Growing Up Bin Laden - Jean P. Sasson [42]
As the first girl after five sons, our baby sister Fatima was a novelty, a pet whom we all loved. She entertained the family for hours as she first learned to crawl and then to walk. My mother had dreamed of a daughter for so many years that she loved playing with Fatima and dressing her in frilly clothes. She had a beautiful face and her hair was curly and grew so long that it hung down her back. As she grew older she watched our mother and copied everything she did.
I often studied my father’s conduct with the younger siblings. He appeared to enjoy lounging on the floor and rolling around with the babies, allowing Mohammed and Fatima to crawl on his head and chest. He even hugged and kissed them. I couldn’t recall my father being so affectionate when I was a baby, although my mother claimed to remember such moments.
Soon after my father married his fourth wife, I learned that our entire family was moving to Medina. I was not troubled in the least because I was too young to realize the implications of leaving Jeddah.
Chapter 7
Moving to Medina
OMAR BIN LADEN
In the beginning, Medina was an exciting place to live. My eyes bulged when I caught sight of the enormous villa—even bigger than our large apartment house in Jeddah—that would be our home. But disappointment loomed. The exterior of our new home appeared a mansion, but we discovered that the interior was simple to the point of being stark. The vast floor space was empty other than a few inexpensive Persian carpets on the floor, cushions lined against the walls, and thin mattresses for sleeping.
I often wondered why our beautiful mansions were so plainly decorated. Once I asked my mother and she confessed that when she was a young bride she had dreamed of having a beautifully decorated home, but she had long ago left those dreams behind.
My father’s frequent absences, added to her almost continuous pregnancies, had left her without the opportunity to decorate in the early years of their marriage. Then, after they moved into their own home, my father had changed his opinion and decreed that his family should live a simple life. He said that he would not allow her to spend his money on elaborate furnishings.
Remembering the stark furnishings of that Medina home, I would classify my mother’s living quarters as penthouse living without the luxury.
Although we were together as a family, most members of the family missed Jeddah. Only Siham, our father’s fourth wife, who came from Medina, seemed happier there, because she could see her family more often. The rest of us had left our hearts in Jeddah, the only city we had known, within a short driving distance of our beloved family farm. We could not imagine how forlorn our life would become without the freedom of those weekend breaks on the farm.
Still, there were a few good moments in Medina. I recall an amusing incident that occurred shortly after we moved to the city.
My wittiest brother, Sa’ad, and I were bored, pacing through our empty home in search of something entertaining to occupy our time. At the welcome sound of a knock on the villa door, we hastened to see who was visiting. We found three veiled women, hands extended, begging for money.
Saudis by their nature tend to be generous, but are more so during religious holidays. Therefore, underprivileged Saudi women stroll through wealthy neighborhoods, knocking on doors, making their case for charity during such times.
Sa’ad and I were both young, and neither of us understood exactly what we should do, especially since we had no coins to give them. At first we indicated that they should leave, and then Sa’ad suddenly changed his mind and declared, “Wait! You can’t leave!”
I gazed curiously at Sa’ad, as did our veiled visitors. They looked at us through their black coverings for a few minutes, but then all turned to go at the same time.
Sa’ad’s voice became urgent. “No! You can’t leave!” he cried again. He paused, then shouted,