The pupils had two days to prepare. They were to give an oral presentation before answering questions posed by an examiner. Ayan went home to read. She made notes, studied, memorized, and ticked off each text as she went through it. Two days later she answered the examiner’s questions correctly and without hesitation. Modernism emphasized new and transgressive ideas, broke with traditional forms, and was characterized by experimentation, artistic liberation, and belief in progress.
She received top marks. In Norwegian. Allah had been merciful.
A few days later she ran into her Norwegian teacher on the street in Sandvika.
“Congratulations, Ayan!” the teacher said, smiling. “Make sure you put those grades to good use now!”
Ayan nodded beneath her niqab.
Graduation took place shortly afterward. Each class was invited to take its place on the stage, where a teacher waited with an armful of roses. As their names were called out and they stepped forward, the headmaster presented each pupil with a rose, wishing them “Good luck in the future!” and telling them to “have a great summer!”
Ayan’s class was called to the stage. Hanne had been wondering if Ayan would show up and was happy when she caught sight of her among the crowd. She must have enjoyed some of her time here, then, she thought, in spite of the conflicts and the uncompromising tone of that last e-mail. Ayan went up onstage with the rest of the class.
It was getting to her letter of the alphabet. Would she stand demonstratively, refuse to approach when her name was called? No, the graduate walked over to Hanne, accepted the rose, and returned to her seat.
Ayan received no diploma, only an academic transcript. Among the Bs and Cs, and the A+ in oral Norwegian, NA—not assessed—was printed in the space for physical education. A failing grade, in other words. Her refusal to take part in gym class was the demise of her diploma. Until she repeated and passed phys ed, her other grades were worth nothing. Her certification was insufficient for further education at a college or university.
Two years earlier she had harbored ambitions of being the first person in her family to further herself academically. Now she was finished with second-level education, without any qualifications.
On her way out of the school building for the last time, she passed the wall with quotations. One was attributed to Nelson Mandela, even though it was by an English poet in Victorian times. I am the master of my fate. I am the captain of my soul.
She had made up her mind.
I am the master of my fate.
18
THE OCTOBER REVOLUTION
One morning, at the start of the school year in autumn 2013, one of the department heads at Rud Upper Secondary was looking out the window. From his office he could easily survey the entrance the pupils were now crowding in. A female figure in black approached. She looked as if someone had thrown a black sheet over her and fastened a schoolbag on her back. He hurried down the stairs and intercepted the black-clad figure as she came in the door.
“Hi,” he said. “My name’s Totto Skrede. Who are you?”
Leila introduced herself.
“You’ll have to remove that.” He pointed to her niqab.
“No problem,” Leila replied, and took it off.
“Yes, that’s the way we want it here.” Skrede nodded. The recent county school administration committee meeting was fresh in his mind, and he remembered Hanne Rud, the principal at Dønski, informing them in detail about the decision reached by Akershus county. Covering up at school was not permitted. Everyone’s face had to be visible.
The following day he was again sitting by the window. The same thing happened! The girl entered the building wearing the niqab. He went down to head her off.
“That has to be removed.”
“I was just about to take it off,” Leila replied.
“It’s to be removed on the pavement outside. It has to be off before you set foot on the steps to the school,” Skrede stressed.
That year, IMDi—the Directorate of Integration and Diversity—was raising awareness about genital mutilation and forced marriage. The county authority had employed an adviser who, as it happened, had an office right there at Rud Secondary School. Perhaps the girl should be considered at risk in some way?
Leila’s form teacher called her parents in for a meeting. They did not come.
She decided to leave it for the time being, get in touch with them again later. The teacher thought Leila was interesting, a pupil displaying more maturity than the others in the health care, child and youth development curriculum, which this year was composed solely of females. The girl came across as being comfortable in her own skin and confident, bordering perhaps on overconfident, always seeming to think she was right.
The teacher had also noticed she did not socialize with her classmates. She made no attempt at small talk, didn’t hang around with any of the others, preferring to go pray in a room at the disposal of those who wished to use it. Sometimes she did not turn up at all. That was a worrying sign. In the teacher’s experience, absenteeism increased as the year progressed. Taking that as a basis, Leila was off to a bad start.
But it wasn’t a bad start, it was a cover-up.
Despite the smokescreen, Leila did leave a few clues about what was really occupying her. After only a week at Rud, she changed her profile picture on Facebook. The new one paid tribute to Anwar al-Awlaki, a man known as the “bin Laden of the internet.” In a lecture titled “Call to Jihad,” he explains in detail why it is every Muslim’s religious duty to kill Americans. In another online video, in an almost placid tone, he instructs al-Qaida militants how to mix chemicals to make bombs. He calmly reminds them to tape screws and nails around the device to render it even more effective. Red-hot metal shrapnel will
