Growing Up Bin Laden - Jean P. Sasson [89]
And so in May 1996, Osama, his son Omar, and other trusted advisers left Khartoum to fly to the most lawless land in the world: Afghanistan, a place where he would not be bound by national or international laws. Osama bin Laden would be free to do as he pleased.
PART III
Afghanistan
Chapter 15
Retreat to Afghanistan
OMAR BIN LADEN
An old friend was awaiting my father’s arrival as we filed out of the plane, stretching our stiff limbs. Mullah Nourallah, meaning “Light of God,” rushed to my father’s side, welcoming him as enthusiastically as if my father was a long-lost son. I recalled my father telling us that the Pashtun are some of the most hospitable people on earth. If Mullah Nourallah was any example of routine Pashtun hospitality, then I felt better already.
With his powerful body and confident stride, Mullah Nourallah looked like a warrior. He wore his black beard long, although it was tinged with a streak of gray. As always, I remained unnoticed, standing to the side, observing. My father never introduced me as I trailed along behind.
I soon learned that Mullah Nourallah was one of my father’s oldest and best friends from the days of the Russian war, the two often fighting side by side. After the war, he had become one of the main leaders of Jalalabad, the capital and most important city of the Nangahar Province, the home of the Pashtun tribe. Nangahar Province was a significant area of Afghanistan, edging up to the Khyber Pass, which is the all-important gateway to Pakistan.
The Pashtun are the world’s largest tribal society, with approximately sixty major Pashtun tribes. While Pakistan has the world’s largest number of Pashtun people, 28 million, Afghanistan is home to the second largest population, of thirteen million. The Pashtun speak the Pashto language, and follow a long-established code of conduct and honor, called the Pashtunwali.
The previous year, Mullah Nourallah had been responsible for bringing a brutal bandit to justice, putting the criminal to death. Since that time he had risen to a high rank, yet his life was in constant danger from the bandit’s brother, who had sworn vengeance. The old adage of an eye for an eye and a life for a life was a common response in a tribal land. Mullah Nourallah brushed aside any warnings to be watchful, accepting as a true believer that his life was solely in God’s hands. If God determined that Mullah Nourallah was to die at the hands of the bandit’s brother, then so be it.
With Mullah Nourallah confidently pushing through the crowds, we slipped easily past all airport officials, walking rapidly to a group of double-cabin trucks with drivers waiting to take us from the airport. Mullah Nourallah’s vehicle was a bright red and to my mind a shining beacon for the bandits stalking him.
No one seemed to have considered the danger of being so visible, for Mullah Nourallah sat openly in the front seat, his driver so relaxed that he was humming a tune and smoking a cigarette. My father sat behind Mullah Nourallah while I settled in the middle between my father and Abu Hafs.
Once properly settled, Mullah Nourallah appeared to notice me for the first time, peering at me closely while asking my father, “Who is this boy? Is he your son?”
“Yes. This is my son Omar, the fourth boy.”
Mullah Nourallah nodded and smiled, reaching out to touch the bridge of my nose approvingly. “It is a good nose, long and prominent.” With a big smile, he announced, “You, Omar, have the nose of a strong man.”
I couldn’t think of anything to say. Truthfully, I had never thought of my nose as being long and was unsure whether or not I liked the idea.
With one ear on the conversation, I turned my eyes to my new surroundings. The Safed Koh Mountains hovered over the plain of Jalalabad. I had expected the city to be brown, but to my delight, the Pashtun city was a green oasis, watered by the Kabul River.
Everything else was disappointing. The people and the buildings appeared old and weary.