Growing Up Bin Laden - Jean P. Sasson [97]
I knew then that terrible times were upon us.
So, finally, the Osama bin Laden family would be a true mountain family, our activities lit by candles or gas lanterns. Most worrying, no pipes had been laid to bring water to the area. Would my delicate mother now balance a water jug on her head, struggling to climb a rock mountain to bring drinking and cooking water into her kitchen? Then I remembered that there was no kitchen. Where would our food be prepared? A second later I realized that there was no bathroom. I grimaced. This would not do because my mother and aunties and sisters were often hidden away, unable to leave their homes if men not of the family were in the area. They must have an accessible indoor toilet!
Once again, my father seemed to read my mind. “We will build a small bathroom for each set of two rooms.”
Pulled into a debilitating melancholy, as before I could only grunt in reply.
Once again, my father appeared euphoric when he should have been in despair. Something about the old times of war had triggered an unexpected enthusiasm. How I longed to argue with him, to point out that while the ramshackle buildings might look sweet to a warrior like him, they were unsuitable for women and children. But I didn’t, for I was not yet of an age when bravery came instinctively. I still felt like a child in my father’s presence, helplessly caught in the swift-moving vortex that was taking his family with him to a destructive end.
“Yes,” my father said with a confident tone. “All will be well.”
I glanced at Abu Hafs and Sayf Adel, who were accustomed to my father’s way of thinking and maintained their usual composure. Two other soldiers were scratching their heads in bewilderment, but like me, they would never dare argue with my father. In fact, every man who served my father had a habit of requesting his permission before opening their mouths. “Dear prince, may I speak?”
At my father’s command, his men and I spent the next few weeks tossing out the ten-year-old rubbish of war, sweeping the dirt floors, draping animal hides over the open doors and windows, and traveling back and forth to Jalalabad to buy ordinary supplies. We purchased three small portable gas cookers, each with one ring, for my father’s wives. There was a need for metal pails for hauling water from the nearby spring and a few metal pots for cooking. We gathered enormous quantities of plastic dishes and simple cotton bedding, along with a few military cots for the adults. I was glad that my father sent us back to the stores to find a bunch of cheap carpets to spread on the floors.
Even after our efforts to tidy up and furnish the buildings, the huts appeared bleak and inhospitable.
The most difficult job was to construct three simple bathrooms, yet we finally completed the task. I wondered if they could fulfill their purpose in the absence of a water supply, but my father said there was a company in a nearby village that could possibly deliver containers of water. Hopefully my mother would not be hauling drinking and cooking water from a mountain stream.
Once we had done all that we could do, my father announced that he had decided against bringing his wives and children for an additional three months. The war was still erupting in pockets and no one seemed to know what to expect. My father was apprehensive because he still had not received any message of welcome from the reclusive Mullah Omar.
Despite my relief that my father was being cautious, I was missing my mother. Perhaps her sweet presence might bring clarity to my father, helping him to understand the absurdity of women and children living perched on a mountaintop in stark, cold, and inferior dwellings.
My father, his men, and I mainly remained in Tora Bora, although there were trips back and forth to Jalalabad. My father met with various military men there, but he often told me to wait outside while he spoke to them.
As time passed, I became more familiar with the soldiers who had made the plane trip from Khartoum. My favorite of all my father’s men was Mohammed