When she graduated lower secondary, her diploma contained an equal number of A−’s and Bs. She made an ambitious choice and applied to one of the most prestigious schools in the county—Nesbru Upper Secondary—in the hope of being accepted in their International Baccalaureate program. The school described the course of study as academically challenging, and one of “the best programs in the world for university preparation.” The instruction was in English in all subjects except Norwegian and foreign languages—appropriate for an aspiring diplomat.
Ayan was accepted into the first year. During the summer, however, she began to regret her choice. At Nesbru she would not hang out with her friends anymore; they had applied to vocational school in Rud. Ela was to attend the music program and Ivana was doing the drama course.
Ayan wrote to their little Christian Chinese piano player, who was at a camp in Toronto. “Hello, Norway calling ☺ Heard you got yourself a dude ☺ you GO girl ☺ bored out of mind here and dreading starting school have heard lots of shit about Nesbru and I miss my little yellow friend. Try to have a bit of fun, even though it’s a Christian arrangement, be a little bad!”
Her first year’s results would determine whether or not she could continue on in the IB program, which would open the doors to the big wide world. She could become the first person in her family to go far academically.
Nesbru included Nesøya in its catchment area, an island renowned for the wealth of its inhabitants and the mansions with a view of Oslo Fjord. Ayan did not know anyone, did not resemble anyone; she was different—a girl with golden skin, soft round cheeks, a high forehead, and a sparkle in her eyes. She cut an upright, proud figure and dressed in tight jeans and colorful hijabs.
English had been her favorite subject in lower secondary, which now stood her in good stead, but her form teacher, Knut Gundersen, was surprised at the discrepancy between her oral and written skills and suspected she had mild dyslexia. Her economics teacher, a woman of Iranian descent who had been educated in the United States and had herself learned Norwegian as an adult, attributed Ayan’s spelling mistakes to a lack of grounding in her mother tongue. “She knows a string of languages,” the teacher said, “but not one for real.”
Gundersen believed Ayan had an aptitude for considered thought and reflection that many of her classmates lacked. She was able to relate what they discussed in class to her own experiences in an interesting and thought-provoking manner. She was simply on another level.
In the autumn, each pupil was to attend a parent-teacher meeting with the form teacher. Ayan came with her father. The teacher told Sadiq that Ayan was a pleasure to have in the class and that she was hardworking and well-informed. “That’s what we like to hear!” Sadiq smiled.
They resemble each other, the teacher thought. Both of them are cheery, laugh a lot, it is obvious that they get along. Strong family ties, he concluded.
Gundersen, who taught Norwegian, rarely gave his students creative assignments, viewing them as not particularly successful, but he sometimes allowed the pupils the freedom to write whatever they wanted. Ayan wrote a piece titled “Journey into the Unknown.”
There were once two young girls who wanted to go out into the world and find themselves. At home they had always got everything they wanted, attended the best school, worn the newest clothes, but had never been given the opportunity to decide anything for themselves, something young women strongly desire. For a long time they had planned a trip, or rather they had planned how they were going to get away, because where they were headed they did not know. Late one summer evening, when their parents were not at home, they wrote a text message: “Mom, Dad, we’re going out for a while, don’t wait up.”
The sisters came to a taxi stand. A number of handsome drivers offered them a lift, an old crone wanted to trick them, and then they met a “peculiar man.” Finally they made it to the airport and took a flight to Turkey, a land “west of the sun and east of the moon.” They traveled far, as far as can be, before they finally arrived. They had terrible jet lag, but they had to continue on until they saw three suns and three moons and then take a right by the abyss of lost souls. When they got there, they found their journey was at an end. Whether or not they had found themselves we do not know, but they lived there happily for the rest of their lives.
Knut Gundersen awarded her a B and wrote in green ballpoint: “a fine story, with a lot of good points, but a rather unsatisfactory ending & some grammatical errors (you haven’t quite got your dyslexia under control yet).”
He paused, pondered for a moment. Granted, the story was confused and rambling, but was it saying something else, something deeper, something he did not comprehend?
6
THE MISSION
That first autumn at upper secondary, Ayan was introduced to a new religious phenomenon: a Muslim youth organization based on puritanical principles. The preaching was charismatic; feelings were to be awakened, thoughts would follow, life was to be pure and true.
Islam Net held a series of lectures at Oslo University College. They began simply enough, with the Five Pillars of Islam. She knew about that, about the Prophet’s life and teachings, his successors, it was familiar stuff.
But still it was exciting, the people were cool, and it felt right. Plus, there were a lot of cute boys there.
Over the course of the evening lectures, where girls
