“He’s gorgeous,” Emira added. “And very religious.”
* * *
Aisha surprised her friends when she showed up at a talk in a full niqab. Only her eyes were visible.
“Brace yourself for a reaction!” Dilal said drily. “I don’t think Norway is ready for that.”
Emira quizzed her about the impracticality of being enveloped in so much material, while Ayan was fascinated. She covered only her head and wore regular clothes.
Now Aisha could see everyone and no one could see her. It made her seem even tougher, invulnerable in a way, now that she could only be heard. The niqab gave an impression of militant piety, of moral superiority.
Aisha’s sharp religious shift had come after a family stay in the UK, where her father had enrolled her and her sisters in a strict Muslim school.
“You’re doing your daughters a disservice. That education will render them unsuited to employment in Norway,” Ikhlaque Chan, a childhood friend who worked with integration services in Bærum, told him.
“Is that so?” Aisha’s father replied, and let the girls remain at the school.
The pressure on Dilal increased. One of the leaders approached her. “You should cover your hair,” he said, in a friendly tone.
Dilal looked up from under mascaraed lashes and affected a smile.
“I’m taking things one step at a time, bit by bit, okay?”
* * *
One evening, instructions about how they could increase the membership of Islam Net were distributed. He who submits to Allah and proselytizes shall be rewarded by Him.
First impressions were important. You had to alter your approach depending on whom you were talking to. If the person was a practicing Muslim, you were to stress the missionary aspect of Islam Net. “Inform them how it is obligatory for Muslims to have a group engaging in this type of work in every society. Tell them about the rewards the job brings. Talk about our activities and the results we have achieved in so short a time. Let them know we are just students and doing this only for Allah swt and that is why we need their support. Tell them we are sacrificing a lot, that our most active members have quit their jobs and failed exams because they are dedicating so much of their time to this work.”
When it came to nonpracticing Muslims, you needed to be more persistent. “Tell them about how the media are portraying Islam and Muslims as extremists and terrorists. How the media are giving the impression of Islam being a faith that oppresses women, and that we are working to clear up misconceptions about Islam.”
To non-Muslims, you were to say, “We try to build bridges between different ethnic and religious groups. We work to span diverse worldviews in order to facilitate understanding and contact between people with different religious affiliations.” You were not to mention anything about sacrificing yourself, but should use words like “equality” and “dialogue” and invite them to come along for a chat, preferably at Islam Net’s information stand on Karl Johans Gate. “Do not make any reference to people converting,” was written on the sheet.
Ayan began with the people she knew. Ivana and Ela, the Catholic and the Protestant. She sent an identical message to both a couple of weeks before Christmas 2010: “Hi you, a little debate that’s taking place, maybe you’d like to come along?” She attached an invitation to a meeting at Islam Net.
Ivana was busy with her drama program, Ela was following her dream and had started a band with her classmates Alex and Håkon, who had been in Ayan’s class all through primary and lower secondary. They were now in the music program with Ela and had big plans for their band—Kid Astray.
Ayan invited the whole band to the meetings at Islam Net. None of them went. She continued sending invites.
Håkon swiped through the material that kept on coming in on his mobile phone and mailbox. He went onto Islam Net’s home page and quickly decided it was not for him. He was struck in particular by what was written about homosexuals, premarital sex, and the covering up of women. He was surprised that tough, stand-up-for-your-rights Ayan had become a member of something like that. He could not get his head around it. Alex agreed. What had happened to Ayan? Then they forgot about it, did not have time to mull it over. They were making new friends and new girlfriends, and in time the invitations from Ayan felt pretty much like spam. If anyone was Kid Astray, it was her.
At Nesbru, Ayan handed out invites in class, pinned them up on bulletin boards, and taped them onto lampposts. In spring 2011, as her first year drew to a close, she told Knut Gundersen she had joined a Muslim youth group and was wondering if some of the leaders could come to the school to give a presentation. Certainly, the form teacher replied, always happy to see pupils taking an active interest in things. “Just ask them to e-mail me and we can work something out.”
Islam Net promptly got in touch with him to arrange a suitable time. Gundersen thought he ought to find out about the organization. He went online and the first hit he got was an article in the tabloid VG, accusing Islam Net of running an intolerant “convert school” that branded those who disagreed with them as infidels. The organization had also faced criticism for inviting controversial imams accused of radicalizing young Norwegian Muslims. Gundersen continued reading.
“Islam Net is taking Norway in a dangerous direction,” warned Abid Raja, a lawyer and leader of the centrist Liberal Party. “They want to assume ownership of how Muslims think and act.” The Norwegian Pakistani, who had been awarded the Fritt Ord freedom of speech award the same year, claimed that a number of the speakers supported the death penalty for lapsed Muslims, praised holy war, defended violence against women, and were in favor of the stoning of homosexuals. Akhtar Chaudhry, a Socialist Left Party politician and the first non-Western deputy speaker of the Norwegian Parliament, agreed: “Young Muslims should interpret our religion in line with the democratic and humane values of Norwegian society.”
Older Muslims were skeptical. Established mosques did not welcome the growth of Islam Net. Knut Gundersen got cold feet. In addition to the two politicians’ warnings about Islam Net, there was something in the tone of the e-mails he got from Islam Net that rubbed him the wrong way, that did not sit well with the open, international atmosphere of the school.
Islam Net never came to Nesbru.
7
EATING WITH THE DEVIL
The Somali mothers in Bærum were dissatisfied with the Koran instruction their children were receiving. Sometimes Sadiq would give lessons, other times one of the other fathers. They taught some verses from the holy book, a little about Muhammad, a few Arab words, before letting the children go outside to play, perhaps eat a bit. It was, the mothers felt, too slapdash. All they do is play.
Sara and a couple of the others had learned of a popular Koran teacher from someone at the Tawfiiq Mosque in the city. They agreed to ask him to meet with them. Mustafa was young, not yet twenty years old, but already a respected and sought-after teacher. He spoke in a calm, mellow voice, came across as knowledgeable, and made the mothers feel he understood what they wanted, that he was on their side. He promised a stricter framework for the teaching. The handsome young man, who concealed the early onset of baldness beneath a prayer cap, charmed them. They decided to divide his fee among them. Money from social security, paychecks, and housekeeping budgets went into the kitty for the new Koran tutor. Classes would take place on Sundays, at their homes, on a rotational basis. The mothers would provide food but would not be involved otherwise.
Around the same time Islam Net began to develop, the fathers who’d been doing the teaching until then met the new tutor.
“Weak in Arabic grammar,” Sadiq concluded.
“Extremist,” the other father said.
But when it came to the children, Somali tradition favored the mothers’ decision.
At the first lesson, Mustafa asked the youngsters to form a ring around him on the floor, boys on one side, girls on the other. A couple of the pupils grabbed cushions from the sofa. He gave them
a blunt reprimand.
“This isn’t about being comfortable. You’re here to work hard and suffer in order to benefit in the future.”
The mothers had been right. Mustafa really was out of the ordinary. When he held forth, Islam became exciting, even appealing. He created a private place where only they were in the know, a room with space only for them. Others remained outside, unaware, uninitiated.
The Koran teacher told them about the life of the Prophet in a way that brought him to life, he taught them hadith and iman—belief in Allah, belief in the angels, belief in the prophets, belief in judgment day, belief in destiny.
Fate was divided into three, Mustafa explained. “Everything that is written for you from the day you are born. Everything that happens in the Koran. The destiny you make yourself.”
His voice would put you in mind of Morgan Freeman, Ismael thought. No matter what he said, you would believe it.
Ayan made notes in round, slightly untidy writing in an exercise book: “Intention is the foundation of every action. Three things are required for an intention to be pure: 1. Reverence for Allah. 2. Timidity toward Allah. 3. Desire for Paradise.”
To live in accordance with true Islam required that you give thought to many practical matters. They learned when you should brush your teeth and perform wudu—the ritual washing before prayer. In the Koran it said, according to Ayan’s notes, “You who believe, when you rise to prayer, wash your faces and your forearms to the elbows. Wipe over your heads and wash your feet to the ankles.” “Remember the correct order,” Ayan commented in the margin. She wrote rules for visits to the lavatory, like how you should not be facing Kaaba, the sacred shrine containing the holy black stone in Mecca, while seated on the toilet. Preferably, you sit with your back toward Kaaba, but your back must not face the sun or the moon. If you inadvertently “scratched your bottom through your clothes” or brushed against a man from outside the family, drank alcohol, smoked, came in contact with your privates, fainted, or slept, you were to cleanse yourself anew. It was important to use your right hand when eating because “if you eat with your left hand you are eating with the devil.” Furthermore, the food eaten with the left hand gave only half the nourishment.
Mustafa hammered into them what was halal—permitted—and what was not, and could lose himself in detailing the punishment for the forbidden. The Juma children knew most of this from before, but some things were new to them. “Kitchen utensils in gold or silver are not allowed!” was written on a line by itself in Ayan’s exercise book. The pages were filled with exhortations and rules about what was Correct! Proper! Clean!
Sometimes Mustafa’s rules for living were based on the Koran and sharia, other times on traditional belief. When one of the boys tripped over a shoe in the hallway, causing it to lie upside down, Mustafa shouted, “Turn it over! A shoe must never lie with the sole upward!” When he was asked why, he told them you must never show the sole of your shoe to Allah. The sole is dirty, you never know what you might have stepped in. If a shoe lay that way, angels would not enter the house, leading Allah to ignore it.
Mustafa was strict about pronunciation when they read verses of the Koran, picky and exacting when it came to reading aloud Arabic words. At each session, he chose some pupils to recite the week’s lesson to the others. The three Juma siblings had been fairly average when their father was teaching. Now Ayan and Leila were studying with a newfound intensity, which pleased their mother, while Ismael was beginning to lag behind, which bothered her.
As the weeks passed, the pupils were introduced to several of the central concepts of Islam, such as the different types of holy war: the internal jihad al-nafs—jihad with the soul, the struggle against evil ideas and desires, where you strive to live as God wants; and the external jihad bi’l-sayf—jihad with the sword, where you do battle against the infidels. There was jihad against hypocrites, traitors, and oppressive leaders. It could be waged in different ways—with the heart, the tongue, the hand, the pen, money, or your entire being. The highest form of jihad was to risk your life fighting.
“Those who wage this last type of jihad,” Mustafa said, “are allowed to sit beneath God’s throne in paradise.”
Ismael began to dislike the Koran teacher. He thought he took himself too seriously and that his wispy beard that refused to grow looked ridiculous. Ayan and Leila’s fascination grew.
Death was a major theme for Mustafa. In the texts he chose, death was beautiful; martyrs died with a smile on their faces and a scent of sweet musk upon them.
“We Muslims view death as the start,” he said in his dulcet voice.
Only then did life begin.
Ismael was critical. “He’s romanticizing death!” he said to his sisters.
They united in ignoring their brother’s protests. The tenets in Ayan’s notebooks were adorned with beautiful trimming. One sentence in particular had been carefully decorated: “The prophet said we are instructed to kill all people until they make Shahada [the Islamic declaration of faith], until they pray, and to continue until they give zakat [alms], and only then to let them go.”
Ismael thought what they were learning was becoming increasingly unpleasant. He asked Mustafa, “Do you mean you should kill those who are not Muslims?”
“It is a quote from the Prophet,” Mustafa responded. “It was recounted by Abdullah bin Umar, brother-in-law of the Prophet, and later written down. He is a reliable source.” He went on to quote Abu Hurayra, one of the Prophet’s companions: “The people before us asked too many questions and were opposed to their prophet.”
Ismael took this as a reprimand.
He had stopped taking notes. These men, born in the seventh century on the Arabian Peninsula, filled up the pages of Ayan’s notebook but they meant absolutely nothing to him. One of them, Abdallah ibn Masud, a contemporary of the Prophet said to have resembled him, was a particular favorite of Mustafa’s, and he often quoted him: “It is not halal to spill the blood of a Muslim except in three instances … The married person who has committed adultery is to be flogged on Thursday, with one hundred lashes, and on Friday he or she is to be killed. He who murders, shall be killed, a life for a life. And lastly, he who forsakes Islam shall die.”
A girl asked if leaving Islam really meant death. “I’m only quoting the close friend of the Prophet,” Mustafa replied. “And he was quoting Muhammad. Remember! Muhammad received his revelations directly from Allah.”
“I’ve heard that only God can be the judge in the question of apostasy, that people cannot punish someone for leaving Islam,” the girl countered.
The teacher clarified: “When a person commits ridda—abandons Islam—his blood can be shed. He can be executed according to the law, because the Prophet has said: ‘If somebody discards his religion, kill him.’”
Ismael just wanted to get away.
Mustafa added that someone who leaves Islam is not to be washed before burial, no prayers are to be read over him, and he is not to be buried with other Muslims.
The preaching struck an ever-darkening chord. What they heard in the class echoed around their minds and took root. Withdrawal. Distance. Discord. After each lesson, they were that little bit more detached from their immediate surroundings, from Bærum.
Ayan made a note in turquoise ink on the squared paper of her notebook: “Remember Allah DAILY! If you put your trust in Allah, you will be tested by fear, hunger, loss of wealth, injury, but those who are patient will earn a place in paradise. Their reward will be infinite.”
The walls around the room the Koran teacher had built grew thicker, the ceiling lower, the windows smaller. It was oppressive to some, appealing to others.
Ismael wanted out.
Ayan wanted to go further in.
8
NORWAY, THINE IS OUR DEVOTION
All of the Juma family were by now Norwegian citizens. They had passports, voting rights, and PINs for public services. Nevertheless, their nationality was hyphenated: Norwegian-Soma
li.
The children had all of their schooling in Norway, had learned the national anthem, “Norway, Thine Is Our Devotion,” and other songs espousing love for the flag and the country, such as “Norway in Red, White and Blue,” written in response to the German occupation during the Second World War. On May 17, Constitution Day, they put on their best clothes and waved flags at the children’s parade like everyone else. In 2011, Ayan sent a text message to Ela, whom she had not seen in ages. “Hi you, happy constitution day☺”
Ela sent good wishes and a smiley face in return. She and her family were celebrating with the Chinese congregation in Oslo. Ayan and Leila had gone along with their little brothers to the local school, where Jibril was taking part in sack races, egg-and-spoon races, and a tin can toss.
Aisha had stopped celebrating National Day. There was debate on Islam Net’s web pages about whether a practicing Muslim could celebrate the Norwegian Constitution, which after all was not based on sharia. Opinion was divided. According to some, it was no big deal, the Constitution was not so bad. In Aisha’s view, however, it was haram to mark the national day of a Christian country, especially one whose flag was adorned with a cross.
Aisha had written an essay that was going to be published that same month. The Aschehoug publishing house had approached a number of Muslim girls, asking them to write about their life and faith for a book called Uncovered. Aisha Shezadi was one of the few in Norway who dressed in full niqab; the editor had found her via the debate pages on Islam Net and asked if she might consider writing something. She would. The piece was given the title “You, me, and niqab”:
“I was born and raised in Norway. If there is one thing I have learned, it is that respect, tolerance, equality, solidarity and unity are important values in Norwegian society,” Aisha wrote. “But is it respectful when people ascribe opinions to me and associate me with something criminal? And subsequently degrade me by saying I support the oppression of women and the murder of innocent people? Accuse me of having attitudes I in no way have and tell me I am brainwashed and indoctrinated? What then of tolerance? I do not mind a lack of support or acceptance, but surely a little broad-mindedness is not too much to ask in a country that is supposed to value the thoughts and attitudes of others so highly.”
Two Sisters: A Father, His Daughters, and Their Journey Into the Syrian Jihad Page 10
