Growing Up Bin Laden - Jean P. Sasson [44]
Excited by the hullabaloo we had created, we followed our driver up the stairs, where we found the poor man visibly shaken. He gave us a rare scolding, saying that he had nearly toppled over with Abdul Rahman, and had that happened, both would have died when they hit the hard marble floor four flights down. Luckily our driver had saved the day.
Another personal milestone occurred for me in Medina. I turned seven and was enrolled in the Obaiy bin Kahab School, beginning the daily school trek with my older brothers. I had longed to go to school with my brothers for years, and despite their warnings that I was the lucky one to remain at home, I never believed them. I thought perhaps they were having so much fun that they wanted to cut me out.
Too late I discovered that my brothers had not misled me. School was an instant torture, because our family name generated vicious animosity from our teachers. I was shocked to learn that I was hated for being a bin Laden.
The bin Ladens were known to be among the most prosperous and influential families in the kingdom. Rarely did the middle- or lower-class Saudi have an opportunity to be around a member of my grandfather’s fabulously wealthy family. Perhaps the teachers were privately seething at the bin Ladens’ riches and influence. Whatever the reason, when they had a chance to take out their jealousy on us, they did. Despite our desperate attempts to please those teachers, nothing helped to deflect their anger. I remember one teacher who announced in class that my family’s wealth and influence would not affect his conduct. That man was the worst, and taunted me more than the others.
It was particularly painful because some students mimicked his actions. One gang of boys even threatened my brothers and me with rape! There were times we had to fight to protect ourselves or, if caught alone, run like the wind.
Teachers in Saudi Arabia have the legal right to cane any student, and some of them exercised that right. Our grades were often lowered, sometimes marked as failing, even when our work was of high quality. There were times when the beatings and bullying became so unbearable that we pleaded with our father to enroll us in schools where our name would not attract such hostility.
My brothers and I questioned why the sons of Osama bin Laden were sent to public school when our father, uncles, and sons of our uncles attended only the best private schools. While our cousins were being prepared for a life of privilege, we were being sent to substandard schools that would hamper our future. Indeed, our futures were fixed by those inferior schools. Not only were the teachers cruel, but we were receiving an inadequate education.
Had our father made a strong complaint to the school, the teachers would have changed their behavior. But he was strangely unmoved by our dilemma, lecturing us on his stern beliefs: “Life has to be a burden. Life has to be hard. You will be made stronger if you are treated toughly. You will become capable adults, able to endure many hardships.” When no one stood up for us, the teachers grew even bolder.
Because of my early school experiences, it was one of the happiest days of my life when I learned we were returning to Jeddah in 1988, a year after moving to Medina. All I could think was: I will escape the Obaiy bin Kahab School! My brothers tried to warn me that the school in Jeddah would be more of the same, but I brushed their warnings aside, believing that nothing could be as bad as the school in Medina.
Every day was a torture until our belongings were packed and we were all loaded into large vehicles for the return move. I was smiling so widely when I saw Jeddah that one of my younger brothers warned me that he could see too many of my teeth. When he began to count them, I stopped smiling. Nevertheless, I remained happy, for those cool Jeddah sea breezes felt like a healing balm.
I soon discovered that my brothers had not lied about the school in Jeddah. I became so desperate that I spoke