Two Sisters
Page 16
She was silent, her eyes downcast, and then he asked, “Do you want to meet me again?”
Yes, she would like that.
After their first meeting she missed him all the time. Wanted only to be with him. He sent her a succession of messages. First she fell for the words. The beautiful, pure, logical way he put things. Or was it his power? Did his notoriety, his being in the public eye, lend him charisma? Ubaydullah and the other leaders in the Prophet’s Ummah had an almost magical power of attraction on the women in the milieu. There were many who wanted a man on the warpath. Jihad, whether waged physically or by the pen, made little difference, as long as it was for Allah.
“I miss you!” he wrote.
“I miss you too!” she replied.
Strange that a guy like that can be such a pussycat. To think I am the one who has brought out this soft side, Dilal marveled. The thought of him made her tingle. They met at his place by the horse race tracks at Bjerke and sometimes at Arfan Bhatti’s flat in the eastern suburb of Stovner. Eventually she was staying over more and more, telling her parents she was at a friend’s and spending the night with him.
“We have to get married,” he told her. “We’ve done this, that, and the other. You have to marry me.”
“I can’t. My family will never go along with it. My brothers would kill you.”
“If your family won’t accept me, then they must be infidels. They can’t deny you a Muslim husband. There’s no logical reason to refuse.”
No, no logical reason. They were bound together by invisible ties.
His flat in Bjerke began to define her world. Ubaydullah confiscated her mobile phone, wallet, bank card, ID cards, and laptop. He would not allow her to continue her college studies, get in touch with her family, or go outside without him.
The West was at war with Islam.
The West is against us.
Norway is a land of infidels.
Its people are going to hell.
They are the enemy.
They mean us harm.
They scorn us.
We need to fight back.
We have to stick together in our ummah.
We are brothers and sisters.
We are going to paradise!
After Arfan Bhatti left for Pakistan, Ubaydullah was chosen as the new emir of the Prophet’s Ummah.
* * *
Dilal was sent to the kitchen when the sheikh who was to wed them arrived. She sat on one of the three chairs there was space for and waited. The kitchen was spotless, Allah’s little slave kept things spick-and-span. He mopped the floor at the appearance of the slightest speck of dirt. Now he, the sheikh, two witnesses, and her wali sat in the living room. Dilal had not caught his name—Abu something or other. He was the same man who had acted as wali for Aisha. It was a role her father should have filled. Failing that, the eldest brother should act as guardian, and if he was unable, the next eldest, and if you had no brothers it fell upon a grandfather, an uncle, a cousin, and so on through the extended family. But none of them had been asked.
She could hear the muffled sound of voices from the living room. The door handle moved. Abu something or other entered the kitchen. She looked up.
“Look down,” he ordered.
She lowered her gaze.
“Listen. You have two things to do,” he said. “Look down and say yes.” She sat in silence, staring down at her hands. He asked her if what Ubaydullah had said was correct, that her family was opposed to the marriage merely on the grounds that he was Pakistani. She answered yes. According to the Koran, a father could not refuse his daughter’s hand to a good man as long as he was a practicing Muslim. Differences in race, nationality, culture, or tradition were not acceptable reasons.
The elderly man asked in a solemn voice if she accepted Ubaydullah as her husband.
She replied yes.
He read some verses from the Koran. Ubaydullah gave her an item of jewelry. They were now wed.
Dilal’s family was outraged. Their only daughter had left them. There was talk of revenge.
The way Ubaydullah had ridden roughshod over the family, not asking for Dilal’s hand, led to discord in the Prophet’s Ummah. His lifestyle on the whole was a divisive theme within the group. He had been involved in many conflicts and scandals and left a trail of broken hearts in his wake. Many disliked the negative headlines he generated. He had thundered against the Norwegian state for demanding taxes from Muslims while at the same time engaging in war against Islam. The only problem was that he himself lived off that same state, which others paid taxes to, even as he was receiving 19,000 kroner, almost $3,000, a month in welfare payments after resigning from his job. His Facebook page was filled with outbursts against different groups. On the subject of Jews who felt threatened and expressed a desire for police protection, he wrote, “I’ll give them protection all right, inshallah. As soon as I pass the hunting exam and get my hands on an AK-47.”
Arguments and interpersonal conflicts threatened to destroy the unity of the group, and in early March 2013 Ubaydullah stepped down as leader. On Facebook he offered numerous reasons: “Among other things there has been too much focus on me personally and not enough on the ideology and message of the group.” He added that even though elements within the Prophet’s Ummah had clearly been opposed to his style of leadership and to him personally, they were all brothers in Islam, as long as they worked in accordance with the Koran.
Their reputation as righteous Muslims had been tarnished due to the Islamists’ philandering and casual attitude to marriage: a proposal, a few verses from the Koran, followed by cohabitation for a week, or a month or maybe two. Then everything ended in a straightforward divorce by the husband saying, Talaq—“I divorce”—three times.
One of the members who had been particularly opposed to this womanizing was Egzon, the leading Kosovo Albanian of the group. Dilal’s brothers had been good friends with him while growing up. He let them know how angry he was: “If it was my sister Ubaydullah had taken, I’d have killed him.”
He warned the members against these hasty marriages and quickie divorces.
“An Islamic marriage is a beautiful thing and is not to be treated as a Shia mutah marriage that is declared null and void in the face of a little adversity,” Egzon wrote, using his online moniker of Abu Ibrahim, and received a host of likes and hearts, as well as comments like “agree” and “not a disposable toy” in response.
Mutah, which Egzon referred to, literally means “pleasure,” and nikah al-mutah is used in Shia Islam to denote a temporary marriage that is not fixed for any particular period of time, long or short. The woman must be chaste but not necessarily a virgin. Some deem the practice religiously approved prostitution. The Prophet, who himself had twelve wives, was said to have been opposed to it, and fourteen centuries after his death the debate still continued in Oslo.
Several of the Islamists’ former girlfriends felt affronted, used, and fooled. Some, like Emira, had been secret lovers, led along by promises of marriage. Others, like Aisha, had wed in the Muslim way, without the knowledge of their parents and then been dumped. Some, like Hisham’s pregnant wife, had just been abandoned.
“Brothers! Treat your wives as you would want your sisters and daughters to be treated,” wrote Abu Khurosan, aka Arfan Bhatti. “And do not marry in secret, it is meant to be a joyful day to be shared, not kept under wraps.”
They called themselves the Prophet’s Ummah but followed the Prophet only when it suited them.
13
HALAL DATING
The classes with the Koran teacher grew ever more intense. Sundays were filled with death and the wrath of God. Bliss and salvation would come later.
Due to Mustafa’s increasing popularity, the Somali mothers had looked around for larger premises. They had managed to borrow Rykkinn recreation center, a house owned by the local authorities in Bærum. The Somali Women’s Association was listed as the group using the facilities. The contract expl
icitly stated that the premises were to be used for cultural activities and not religious or political purposes. The Women’s Association gambled that no one would check.
There were now around twenty students in the class. In addition, Mustafa tutored some of them at their homes in the afternoons. He gave lessons over the entire city now. His reputation was growing.
He drew students close. They admired him. He made them feel special when he turned his attention to them, one after the other, and picked holes in their pronunciation of Arabic words. He repeated himself constantly. Now and again someone had to stay behind after the lesson because Mustafa had been unhappy with a recital. The two of them would then practice alone.
Those selected felt fortunate.
“Just think, he’s taking the time to read with me on my own,” a girl said before her extra lesson.
When the others left, the two of them remained behind. A Koran teacher was the only male outside of a family member who could be alone with a young girl without rumors starting.
Ayan was among the most dedicated of students. Besides the Koran recitations, she read about the Syrian rebel force Jabhat al-Nusra. She watched what the group had posted and viewed videos of Assad’s assaults. She excelled in fasting and prayer, covering up and virtue. But what really interested her was something quite different: getting a boyfriend.
Salafism required that a woman wait to be set up with someone, and that was difficult. But online she was free. She added a video to her YouTube playlist called Halal Dating. It was in five parts. A handsome young man in a freshly ironed tunic and crocheted kufi sat behind a desk, smiling into the camera. A shelved wall of books with golden script on thick spines provided the background.
He spoke about being called up by a young man who asked, “How am I going to meet a girl when you people put up walls between us? How can I know whether we are compatible or not if we don’t talk?”
The preacher, who appeared to be in his midtwenties, was named Saed Rageah and he was from Somalia. He had studied in Saudi Arabia before immigrating to the United States and later to Canada. In fluent English, he reassured the boy in question that if he just followed sharia, everything would be fine.
“Sharia is geared toward what will benefit you. It protects you from what is haram.”
Before providing tips on halal dating, he stressed that it was important to give a wide berth to the temptations of the devil. There were many. For example, the devil was always present where free mixing and free mingling were taking place. When a woman left her house, the devil always followed her, no matter what she was planning to do. He gave the example of two sisters leaving their home just to go to the parking lot outside. If some boys saw them from their windows, they would follow the girls no matter what, because the devil would sow a seed of desire in their hearts. When the young men passed by, the devil had already planted a craving in their bodies. Imagine if nine or ten men passed by them, just think how much desire that would amount to, and all because two girls went out the door! The preacher grew serious. He implored women to be on their guard and not to venture out unnecessarily. The best thing was to stay indoors. That was always best, he emphasized.
If women had to go out, it was important that they not walk in the middle of the road. Muhammad said, “Women should walk on the sides of the road, close to the walls, so close that the jilbab scratches against the thorns growing there.” This ensured safety, at least from one side. Furthermore, it was important to avoid crowds, because the devil was always present in throngs of people.
The devil was also close at hand, explained the preacher, when a man and a woman who were not married found themselves in the same room. In that case, there would always be a third presence, the devil’s. “Even over the telephone! The devil will ignite that feeling, you all know this! You think, nobody sees us—let’s go. The devil enters you and the other person. So don’t ring, don’t chat, don’t poke on Facebook!”
He then addressed the men among his listeners. How were they to deal with a situation where a married woman invited them into her home? They would hear the voice of the devil inside them saying, “Nobody will know.” The preacher said he knew of “many cases of divorce taking place because the wife thought no one will know.” But Allah would know. Allah was always watching.
The young preacher believed himself privy to people’s motives. He told the young men in his audience that he knew it was the beauty of a woman they were on the lookout for. Women, on the other hand, were seeking a successful man. She could marry a man who looked like a monkey because she did not see him—she saw his cars, his house, the rings he could give her, yes, all the things he could lavish on her. Men would struggle, sweat, and toil, work double shifts in order to give a woman what she wanted, while her main concern was in maintaining her looks. So he warned them to be careful, because men and women had different agendas. Women tried to seduce men in this society, but that was also the fault of men, for giving compliments like “You’re so sexy,” which only resulted in the woman wearing something even more revealing the next day, and the day after that an outfit that even the devil himself would not be seen wearing in public!
Four of the five episodes were finished. In the last one he would divulge tips on how to date with God’s approval. The same preacher, sitting in front of the same heaving bookshelves, gave the camera a smile. Finally he was going to reveal what halal dating was.
“There is no such thing as halal dating in Islam! The only halal dating is when you are married to that person. Then you can date that person as long as you want! You can take her to the movies, drive to the park, go to Niagara Falls, whatever you want. Marriage is the only halal dating.”
That was it. There was no shortage of comments beneath the video, predominantly by viewers exalted by the advice. Although there were a few critical voices: “He said hel give tips, im really annoyed I watched it all n no tips grrrrrrrrr.”
A girl ventured to comment that the sheikh himself was pretty hot. She was called “sick in the head” for writing something like that about a holy man who would have felt ashamed if he read “what u said about him being hot. he’s not here to impress u with his looks but to teach u with Allah’s permission!”
Ayan saved another video by the same preacher, titled Islamic Marriage, also in five parts. The final episode was “Which Part of a Woman Is Allowed to Be Seen.” The conclusion confirmed what she already knew: Best to wear a niqab. That kept the devil at bay. Following these, she went into another YouTube clip, “Must-Watch Islamic Reminder: Can Guys and Girls Be Friends?” The conclusion was no.
Muslim Youth Movement had posted a talk called “Get Married or Die Fasting…,” stressing the importance of getting married at as young an age as possible; leaving it until later could offer the devil an opportunity of gaining a foothold within.
On the home page for Pure Matrimony, it read: “If you are SINGLE and want to meet a PURE marriage partner in a HALAL way, click here!” What followed was an advertisement featuring a man who had found his wife through this very site, and an assurance that the website used scientific methods of connecting people.
* * *
Then Abdi showed up.
“We have to tidy the boys’ room,” Sara said one day.
Their cousin from Canada was coming to stay. The boys had to move into their parents’ room.
Abdi was tall, handsome, polite, the complete package. He spoke polished English and stuttering Somali. He was passing through Norway en route to Somaliland. His parents thought it would be a good idea for him to become more familiar with his own culture, and his own family. Ismael thought he was cool. Leila thought he was exciting. Ayan fell head over heels in love with him. As they were related, she did not need to cover up. She could be freer than she had been with a young man since her early teens, prior to her self-confinement behind a wall of rules.
Abdi was to stay for a month.
It was not long before the flat felt crowded.
They were skeptical. After all, Abdi was on his way to Hargeisa to receive a religious education and learn proper Somali, which he would need in adult life. Ayan was still in secondary school. Would it not be better to see how things developed? Was all this not a little hasty? Both sets of parents seemed to be of the view that their child could do better.
It was decided that the two of them would have to finish their educations first. Abdi and Ayan begged their parents to change their minds. Get married or die fasting.
14
PARAGRAPHS
Geir Lie, the school’s religion teacher, hurried along the footpath leading from Dønski school. He wanted to catch the bus into town.
On the main road he saw a woman draped in black approaching, the clothes fluttering around her body. Her face was concealed by a black veil. He moved to the right of the footpath, looking down in respect, because he presumed that when a woman covered herself, she was indicating the discomfort she felt at the male gaze. When the figure was almost alongside, he heard a voice say, “Hi, Geir!”
He recognized the eyes. A feeling of relief washed over him. Ayan had been absent from school lately, and he had feared she had either dropped out or been sent to Somalia against her will. He had been concerned enough to call her several times, but she had not answered. He had considered ringing her parents but decided against it. She was of age, so he had no right; moreover, perhaps it was the parents who were the problem.
“I’ve been worried about you,” he said. “I’ve tried to reach you by phone…”
“Everything is fine with me,” Ayan replied.
“Great, then I’ll see you in class,” Lie said, a hint of uncertainty in his voice.
She looked straight at him.
“Oh, by the way, I’ve decided that from today I’m going to wear a niqab all the time.”
“I see,” Lie said. He did not like playing things by ear and looked at his watch. “I need to get a move on if I want to catch my bus.”