Growing Up Bin Laden - Jean P. Sasson [71]
My older brothers and I conspired as to how we might start a pigeon family. We plotted as carefully as if we were going on a military campaign. We knew that we had to wait until our father was out of the city for he did not like us to leave the neighborhood. We began noticing when the security gate guards took a break. Soon we realized that most of the guards took lengthy breaks from their posts during the hottest hours of the day. We waited until our father left on a trip before gathering our bikes to wait until the midday sun was blazing. Sure enough, one by one, the guards drifted away, going to their villas for a cool drink and a nap. That’s when we jumped on our bikes and burst through the unguarded entrance of al-Riyadh Village.
We pedaled furiously, traveling the highway with the wind in our faces and our hair blowing. Freedom had never tasted so sweet. Our mission was successful because we found what we were looking for in the adjacent village. Pigeons were famous there and we looked them all over seriously before purchasing our first breeding pair. That first pair was very expensive, costing us 5,000 Sudanese pounds. But we had become bolder over time and took larger amounts from our mother’s stashes. Still, she never inquired about missing money, so we knew that she knew.
Although our mother’s life was one of extreme seclusion, and she was a wife who obeyed her husband’s every wish, when it came to her children she found ingenious methods to help us bend our father’s overly stern rules. Not a word was spoken about such matters, for she would never go directly against our father, yet she helped us to survive our bleak lives. My mother was a very wise woman in such situations.
Our pigeon hobby escalated. One small cage with two pigeons soon grew to larger cages with new breeding pairs. Oldest brother Abdullah was not so interested in pigeons, for some reason, but Abdul Rahman, Sa’ad, Osman, and I became obsessed. We personally built our cages. Then we helped Mohammed build his cages, because he was so young at the time. Before long the entire garden was filled with pigeons in cages. We loved those pigeons, spending many hours taking care of their needs and celebrating when little pigeons hatched. We neglected to worry about how our father might react to our hobby, although we felt that he wouldn’t forbid it since pigeons are popular with many Muslims. Besides, in the beginning stages of our hobby we once noticed him when he arrived at the house to visit our mother. On that day he had casually glanced at the one small cage and the first two breeding pigeons. His expression didn’t change and he just kept walking, so we let our guard down.
Then one day he walked into the garden and paused. His expression was one of disbelief. His face flushed a bright pink color as he studied the massive cages, pigeon houses, and what looked like hundreds of pigeons. Father was visibly shocked.
Knowing we were in big trouble, my brothers and I attempted to hide, but he spotted our timid selves lurking in the background.
With anger sparking like lightning in his eyes, he said, “Come here.”
We moved slowly, believing that we were going to feel the effects of his heavy cane.
He didn’t shout, but the fury in his soft voice was scary. “What is this?” He gestured with his hand. My voice stuck in my throat, and without giving us a moment to respond, he ordered, “Get rid of every pigeon. If those pigeons are not out of the garden by nightfall, I will personally slit the throat of each one.”
With an angry glare at each of us, he turned on his heels and walked away, his tall figure rigid with rage.
My brothers and I knew that he was capable of killing them all, so we scrambled to find them a home. After pleading with one of the family’s drivers, he agreed to help us transport our pet pigeons to one of our father’s many farms. Those pigeons were gone by nightfall. What happened