Umm Layth concludes: “The family you get in exchange for the one left behind are like the pearl in comparison to the shell you throw away.”
Ayan and Leila displayed little emotion in the short conversations they had with their mother. They placed the blame for being unable to meet squarely on their parents.
“You made a big mistake reporting us to the police,” Ayan once told Sara over the phone. “Now everyone knows who we are. We’ll be arrested if we return to Norway.”
Sara sensed hope. Did that mean that the girls finally wanted to come home?
“We can help you—”
Ayan interrupted her. It certainly did not mean that.
“You can come here instead! You, the boys, and Dad. We’ll welcome you with open arms. The Islamic State is soon going to take over the whole world, so it’s best to get here sooner rather than later. Before everyone else comes.”
* * *
One day Sadiq received a call from a blocked number. As usual his heart missed a beat. It had been a long time since the girls had been in touch. When he heard a man’s voice, his heart sank.
The man greeted him politely in slightly florid, broken Somali.
He introduced himself as Imran and sounded young, like a teenager.
He was in Raqqa, he said, and wanted to ask permission to marry Leila.
Sadiq got to his feet, unable to speak. His mind raced. A young man he did not know asking for his daughter’s hand.
“Ask Leila to call me,” he said.
Leila called him almost immediately.
“Do you like him?” Sadiq asked.
“Yes.”
“Is he good for you? Do you love him?” her father continued.
“Yes,” Leila replied.
“If that’s the case, ask his father to call me.”
Imran’s mother was the one who called, as his father was dead.
“You will need to speak to my wife,” Sadiq told her.
Men were to negotiate with men, women with women. Certain rules had to be observed even when all others were broken.
Prior to Imran’s mother’s call, Leila had also spoken to Sara. She had only one question for her daughter.
“Are you sharing a bed with him now?” Sara asked.
“No, are you crazy!” Leila replied.
“Okay, fine. You can marry.”
Imran was British, of Somali descent. His mother told Sara he had excelled at school, being good at anything technical, a computer whiz. He was the youngest son in the family and had lived alone with his mother when his father died. One day the eighteen-year-old had stocked up his mother’s fridge. He had made several trips up and down the stairs of their block of flats carrying forty-pound sacks of rice, bags of pasta, and a gallon of oil and put it all neatly away in the larder.
Then he had left for Syria.
Sara and Sadiq made up their minds to like Imran. Not least because he had actually asked for Leila’s hand in marriage. Arrangements were made for Imran’s brother to come to Norway as a representative for his younger brother. Sadiq was to be Leila’s wali. The couple were married by proxy in Oslo by an imam.
Now Sara and Sadiq had two sons-in-law in the caliphate.
* * *
In early 2014, the militias in Atmeh and the rest of Idlib were planning a large offensive to retake the territory lost to ISIS the previous autumn. They had had enough. Disparate groups were constantly making deals and cooperating, but ISIS never intended to honor any arrangements they entered. They wanted to rule alone. When in December 2013 they had lured a popular rebel leader to negotiations only to torture him to death, they had gone too far. It was the final straw and it united the FSA and al-Nusra. By launching simultaneous attacks on several ISIS-held positions they robbed ISIS of its tactical advantage—the swift transfer of small units to where they were most needed.
In the space of a few weeks ISIS was driven out of Atmeh, most of Idlib, Hama, and the area east of Aleppo. When rebel forces attacked Tal Rifat outside Aleppo in late January, Haji Bakr decided to stay in the town incognito. He could have gained entrance to heavily guarded ISIS military camps if he had announced who he was, but the strategist chose to remain quietly in his home. The town was divided into two within a matter of hours. The Lord of the Shadows found himself sitting on the wrong side.
The master of surveillance and spying was eventually squealed on himself.
“There’s a Daesh sheikh living next door,” a man called out to a contingent of rebel forces.
When the local commander knocked on the door, Haji Bakr opened it, wearing his pajamas. He said he wanted to get dressed but the commander ordered him out. Haji Bakr jumped backward, kicked the door shut, and shouted, “I have a suicide belt!” He then came out with a Kalashnikov and was shot dead. The house was searched. Computers, mobile phones, books, and notes were confiscated. Underneath some dusty blankets they found it: the blueprint for the Islamic State.
Surrounded by low concrete slabs and red poppies growing wild, the Lord of the Shadows was buried in some parched earth outside the town, far from his beloved Iraq.
* * *
The ISIS capital was under strain. The rebels who had defeated the Islamists in Idlib were intent on taking Raqqa. ISIS deployed great numbers in defense of the city, which was subjected to intense rocket attack. Both sides suffered heavy losses, and there were many civilian deaths.
The Juma family heard nothing from the girls for several months.
It was not until spring that Leila broke their silence.
“Broooother, how are things with all of you?” she wrote to Ismael in mid-March from the Fatima Abdallah account. “Well, here’s an update on what’s been happening lately with us. We are well. We’ve been moving around a lot but are now settled again. We don’t have a car anymore so it’s hard to get to
