Ismael had difficulty reconciling her breezy tone with the months of silence that had passed. It was as though his sisters had gone on a weekend trip and had been out of touch a little longer than they should.
“Talk to Mom&Dad, not to me,” he wrote back.
“What does that mean?” Ayan replied two days later.
She took up the thread where her sister had left off. It was not uncommon for the connection to be cut off and for answers to come several days or weeks later, as though the time in between was a vacuum.
“I can’t face it to worry and care anymore. If you’re not planning on ever meeting us again then I’d prefer you didn’t talk to me. That’s it,” Ismael replied.
“Get a grip. Of course we want to see you. People’s parents have come from all over the world to visit.”
“We’re not coming to Syria, I hope you realize that.”
“If you do want to come you’re more than welcome.”
“To Syria?”
“Why not?”
“Because I have no plans on dying. You don’t want to leave Syria, we don’t want to go there.”
“Whatever, all in good time. How are things with You!”
“Ayan, I love you both very much. But you’re a big depressing anchor weighing down my life.”
“Why?”
“I suggest you get in touch with Mom because I don’t care anymore, bye bye, for good.”
“You’re my little brother so don’t dare try to break off contact. You have to care about me!”
“Do you want to say anything else before I block you and erase you from my life?”
“Ismael! That’s enough! We’re family, are you just going to throw us away? We’d love to go to Turkey and meet you but we can’t risk being sent home! Consider visiting us, people have traveled here from Sweden and gone home safe. You’re acting weak! This is not how you are, Ismael!”
“You’re like random people in a crowd to me. You’re nobody.”
“We really need your support.”
“I had two really nice sisters. What have I got now? Fatima?”
“You’ve got two even better sisters. Stronger and smarter than before.”
“I’ll make sure that Jibril and Isaq don’t follow in your footsteps. I used to respect religion but now I can’t stand it.”
“Get hold of yourself. By the will of Allah both you and they will follow in our footsteps! Fear ALLAH and don’t try to misguide small children.”
“Ranted the indoctrinated mouth. I believe in Allah about as much as I believe in the spaghetti monster, bye now.”
* * *
Something that had never been tested before was under way: the establishment of a caliphate in the modern world with people looking to the past for guidance. The Prophet Muhammad was the ideal, women sought inspiration from his wives. He had had twelve. “The Prophet is more worthy of the believers than themselves, and his wives are their mothers,” it states in the Koran 33:6. If the project were to endure, women would play a key role. Without women there would be no descendants, without descendants there would be no viable state.
With the loss of territory in northwest Syria, ISIS expanded eastward, across the Syrian countryside. Black flags were planted where statues of Assad had stood, in the ruins of burned-out churches, on bombed-out Shia Muslim shrines.
The girls had moved from place to place within the caliphate as their husbands’ postings required. However, their role in life had remained the same: housewives.
Their situation did not seem to weigh upon them. Ismael, on the other hand, felt increasingly trapped in a life that at times did not seem worth living. Winter had proved difficult, he had been frightened, angry, depressed, and frustrated. Every time he managed to pick himself up, put the thought of his sisters out of his mind, and live in the present, a new e-mail, an SMS, a call, or a demand to Log on to Skype! would arrive.
“So, are you ready for the exams. Have you applied for further education? Are you still working out?” Ayan asked, initiating a conversation at the start of May.
As usual there was no mention of anything to indicate she was residing in a war zone. Ismael wrote back to say his first exam was on Friday, he had applied to a technical college in the north of Norway, and his visits to the gym had gone to hell without the money for a bus pass.
“Watch out for wild reindeer,” Ayan wrote, adding that there were probably very few black people in the north, but lots of Sami.
Ismael ignored his sister’s comment, choosing instead, as was often the case, to get straight to what was on his mind.
“The reason I want to break off contact is that I find it very hard to relate to sisters who in all likelihood I will never meet again.”
Ayan always dismissed talk of never.
“I like to be realistic,” Ismael continued. “If you’re not planning on leaving Syria and I’m not planning on going there, then we’re never going to meet again, that’s just the way it is. If we don’t see each other within a year, I can’t face any more cozy chats.”
Ayan’s response took four days, coming again late at night.
“What makes you think this is a cozy chat, we’re siblings and that’s that. Doesn’t Mom stay in touch with her siblings even though she
