Growing Up Bin Laden - Jean P. Sasson [56]
Soon we pulled into a posh area where I saw that many attractive homes had been recently constructed. I was informed that we would be living in that community, a well-to-do suburb of Khartoum known as al-Riyadh Village. The houses were all nicely-sized and built closely together.
Osama had arranged for four houses in al-Riyadh Village for the family and for his men who guaranteed our security. The house where his family would live was fine enough, a large house with three storeys. As always, I lived on the top storey, with my wife friends residing in various apartments below me.
My oldest sons were quick to choose their living space, while I made the decisions for the little ones. All in all, I was relieved and pleased, knowing that as long as we were all together all would be well. My husband resided that first night in my private apartment. His presence was agreeable to me.
After two weeks, we had settled into a routine that in many ways resembled our life in Saudi Arabia. My husband arranged for two local women to help with the home and children, although Osama had lately been hinting that I should take care of my children by myself. In my culture, the men of the family make all the important decisions, but I believed that with eight children, some of whom were toddlers and babies, I required assistance. On this point I was quietly determined, and in the end Osama appointed the two native girls, who were very helpful and more than pleasant.
Each morning we would rise with the sun to say our first prayers of the day, and then would go back to sleep. After resting for a short time, we would make certain that the boys were not late for school. As was the custom in Khartoum, our sons would have breakfast there.
I was glad to hear that Osama had arranged for the oldest boys to attend a very good private school. I knew by that time my sons had been miserable with the public schools they had attended in Jeddah and Medina. In Khartoum, they would be attending the Al-Majlis Al-Afriiki Ta’leen Alkhaas, or the African Council for Special Teaching. The school was open six days a week, every day but Friday, which of course is our Islamic holy day when the routine of daily life is suspended for twenty-four hours.
Seeing my sons in their regulation school uniform brought back memories of a generation ago. My thoughts swirled back to the early years that suddenly seemed so far away. I felt the ache of those days when I was a young wife, dolefully watching my young husband in his carefully pressed school uniform as he left me to miss him while he was attending to his work and his schooling.
Now our handsome sons were following in their father’s steps. Abdullah, Abdul Rahman, Sa’ad, Omar, Osman, and even our youngest son, little Mohammed, created a clamor each morning as they leapt to don their dark green trousers and light green shirts. If their father was not staying with me, they were permitted to make a lot of noise. I would smile, watching as they became too boisterous and fell over each other, rushing from my living quarters to meet Ali, Khadijah’s oldest son. Together all seven of the boys would race on foot to the curb of the compound area to wait for a white school bus.
My apartment was very quiet after my six sons emptied out, leaving me with my two girls, Fatima and Iman, who were as calm as a blue sky after the passing of a sandstorm. My daughters and I would eat a nice leisurely break-fast, and then I would share important playtime with them, for they were still too small to learn to read the Koran or to help me with chores. We might play hide-and-seek if I was feeling up to it.
Afterwards, my maids would continue to play with my girls so that I might stretch and exercise. As I grew older and stiffer, I was discovering the importance of becoming more physically