Growing Up Bin Laden - Jean P. Sasson [58]
The sunflower harvest was the most fun. I would select a big pair of scissors and be happy to settle myself in a caravan of big black vehicles. Once at the farm, Osama would arrange the timing so that there would be private hours when his wives and children might work harvesting the sunflowers without concern that we would accidentally mingle with strangers. Although we wives would wear our customary veils, when no one else was in the vicinity our veils might slip away from our faces because we were concentrating on clipping the sunflowers. Of course, if we heard any human voices unfamiliar to our ears, we would quickly conceal our naked faces.
Some of those enormous sunflowers were many times the size of our heads. I often studied those huge plants in admiration, knowing that Osama was the reason for such beauty. Those are the best memories, of being busy and part of a worthy mission to produce something practical.
On other occasions we traveled to a place called al-Kuttiya. The trip was very long and the roads unpaved, so the journey created many thrills. When it was the dry season we stirred up dust storms and when it was the rainy season the dust turned to mud, and our vehicles often became bogged down in the sticky muck. Everyone would groan in frustration at the delay. In truth we were not as displeased as we appeared because our lives were so quiet that we minded little to be trapped on the road.
Omar and his brothers would struggle to push the wheels free so that we might continue our trip. For some reason the sight was very funny to me and the other wives, watching our strong sons heave and push and strain. Sometimes the eager driver would push too hard against the gas pedal and the mud would fly in many directions. We would giggle under our veils watching the boys leap about, trying in vain to dodge that airborne mud.
On the way to the farm in the south, the boys would sometimes call for the caravan to stop at a certain area that only they knew was favorable for hunting. They would leave the women and the small children in the cars while they slipped away to hunt for food. There was a special type of big turkey that was most exceptional, and loved by all family members. Our boys were excellent hunters and never failed to shoot several. Once we arrived at the farm area, we would boil the turkeys, then pull away their feathers. It was a bit sad to eat them because those turkeys were quite attractive with their white-dotted feathers.
Other times Omar would call out for us to stop because his keen eyes had caught sight of a special tree that produces delicious fruits. The name of the tree is lost to memory but we would eagerly watch as Omar climbed the tree and selected the best fruits. My sweet son would present them to me so I could save them to eat once we arrived.
At the farm there were a few lovely huts, like little cottages. They were small and round, with tall thatch roofs shaped like a big ice cream cone. Those round huts had been constructed in the middle of a forest of big trees where large groups of monkeys lived. Those monkeys were more fun than a circus. The entire monkey family would become animated at our arrival and would amuse us with their antics. After watching the entertaining monkey show for a while, we would enter the cottages to settle ourselves for a much anticipated holiday that generally lasted four nights, or until Osama said it was time for us to leave.
The huts were masterfully constructed from dried twigs, foliage, and small branches. Osama had arranged for numerous cots to be placed in the huts so that everyone had their assigned beds. Osama also arranged for us to have mosquito nets to drape over our bodies, warning us about malaria, which is a deadly disease in that part of Africa, particularly for small children. I was meticulous about draping those nets over my smallest children.
I particularly liked the delicious mangoes that grew on trees right outside the hut. I have happy