Growing Up Bin Laden - Jean P. Sasson [55]
The previously small town of Jeddah had become a thoroughly modern city over the past ten years, boasting tall contemporary buildings and the most modern highways. In contrast, Khartoum appeared to be comprised of sun-baked, mud-brick buildings, none higher than a few storeys. I could not be certain from my viewing spot, but many of the roads appeared to be unpaved. As we drew near to landing, the dirt and dust began to increase.
While it was true that the desert was always encroaching upon Jeddah, Saudis made it a goal to push the creeping sand back, hindering its stealthy crawl into the city streets. That did not seem to be the case in Khartoum. I thought perhaps the Sudanese did not possess the financial resources with which Jeddah was blessed.
I knew a few facts. Sudan was the largest country in the African continent, with an Islamic government. Egypt was a neighbor, as were Ethiopia and Eritrea, two countries I knew something about due to conversations with some of our tea girls, smart young women we had left behind in Saudi Arabia to work for other lucky families. Because Sudan was so vast in size, the country claimed a host of border-linked neighbors: Egypt, Eritrea, Ethiopia, Kenya, Uganda, Congo, the Central African Republic, Chad, and Libya. Just as in Saudi Arabia, the Red Sea bounded one side of Sudan.
Khartoum, the city where we were landing in the plane, was the capital of Sudan, although it was a relatively young city, founded in 1821. The White Nile, which flows down from Lake Victoria, and the Blue Nile, which flows west from Ethiopia, come together in Khartoum as twins, but leave the city as one, flowing north into Egypt, where it becomes the world-famous Egyptian Nile.
My girls gave a little jump and giggled when we felt the airplane wheels hop along the bumpy runway. Fatima joined me when I peered once more out the windows, gazing at the scenery of open fields of dirt and sagebrush. There were a few dust-laden trees that seemed so out of place one would wonder if they had unexpectedly popped out of the ground. We observed men and women scurrying about simple homes in small settlements. The Sudanese women were wearing loose, vividly-colored dresses with matching head wraps. Most of the men were wearing the traditional jalabiya, which is an ankle-long gown, with tagias (skullcaps) on their heads. Others were dressed in the sirwal and ragis, which are baggy pants and thigh-length tunics, generally of the same pastel color.
I wondered briefly about those people and the sort of lives they were living, but I lost sight of them as we pulled closer to the terminal, a concrete building about three storeys high. As we got ready to disembark, I had to concentrate on my children.
Carrying Iman in my arms and encouraging Fatima to remain by my side, I motioned to my six sons to stay nearby. There was a rush as everyone pushed to the door of the aeroplane and onto and down the steps the airport workers had rolled up to the door.
The moment I stepped outside the door, I recognized the tall figure of my husband standing beside a long black car that one usually associates with very important visitors, or VIPs. Well-armed security guards were circling the area. The car windows were blackened for privacy, an Osama family custom. There were other similar cars in a line, all waiting to carry my husband’s large family to our private homes.
I walked up to my husband. I knew him so well that without his speaking a word I could see that he was relieved we had arrived safely. We exchanged little other than a nod and a casual greeting. Muslim men and women do not express emotion or touch physically in public, even after many years of marriage and many children.
Everything had been arranged beforehand. Because of my husband’s influence, there was no requirement for our family to endure the formalities of passport control and customs.
The moment everyone was settled in the long black cars, security cars surrounded