust. Soon the car transporting my brothers passed me. Sensing that they were enjoying my plight, I took care not to make eye contact with any of my brothers. The vehicle slowly cruised past.
Too soon, riders, horses, and the car disappeared into the haze of the desert. I was completely alone, my small hands grasping the reins of a horse that I knew I could not control. I felt a nervous lump thumping in my throat.
Suddenly something spooked the stallion. He reared to his full height, front legs pawing the air, back legs dancing. I tugged on the reins in a vain attempt to keep him in check, and although strong for my age, I didn’t have the strength to restrain him, or even to hold on to the reins. The horse gave one final buck before zipping away. Terrified of the consequences if I lost one of my father’s prized stallions, I dove for a stirrup, miraculously seizing it with my hand. I held on tight, feeling my knees and feet sting as I was roughly dipped back and forth to the ground, yanked through sagebrush, dirt, and small stones.
My wild ride ended when the stirrup broke loose. The world around me stilled. I was crumpled in the dirt, sputtering sand and coughing dust, but still clutching the broken stirrup. When I looked at my escaped charge, I got a final view of the stallion’s haunches and tail as he moved like the wind. The unbearable had happened. Not only had I been unable to control one of my father’s prized stallions, I had lost the horse. I sat quietly, looking around, wondering what to do next.
Soon the desert came alive with a welcome clatter. Our worried driver had circled back to check on me. I jumped to my feet. Over the din of the vehicle I could hear the sounds of my brothers’ laughter. The car pulled along beside me. I was so ashamed that I didn’t know what to do, so I tried to pretend I didn’t have a care in the world.
My father soon came galloping back, surprising me with his visible concern for my well-being. When I haltingly revealed what had occurred, my father let out a rare laugh, giving my brothers the courage to laugh so hard that they exposed their teeth, which was not allowed in our family.
The noise of the car engine failed to muffle my brother’s guffaws. Everyone was laughing at me, other than our Yemeni driver. How I loved that kindly man. He had been our driver since I was a child, and although he had children of his own, he took a special interest in us. I shot him a look of appreciation.
As my brothers continued laughing, my humiliation grew. Not wanting my father or brothers to know that I was ashamed, I began laughing with them. Soon I found