The Troika

"So what is this all about?" Allie asked, a bit irritated. "Oussama wants dinner early tonight, and I still have to get some goat at the market."

Elizabeth smirked, knowing what that meant. Allie ha d just given birth to Oussama's son a few months back, and she was ripe for breeding again. She was probably just as eager for an early dinner as her Somalian husband.

"It's about legacy," Elizabeth said, and Julia and Allie turned to look at her. "We remade a neighborhood. So what? An Islamic school. A new mosque. But it isn't consequential or lasting. But we've got a big university, right down the road. Thousands of impressionable female minds. And Yusuuf's business is prime to grow. We could make these two dovetail, young college girls and hungry migrants, learning together, partnering together, making a legacy that will enable our progeny to be not the minority ... but leaders of a new majority."

"I don't know that I see it," Julia said. "We did, but we needed to experience it through your leadership, and the failures of our own men. If I were a college kid. I might experiment, but I don't know that my experience would be so clouded that I'd commit. Especially committing to the hijab on a Southern campus ..."

"You're being a little bit pessimistic," Allie said. "These little bitches just need a push. They need to come at it through a comfortable perspective. They need to be lured in with what they crave. And then they'll accept the collateral effects of it so long as they're getting what they need. You just need the right name."

Allie turned her notepad around, and on it, written in a large bubbly floral script was Beta Beta Chi.

"We might have to unretire our harlot wear though," Elizabeth said, with a grin.