Growing Up Bin Laden - Jean P. Sasson [78]
Even then, I knew that my brother was lucky to have escaped the complicated existence of the Osama bin Laden family. Had I known it would be years before I would see Abdullah, I hope I would have told my brother how much he meant to me.
After Abdullah left, Abdul Rahman rose to the eminent position of the oldest son, as our father said that was the way it should be. Yet my older brother did not have the traits necessary to manage so many lively siblings; and besides, from his youth, Abdul Rahman had little awareness of anything but his horses. Sa’ad, the third-born son, remained such a lighthearted joker that no one could take him seriously, not even the youngest kids in the family. Soon the mantle of the most responsible son quietly fell upon the fourth-born: me. My shoulders were not yet broad enough for such a duty, as I was only twelve years old when Abdullah left. Yet I endeavored to muster up the good judgment to assume the role.
First we had lost Auntie Khadijah, Ali, Amer, and little Aisha. Now Abdullah was far away. Who would be next?
Realizing that only adults ask such questions, I suddenly knew that my childhood was over.
The hard times were upon us, and from that moment on, any chance of happiness evaporated. We soon learned that the Saudi government had revoked our Saudi citizenship and frozen my father’s assets. Although he had some money in Sudan and a few other places, he lost access to his huge bank accounts in the kingdom. With limited funds, many things would change. Our homes in Jeddah and Medina and the Jeddah farm were all confiscated, including our personal belongings and even our horses and livestock.
We no longer had official connections to Saudi Arabia.
Panic set in. If not Saudi, who were we? I wondered. Our grandparents had originated from Yemen. Did that mean we were now Yemeni? My mother had been born in Syria. Could I possibly be Syrian?
Our father gathered our family to tell us that from that time on, we were Sudanese! Our father said, “The Sudanese government has graciously bestowed Sudanese citizenship upon us all.”
I was devastated. While I liked many things about the Sudanese, I was a Saudi and knew it. In my heart, I always remained Saudi Arabian, although official documents said otherwise. Much to my horror, when I studied my Sudanese passport, I saw that my birth name had been changed. I was now Omar Mohammed Awad Aboud! My last name was no longer bin Laden! Even my birth year had been changed from 1981 to 1979, for whatever reason, I have never known.
Our small world was shrinking day by day. After the assassination attempt, my father grew edgier, behaving as though every government in the world, other than the Sudanese, was his devoted enemy. By now I was fourteen years old, and I was becoming uncomfortably aware that my father was heavily involved with more dangerous political issues than I had ever imagined. How I wished that he would limit his activities to raising the biggest sunflowers the world had known! But I knew that I was dreaming and that he would never change. In fact, his passion for Jihad was expanding.
There were many troubling signs. My father began to meet more openly with militants he knew from Afghanistan. Some of the groups felt the call to Jihad against various Middle Eastern as well as western governments. My father’s group was al-Qaeda, which at the time was mainly interested in clearing Muslim nations of outside influence.
There was also the al-Jihad group, headed by Dr. Ayman Muhammad al-Zawahiri, which focused on overthrowing the Egyptian government. I was not often in Dr. Zawahiri’s presence, and for that I was glad. From the first moment I met the man, he left me feeling unsettled, despite the fact my father respected him.
I do acknowledge that Dr. Zawahiri