At Ekeberghallen, an indoor sports arena just south of Oslo city center, where the organizing committee had eventually managed to land a good deal, two entrances were planned, one for boys, one for girls. There would be segregated rest areas where samosas, cakes, and soft drinks could be purchased.
At a table in the women’s section, some of the girls Ayan had recruited were to distribute dawa literature. Books that had been sent by a publisher in Egypt were handed out free of charge. There were pink brochures on “Women’s Rights in Islam—respected, honored, cherished,” peppered with quotations from the Koran, mostly framed in hearts: “And the male is not like the female. Does not the one who created you know?” Still, men and women needed each other. “They are clothing for you and you are clothing for them.”
Ayan and Leila skipped school to be at the opening on Friday morning. Easter fell late, it was already the end of April. Crocuses and tulips were in bloom in the gardens of the villas in Bærum, the cherry trees blossoming. Ayan took a picture of a lustrous birch tree against a bright blue sky on a verdant slope and posted it on Twitter: “Cause after every rainfall a rainbow must come! #springinnorway #alhamdulillah!”
The sisters got on the bus in Bærum wearing long black dresses. They put on niqabs before arriving at the square in front of Oslo Central Station, where they boarded the bus that would take them to Ekeberg. The closer they got to their stop, the more people in similar attire got on the bus. They were all going the same way: fi sabil Allah—God’s way.
The sisters bypassed the women’s queue; after all, Ayan was a member of the organizing committee. Behind tables at the entrance where you checked in and were given a stamp sat the girls she had recruited to work Admission.
The seats slowly filled up, boys in front, girls at the back. Youngsters made their way, alone or in groups, to the back of the hall to pray. White athletic shoes, high-heeled pumps, boots, and sandals were removed, while they washed. They bowed in prayer—There is no God but God, and Muhammad is his messenger—before returning to fill up the rows of chairs.
After several hours, due to the lengthy, detailed registration process, Fahad Qureshi welcomed everyone. He was wearing a tight-fitting dark suit and a white shirt. Atop his head he wore a kufi—a brimless prayer cap. According to sunna, the teachings of Muhammad, the kufi went back to the time of the Prophet. Fahad’s was striped.
The Norwegian Pakistani basked in the limelight and the glory of the big names soon to take the stage. The purpose of the weekend was to convey the true message in order to stem fear, prejudice, and hatred. Perhaps the tragedy of the right-wing July 22 terror attacks could have been avoided, he suggested, if society had more knowledge of Islam?
People were freezing. The hall was ice-cold. Girls drew shawls and cloaks tighter around them. Some wore niqabs, most merely hijabs in a variety of styles: leopard print, gold, glitter, striped, baby pink, earth tones. Covering up and bling were in no way incompatible.
The big name was the British convert Abdur-Raheem Green. He had been born in Tanzania, where his father had worked as a colonial administrator. He spent his childhood in Catholic boarding schools before opening the Koran at age twenty-four and subsequently converting.
Dressed in a long beige tunic, Green resembled a Viking right out of central casting: tall, powerfully built, with pale blue eyes and an impressive blond beard. He was banned from speaking in Canada, denied entry to Australia, as well as barred from the Emirates stadium, home of Arsenal F.C., for statements such as “Muslims and Westerners cannot live peaceably together” and that “to die while fighting jihad is one of the surest ways to paradise and Allah’s good pleasure.” He had been caught on camera at Hyde Park Corner in London shouting for a man wearing a Jewish kippa on his head to be removed: “Why don’t you take the Yahudi over there far away so his stench doesn’t disturb us?”
Islam Net deemed his views acceptable. His lecture was titled “Empty Hearts, Crazy Lives.”
“Let’s look at the nature of the heart,” he said, after uttering the customary Islamic greetings. “A piece of flesh. The Prophet, peace be upon him, said when this piece of flesh is sound, the whole body is sound. When it is corrupt the whole body is corrupt.”
What the heart contained came out through the mouth. “You’ve heard the expression You are what you eat. If you keep eating rubbish for long enough, you’ll become rubbish and you’ll become so addicted to rubbish, you can’t even eat anything else.” People had become like rats, feeding themselves junk food. And that meant, Green was keen to stress, you were not getting the nutrition you needed, that your soul needed—God.
The heart hungered to know Allah, to obey Allah, to worship Him, adore Him. This was what gave life to the heart. “You need to look inside your heart, examine yourself. What motivates me, what is the purpose? Is it because I want fame? To get my picture taken? The admiration? Being seen on Facebook?”
While he was speaking, people in the back rows were chatting and children were playing. Green did not let this affect him, however, and began listing all the things that were detrimental.
“Music fills your heart, it does, it fills it. You feel happy for a bit while you’re listening to music, but when it’s gone, when you’re
