Ela shook her head.
“What about your brothers?”
There was nobody else in the house. She removed all her veils and eventually she was standing in a sleeveless top and light trousers. She was drenched in sweat. Ela looked at her. Ah, it was good to see her! Both began to laugh. They threw their arms around each other and hugged.
“Remember? Allahajaja! Haram, Haram!!”
“And you laughing!”
“Islam & Black Hair forever!”
They joked and reminisced. They found their way back to the strings of their friendship. On Ela’s terrace, the sun warmed parts of Ayan’s body that she did not reveal to anyone, they ate sweet strawberries, looked at each other, and laughed. The seventeen-year-olds did not get around to shopping or make it to the quay. They merely needed to be together, just like everyone else in Norway those days.
For some time, a few weeks, maybe a few months, the words “unity” and “love” had real meaning. But for Ayan and Ela, as for others, that solidarity would not prevail.
It was to be the last time they met.
* * *
“Unless otherwise specified, any e-mails from me require a response within twenty-four hours!”
Five days after the terror attack, the leader of Islam Net was demanding increased discipline from the organizing committee.
“Who of you have gone through all the documents I sent and asked you to read?” Fahad Qureshi inquired.
The committee was discussing how to make more money and agreed to organize a fund-raising dinner. “Everyone must ensure they sign up five wealthy people. Nafeesa needs to make sure one hundred women attend, and Saad must get one hundred men, inshallah,” the leader demanded. He was angry because he hadn’t been kept abreast of the marketing for a Way to Paradise event. Emira was supposed to make the invitations and Ayan was to supervise her. “Nadia needs to make sure Ayan does her job” read the minutes of the meeting. “Has Ayan found sisters to come to the event? Promotion on Facebook MUST improve. There have to be seven hundred participants confirmed on Facebook by Friday.”
Ayan was assigned responsibility for poster design. The minutes went on: “Has the lettering for the heading been decided upon? No. Nadia needs to remember to ask Ayan about this and Ayan needs to give it thought. When you are working with events planning you have to keep your mind on the event the entire time in order to stay alert to things that need fixing.”
Fahad Qureshi was the undisputed leader of Islam Net. The student of construction engineering ruled the organization like an Arabian kingdom—where he, together with his brother, made all the important decisions. Other family members had central roles; Fahad’s wife, Madia, was queen of the women at court. Democracy was nonexistent, total loyalty expected.
This authoritarian style did not suit everybody. There were those who attended a couple of meetings and disappeared. But more people were flocking to the organization than leaving it. Within the space of a few years, Islam Net had become the most important Salafist movement in Norway and claimed to have two thousand paid-up members. The goal was to be even bigger.
The committee was planning an event to recruit more girls. “When can Ayan get the flyers designed?” the leader asked. “Ayan needs to ask me to send her the logo for Islam Net. We need ten sisters to work on fund-raising. Ayan has to find these but they have to be approved by Madia because it is of the UTMOST importance that they understand the job 100%.” Ayan put four exclamation marks in the margin beside this last point.
A week prior to the beginning of the school term, Fahad tightened the reins: “The minutes of meetings are to be sent out to everyone the same day the meeting takes place. Ayan needs to remember this. Meetings are mandatory. If one person does not show up it is detrimental to the group as a whole. If this were a paying job everyone would turn up on time. We are doing this for Allah and it is more important than paid work.”
Fahad was not pleased with ticket sales. “Ayan was responsible for recruiting sisters and for promotion online. Ayan, do we have ten sisters to work on fund-raising?”
* * *
Summer ushered in a change in Ayan’s style of dress. She showed up for the first class of the new term in dark clothing that covered her from head to toe.
The American-educated economics teacher presumed her parents were putting pressure on her. As soon as the opportunity arose, she asked her.
“Why are you dressing like this? Why black? Why brown? Why not green or blue or pink?”
“Ah, my mother says the same thing!” Ayan replied.
The teacher was surprised by her answer. Was the mother not the one responsible for her covering up? Surely the parents must be behind it. In Somali culture, Ayan would have been considered marriageable for some time. Ayan had caught the teacher’s eye in the hallways the year before, because she thought Ayan was so stylish in her colorful shawls and modern jeans. She had admired how her head scarves always matched whatever she was wearing.
One day Ayan showed up wearing all black.
“Is everything all right?” the teacher inquired.
“I’m going to the mosque, it’s Friday,” Ayan answered.
The teacher took her aside and asked, “Does your mother wear this?”
“No, but she soon will,” Ayan replied. “And my sister already does.”
Ayan then asked if it would be possible for her to leave a little early in order to make it to prayers. A request she from now on would make every Friday.
Her parents were called in for a meeting. Sadiq showed up alone.
“What exactly is going on?” the teacher asked.
Ayan’s attire was not the only thing that concerned her. She seemed to have stopped doing schoolwork entirely. She was not delivering assignments and was showing up to class unprepared. The International Baccalaureate program required pupils to put in a lot of work on their own time, the economics teacher stressed.
Sadiq was surprised. He had not been
