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-Somali.
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.”
A reviewer of the book in Dagbladet was hesitantly positive. Uncovered provided “an adequate number of new insights” to make up for “the many passages of ruminating truisms.” With regard to Aisha’s contribution, he was not convinced. “It is obviously a political choice, a strong marker, and for those of us on the outside it is difficult to understand Aisha Shezadi when she says that ‘the niqab has made me happier than I ever have been.’”
At the same time that people were reading and discussing Aisha’s chapter, her life was falling apart around her. She wanted to run away from home. All their lives, Aisha and her sisters had seen their father beat their mother against the wall, against the furniture, and to the floor. She had been scratched, slapped, and punched, struck with belts and objects. Their father was on partial disability benefits after a car crash and was taking antidepressants. His wife, a cousin he had brought to Norway in the 1980s, was the first to suffer when his mood darkened. In time he also directed his ire at his five daughters, to whom he didn’t hesitate to say he would have liked to swap for sons. They
