Growing Up Bin Laden - Jean P. Sasson [38]
There were so many of these sessions that most of them have merged in my memory, although I do recall one specific trip when my father announced, “Today we are going to add rigorous training to our program. We will include mountain climbing. I have selected an area where there are many steep hills.” His soft voice dropped. “There will be no water until we descend the hills.” Despite this, we knew that he often carried a small container of water in case anyone collapsed from the heat.
My brothers and I were downcast at the prospect, but did not protest. We had tried reasoning with our father before. Instead of a useless argument, I decided to prepare myself mentally.
Off we went with our driver, who was always ordered to accompany us on such jaunts, obediently trailing in our father’s footsteps. Up we walked, the searing Saudi sun beaming down on our heads, our legs soon becoming tight with the steep incline. No one could keep pace with my father. He had physically trained himself since youth. Although he was not a man of muscle, no one could hike with the relentless persistence of Osama bin Laden. After observing him on many desert excursions, I had the childish thought that my father could circle the globe without a moment’s respite or a drop of water.
By the time we were halfway up the high hill, our poor Yemeni driver’s eyelids were mere slits. I watched as his face paled, his steps slowed, and his breath became labored. His voice was pitiful when he croaked out, “Water . . . I must have water . . .”
At first my father ignored him. He relented only when the poor man, who was of an age that white hairs were sprouting in his beard, slumped to the ground and commenced begging. “I will die without water, Sheik Osama. I will die. Just a drop, please, one drop . . .”
I was so glad when his thirst was quenched that I let out a sigh of relief. Unfortunately, our driver’s water hysteria grew contagious. Soon one of my older brothers began to weep, believing that he, too, would perish without a drink of water. I walked steadily, staring at my feet, yet listening as one by one my brothers gave in, beseeching my father for a small sip of water.
My father clicked his lips in disappointment as he rationed the water, giving each of my brothers a few sips. I studied his expression, so bland with insensitivity. Boiling anger heated my heart and mind even more than the desert sun! I decided I would rather die than beg. It would serve him right if he had to tell my mother that he had killed one of her sons.
With my pounding head keeping time with my loud heartbeat, and my throat so parched that my tongue began to swell, I refused to allow the words I longed to shout escape from my lips. Never have I wanted water with such intensity. But I never faltered. I walked steadily until I took that final step at the base of the hill.
I looked at my father in triumph. I had passed his inhuman test. I had not pleaded for water. The two of us were the only ones who succeeded in making it to the base of hill without taking a drink of water.
Looking back, I know now that my father was surprised that one of his youngest sons on the trail was the last male standing.
There were other absurd rules regarding our conduct. We were allowed to speak in his presence, but our voices must be kept low and our words carefully measured. In other words, we should not “over-talk.” We were told that we must not become excited at any situation. We should be serious about everything. We were not allowed to tell jokes. We were ordered not to express joy over anything. He did say that he would allow us