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rusting oil drum on the beach served as a target. Abdullahi showed him how to load the Kalashnikov and how the lever on the right side of the weapon worked.
    The weapon would not fire with the lever all the way up. With the lever in the middle, the weapon would shoot all the bullets at one burst.
    With the lever clicked all the way down, Hussein had to pull the trigger each time he fired. “Usually you will use it this way,” Abdullahi told him.
    Hussein held the rifle at his waist when he fired at the oil drum. He missed, and the bullet slashed into the surf. A jet of foam shot upward from the impact. The sense of power Hussein felt from the bang left him immediately when the other boys laughed.
    Then Abdullahi showed Hussein how to hold the Kalashnikov to his shoulder, to line up the front and the rear sights. What magic, to put the sights on the target and make the bullet go there. Hussein pulled the trigger and hit the center of the drum.
    â€œAgain,” Abdullahi said.
    Hussein fired again. Another hole appeared in the drum, less than a finger’s length from the first.
    â€œVery good,” Abdullahi said.
    Hussein shot six more times, and all the bullets struck in a space the size of his fist. The men gave him two tangerines that day.
    Training could also mean a long talk by the Sheikh. He might preach the glories of sharia law, how you could find your place in heaven by enforcing God’s law. For example, he declared music
haraam
. Forbidden.
    Hussein saw the Sheikh enforce sharia one day in a market, in the town of Jowhar. The Sheikh and his soldiers were patrolling the market, ensuring women remained indoors. Ensuring no youths played with soccer balls, and no music defiled the air.
Kafirs
and infidels sought always to spread the devil’s music, alcohol, and sins of the flesh. The soldiers of God had to remain vigilant.
    Everything seemed in order. Carrying a pole flying the black banner of jihad, Hussein followed the Sheikh and some of the other al-Shabaab men. No one in the market showed any signs of infidelity—until a man’s mobile phone chimed. Not a monotone buzz, but three descending notes of a tune Hussein did not know.
    â€œWhere is that?” the Sheikh demanded. “Get him.”
    The phone chimed once more, and the soldiers of God found the offender. The man looked terrified when Abdullahi grabbed him. The man had good reason for terror—
kafirs
and infidels must die. It was written.
    But the Sheikh must have been in a good mood that day. Abdullahi and two other fighters dragged the offender before the Sheikh.
    â€œGive me your mobile,” the Sheikh demanded.
    Trembling, the man handed over the flip-open phone. The Sheikh opened the device, cracked it backward against its hinge, and broke it in two. He dropped one half of the phone, and from the other he extracted some sort of metal chip.
    â€œYou know music is forbidden,” the Sheikh said.
    â€œI know, brother,” the man said. “I play no music. I keep God’s law.”
    â€œYou lie,” the Sheikh said. “Your mobile just sounded forbidden notes.”
    â€œI did not—”
    â€œSilence. Because I am merciful I will give you one chance to redeem yourself.”
    â€œAnything, brother. Anything.”
    The Sheikh held out the little chip.
    â€œEat the SIM card,” the Sheikh demanded.
    â€œWhat?”
    Abdullahi slapped the offender. Grabbed him by the front of his shirt.
    â€œAre you deaf?” Abdullahi said. “You heard the Sheikh.”
    With shaking hands, the man took the card and put it in his mouth. Crunched as if eating a nut. Swallowed hard, once, twice, three times. Abdullahi pushed the offender so hard that the man fell to the ground.
    Hussein felt proud of his small role in keeping God’s law. And yet he wondered how one could always know what God wanted. If Hussein had owned a mobile phone, would he have realized its ring could be sinful?