I had cried about it. I had panic attacks more times than I could count. In my silly, silly brain, I thought my imagination could equate reality. That I had rehearsed this scenario from all angles, whether it was a wreck, a collision, a rollover, such that I would be prepared if it ever happened.
But when we were mid-air, everyone shouting their lungs out, I quickly realized there is never enough preparation for this.
Reality is way more terrifying.
It felt like I was looking right into the eyes of death. Like my end is here. I started to say the shahada.
And even then, I knew. I KNEW. What Allah was trying to show me. The perfect illustration of a verse I had read literally two minutes ago.
—
I am okay. Alhamdulillah.
I know, I know. I should have started with that. But what’s the fun in that? 😀
Now, let’s rewind to where it all started.
—
Earlier this week, my sister and I were walking to the matatu stage, each silently reading their adhkar. Out of the blue, I remembered a reel I saw on Instagram maybe one or two days earlier. A content creator, Sukaina, excitedly shared how she taught her child the dua whenever they boarded their car:
“Glory to Him Who has subjected this to us, and we could never have it by our efforts. And indeed, to our Lord, we will surely return.”
This was so random because at the time, I wasn’t even following Sukaina’s page. That video simply appeared on my feed. And of course, I replayed it a few times as she and her child cutely sang the dua in the Omar and Hana style, Allahumma bareek.
I turned to my sister and said, “Whenever I want to recite this dua, I can’t keep Omar and Hana’s voice out of my head, so I just end up singing it like they do instead.”
My sister laughed.
“This dua is for travel, right?”
“For mounting any animal or vehicle too.”
Then, in her typical Qur’an student style, she said, “The verse actually starts like this:
“And He is the One Who created all things in pairs, and made for you ships and animals to ride, so that you may sit firmly on their backs and remember your Lord’s blessings once you are settled on them, saying, ‘Glory be to the One Who has subjected these for us, for we could have never done so on our own. And surely to our Lord we will all return.’”
(Surat Az-Zukhruf: 12 to 14)
She reflected on the ayah. Allah tells us that He is the One who made it possible for these animals and vehicles to move. It is by His will, His power and His mercy, not human intellect or ability. This is among His signs that we need to contemplate and thank Him for. For making it possible. For making it happen with ease. He reminds us too that life and death are in His hands. And at the end of the day, we all return to Him.
We chit-chatted a bit about the verse, reflecting upon it. Then we started saying the dua together, word after word. And just like that, we were already at the stage.
Matatus were lined up in front of us, conductors calling out, urging us to board theirs. We decided to get into the first one that was going express. I sat in the seat right behind the conductor’s seat. My sister went to the far-left seat by the window. Soon enough, the matatu was full. The conductor decided to squeeze in an extra passenger, who went and sat next to my sister.
We left.
I can’t even tell you if a minute had passed or two. It was just a matter of seconds when the car hit a bump roughly and we were thrown into the air. At first, we thought the driver had just been careless, maybe had increased speed abruptly. So there were shouts of “Wewe! Oya dere!”
But soon it became clear this was not just reckless driving, the brakes had stopped functioning. The car was out of control.
The car started swerving left and right. The shouts increased. I kept shouting “Allahu Akbar! Allahu Akbar!” I don’t even know why that was the first dhikr that came to mind.
We swerved left, and I watched the moment our matatu knocked a man off his feet. My stomach dropped. I couldn’t believe what I was seeing. His body flew, and the world around me seemed to tilt sideways. My heart pounded so hard I could hear it in my ears. I was frozen, unable to move, unable to breathe properly. My mind couldn’t process it fast enough. This is real. This is happening. A cold wave of fear washed over me. My chest tightened, my hands trembled, and all I could do was cling to my seat and keep repeating, Allahu Akbar, Allahu Akbar.
The only thought that came to mind was, I am about to die. I should be saying the shahada instead.
So I started, “La ilaha illa Allah…”
And then boom!
Our matatu rammed right into the car in front of us. A tuktuk crashed into the other car on the side. That’s when the Matatu finally stopped.
And when it did, I let out the loudest, ugliest cry.
I was trembling, gasping for air, and frozen in place as the conductor flung the door open and people hurriedly alighted.
Someone behind me quickly tapped my back, “Shuka! Shuka!” and I staggered my way out, still weeping, barely able to catch my breath, not even caring that there was a crowd around.
My younger sister alighted and came to hug me, holding me, trying to comfort me. As if we weren’t both in the same accident. As if we hadn’t both been exposed to that same horror. “Alhamdulilah, say alhamdulilah,” she repeated.
I was weeping uncontrollably. I.just.couldn’t.stop. (Those who’ve ever experienced/witnessed panic attacks, you know what I mean).
Some people came to ask if I was hurt. I just shook my head because I couldn’t even speak. An older man kept saying, “Pole mamii. Pole mamii. Umeumia?” which was a bit funny because I really think he saw me with my backpack and rubber shoes and assumed I was a school student.
It reminded me of another time I had a similar panic attack on the road. I had to squat because my legs couldn’t hold me. The road was mostly deserted. A man passed by, hesitant to come near, and shouted, “Uko sawa?” I couldn’t speak. Then he asked, “Are you drunk?” I was weeping loudly, trembling, gasping for air, just like now. And yet, amidst my tears, I couldn’t help but chuckle at the absurdity of it all. Fun times 😀
Eventually, my panic attack ended.
I finally got to look around me.
The lady who had been seated at the very front beside the driver was now sitting on the ground. She had hurt her back and waist and was grunting in pain whenever she tried to move. Everyone was just staring. I remember thinking she needs to go to the hospital.
But no one was moving.
Call a tuktuk to pick her up. No one moved.
It was strange. That stillness. That collective pause. Everyone waiting for someone else to act first.
That was when I realized that the bystander effect is a very real thing.
My sister and I started looking around for a tuktuk. There was so much commotion and traffic. The lady was silently crying. The woman holding her, who I assumed was her sister, was in tears too.
Eventually, one tuktuk came and she was taken away.
I did get to see the man we had knocked down, seated on the ground, unable to move. I am not sure if anyone else was injured because we left the scene shortly thereafter. (I really do pray that they’re all okay and well by now, ameen).
All I could think of was that verse.
“And He is the One Who created all things in pairs, and made for you ships and animals to ride, so that you may sit firmly on their backs and remember your Lord’s blessings once you are settled on them, saying, ‘Glory be to the One Who has subjected these for us, for we could have never done so on our own. And surely to our Lord we will all return.’” (Surat Az-Zukhruf: 12 to 14)
I turned to my sister, tears in my eyes.
“Do you know, I rarely ever say this dua. Except for a few times when we are with the kids, and we sing it in that Omar and Hana style. But personally, I hardly say it. What are the odds that Allah would make me remember a random video on Instagram, from a page I wasn’t even following, and make us say it today?”
She said, “I rarely say it too. And it is Allah who made it easy for us to say it, on the right day, at the right time. Subhanallah.”
“I feel like Allah wanted us not just to read the verse, but to live it. To experience it. To truly understand His words. And to be grateful for His favour upon us,” I said.
She nodded, then said, “You know, in Surat Ash-Shura, Allah says something similar: ‘And among His signs are the ships like mountains sailing in the sea. If He wills, He can calm the wind, leaving the ships motionless on the water. Surely in this are signs for whoever is steadfast, grateful. Or He can wreck the ships for what the people have committed, though He forgives much.’”
Tears started falling again.
Later on, I realized that in the verse before that, Allah says: ‘You can never escape Him on earth, nor do you have any protector or helper besides Allah.’” Subhanallah.
After a brief pause, she added, “You know, when we boarded the matatu, I looked up at the sky and noticed a beautiful cloud with a flock of birds beside it. I was amazed and said, ‘Subhanallah!’ Then I remembered the dua again, so I repeated it.”
Then she went on to say, “And when the extra passenger came and sat beside me, I was a bit bothered because now we were seated four instead of three. We were squeezed. But at the road bump, when the matatu threw us up, we didn’t have much impact because there was no space between us. We could have gotten hurt had we been seated normally. Subhanallah.”
Indeed, we may dislike a thing, but it is khayr for us. (If you own or drive matatus, please don’t use this as an excuse to overload 😀)
You know what the craziest part of all this is?
The previous night, the very last thing I had worked on was editing a friend’s book on adhkar. And the story revolved around a car malfunction and an accident. On top of that, earlier this year, I had told my inspirational sister, who’s far ahead in her Qur’an journey, that I wanted to be more intentional with tadabbur al-Qur’an.
Lo and behold, Allah decided, why just reflect when you can actually experience the verses 😀
Alhamdulillah, truly. My sister and I are okay. I did have a very slight injury on my knee, but now, whenever I walk and that pain kicks in, I remember to be more grateful. This is nothing. It could have been way, way worse. In the span of just a few minutes, two or maybe three, our lives could have ended or changed completely. One moment, we were walking to the matatu, calm and thinking about our adhkar. Next, we were in the middle of chaos, staring death in the face. It makes you realize how fragile life really is, how vulnerable we are as humanbeings, how quickly circumstances can shift, and how precious every single moment truly is.
A friend joked that this was exposure therapy for my constant fear of accidents. Who knows? All week, whenever a car oversped or went roughly, my sister and I would exchange tense looks, then chuckle softly. There’s that katrauma, that tightening of the heart. But at least now, we can smile about it.
Alhamdulillah for the gift of life.
Alhamdulillah for Allah’s favours upon us.
Guys, don’t FORGET YOUR ADHKARS & DUAS!
Side note: For influencers, and really, anyone who uses social media, may this be a reminder that whatever you post may positively or negatively impact someone’s life. Whether directly or indirectly. Sukaina may never know that a cute, simple video with her child, reminding people of a dua, may have been part of our protection that day.
Merely four days after publishing my story, I got the awaited call. There was hope after all. The trip was going to happen. The estimated dates had been communicated. We were indeed going for Umrah, yeeyy!! But there was a catch. Members of the initial group that was to travel had taken a step back. Only two of us were remaining: the chairlady and I. Only the two of us would be going.
There was a pause in my voice, an apparent hesitation. Only two of us?! The structural change was stark. Traveling without a mahram was already a matter of deep contemplation for me, but the presence of a group had felt like an acceptable allowance within Shariah. Now, I was traveling without both that reassurance and a group. I requested some time to think about it, pray about it. The logistics alone felt overwhelming. What if something unexpected happened on the journey? What if we faced confusion or difficulty navigating the crowds alone? But above all, the lingering question that weighed on my conscience was, ‘Will this be displeasing to Allah? The lack of both a mahram and a group?’
I laid down my Muswallah and prayed two rakaats of istikhara. At this point, my head was going in circles. Fear engulfed me. What if I go all the way to Makkah, perform Umrah, and I don’t get the full reward just for this reason?
As I reached for my phone, the notification blinked on the screen; the visa was finally out. For a moment, everything inside me stilled. I just stared, letting the reality sink in. After all the waiting, all the praying, all the back-and-forth of hope and disappointment… the door had finally opened.
I felt a lightness in my chest, almost like a small wave of relief washing over me. Alhamdulilah. This was really happening. I whispered a quiet Thank You to Allah, trying to savour that tiny moment of joy before it slipped away.
But almost immediately after that calm came the familiar tightening in my heart. A quiet nervousness creeping in from the edges. Was this truly the answer to my istikhara? If Allah opened this door in such an unexpected way, what was I meant to understand? Why did my joy feel tangled with fear?
Little by little, the worries began to circle again… the lack of a mahram, the group shrinking to just the two of us, the uncertainty of travelling this way. Happiness, relief, fear, sadness… everything collapsed into each other until I wasn’t sure which feeling belonged where. The trip was now confirmed. I was to travel after one day.
That one day was painfully long. It was mostly me making phone calls to the learned scholars in my circle. What am I to do? The more the answers varied, the more heartbroken I felt. But throughout, my family insisted, ‘You’ve done your bit. You asked. You prayed. You cannot do anything at this point. This is out of your control. Now just tawakkal.’
The morning of the journey, I was a mess. Tears flowing. Heart aching. I make one last call to the ‘Hudaibiyyah’ friend, the same one who reminded me of Hudaibiyyah when my first trip got cancelled. She says to me, “Lubnah, when you prepared so perfectly for this journey, Allah closed that door. Now, when everything is imperfect, is when He’s opened the door. You have to trust there is kheyr in this even when you don’t see it. Rejoice! You’re going for umrah!”
And so I left. Broke. Broken. Tired. Unsure.
This is not how I envisioned my journey. Everything was out of place. And as a perfectionist, nothing tears me down like a messed-up plan. But then I remembered something. Throughout the months leading up to this journey, I prayed a lot about every single aspect of it. Including companionship. I was very specific about what type of companionship I wanted. If this is what Allah has chosen for me, then there must be a reason. A wisdom. A lesson that perhaps I would only learn if we were just the two of us. And boy, oh boy, did I not learn?!
***
Remember when the Chair, my partner, previously warned us that our patience shall be tested? She was absolutely right. It started with the bus trip from Mombasa to Nairobi. What would usually take 8/9 hours took me 12 good, long hours. And I had to keep reminding myself of the verse in Suratul Naml, “This is by the grace of my Lord to test me whether I am grateful or ungrateful. And whoever is grateful, it is only for their own good. But whoever is ungrateful, surely my Lord is Self-Sufficient, Most Generous.” I arrived, exhausted but grateful. Much calmer now.
Our trip to Saudi Arabia was very early the next day, and so before I slept, we had a quick conversation with my partner. We were to enter into the state of ihram before we left home, since we’d pass the miqaat while on air. Okay? Okay. I’ve got this.
I knew I’d got this because do you know how many videos of Umrah I had watched? Many, simply too many. I was sure I’d got this. The next morning, I got ready, went into the state of ihram and set off to the airport. On the way, my cousin asks me casually, ‘And so which soap did you use since scented ones are not permitted in Ihram?’ And I…
HOW ON EARTH DID I FORGET THAT?
Yep, not only did I use a scented soap. I forgot to wash my hair too 🥲
Listeeeen, nothing bothers an anxious person than being an inconvenience to someone else. Now, how was I going to break the news to my partner? 🥲 Mind you, this is someone I’d just met once before the Umrah trip plans, and talked only a couple of times. Yep, I hated myself in that moment.
When I told her though, she simply suggested I check whether I can do the ghusl in one of the washrooms within the airport. But due to a lack of water, that was not possible. We had to change our plans entirely. We’d get to our hotel, I’d redo the process, then go to Masjid Aisha as our new miqaat location, then leave for Makkah. She was calm and graceful about it in a way that I was so grateful for.
When we were at the airport in Saudi now buying SIM cards, and they couldn’t get my fingerprints due to sweat. The man kept telling me to wipe my hands, but it was simply not working. They brought the tissues, they even brought a small fan in front of me lol but my hands just wouldn’t cooperate. The man looks at me and says, “You need to relax. Relax…” In my mind, I’m like, ‘Yeah. So easy for you to say!’ But my tongue utters something else, “It’s my first time here.” I chuckle softly. “Ohh! Most welcome!… Let’s use your sister’s fingerprints then.” And so we do.
We get to the hotel. We do our thing. But of course, me being me, I just had to, I just had to! mess it around a little bit more 😄
JUST as we were about to leave the hotel room, both of us already in our abayas, genius me said to myself, “I’m going to talk to my Lord. I need to freshen up my mouth again.” And yep! I went for the flavoured, scented toothpaste. When I was done, I casually asked my partner, “BY THE WAY, is this okay?” My goodness. Next, we were quickly Google searching on the permissibility of scented/flavoured toothpastes, SMH. Some say it is disliked, some say it is okay. Most suggest miswak as that is the safest. All in all, at least it not haraam. Phew, alhamdulilah. My partner says to me, “Remember, Allah does not expect or require perfection from you. All He looks at is your effort. You’ve put in the effort, leave the rest to Him.” And throughout the journey, that’s something she frequently reminded me about. Allah does not expect perfection. Just sincere effort.
By the time we got to Masjid Al Haram, it was already Asr time. The lower floor, which leads directly to the Kaabah, was already full, so we moved to the first floor. The place is too crowded, it feels like the entire Ummat Muhammad is there, subhanallah. I was overwhelmed; I couldn’t even fully comprehend what was going on. We got a place to sit, and it wasn’t until I heard the familiar adhan, the adhan we’d heard over and over again since childhood, on our TVs, that it struck me hard. I’m here. I’m truly here. I am in Makkah. The Kaabah is just a few steps away from me. The tears flow naturally. It feels like a dream. I am here.
After the prayers, we join the flock of pilgrims on the lower floor to start our Umrah by doing tawaf. As we were entering the lower ground of the masjid towards the Kaabah, the voices of the guards echoed, “Yallah ya Hajjiyah! Yallah ya Hajji!” The constant call to “Move, pilgrim! Move, pilgrim!” was meant to control the dense crowd. On our way, we meet several groups heading in the same direction.
In my head, my favourite nasheed, ‘Ilahy Wasi’ul Karami’ by Yusuf Ayub, played. I had always daydreamed about approaching the Kaabah while this nasheed played, and in this moment, the lyrics perfectly described my state:
إلهي واسع الكرم وربُّ البيت والحرم
My God, Most Vast in Generosity, Lord of the House and the Sacred Sanctuary,
إليك أتيت منكسرًا متيبًا أغيّر القدم
To You I have come broken, weary, my steps weak and unsteady.
أُبدي طمعًا وجَلًا ويهيف خاطري وفمي
I show my hope and my fear before You, and my heart and tongue tremble.
لله الحمد انتهت بي لما أوليت من نعم
All praise belongs to God, who brought me here after all the blessings He granted me.
ضيوفك بالحُصَى نزَلوا بخير الأشهر الحُرم
Your guests have arrived with the pebbles (of Ihram), during the best and sacred months.
وجئتُك في ركائبهم إلى بردِ المتابِ ظمي
And I have come with them on their mounts, thirsty for the coolness of repentance.
The nasheed described my heart as “broken” and “trembling,” and that was the truest description of my state. My body felt physically unsteady, mirroring my spiritual vulnerability. Yet, the lyrics provided solace: I was before the “Most Vast in Generosity,” and He had brought me here despite my faults. My need for perfection was irrelevant; only His vast grace mattered.
And finally, there it was, the magnificent Kaabah right in front of me. Before I could savour its beauty, the crowd pushed me forward. I didn’t get a moment to pause. To let the moment sink in. To absorb this beautiful moment.
For me, it wasn’t a grand, beautiful moment like most people describe it on Instagram. I was overwhelmed. The place was full to the brim. I felt like I was being taken on a wave, just floating around, as we are pushed around. You know how, when you see a flock of sheep and it just seems like they are just going aimlessly? It felt like that, only that this was the tawaf. Everyone knew the direction they were headed to, but that’s simply what it felt like for me. Like I’ve been abducted by some Turkish aunties, and I’m circling around the Kaabah with them lol.
My partner and I realize we need to do something. We tie our hijabs and hold each other’s hands tightly. A man near us starts reciting dua loudly, as his what I assume to be his group mates respond to the dua. I looked around. All kinds of people. All colours of people. One minute we were with the Turkish group, next were among another South Asian, probably Malay group. It was indescribable, the feeling of witnessing all these nationalities, races, individuals, each with their own story, subhanallah. All here simply for one reason. To worship Allah. The weight of it all hit me once again. And then I cried and cried and cried. My partner heard my sobs and tightened her hand. It was a lot. I felt so overwhelmed, but also, so so emotional. So grateful.
Sometimes I would be so lost in the intimacy of my own dua, when suddenly a wave of sound would break my concentration: a powerful, soulful dua recited loudly by a stranger nearby. It was impossible not to stop and listen, my own whispers fading as I paused, feeling compelled to join the chorus, thinking, “Let me say ameen to these beautiful duas first.”😄
We move from one ritual to the other, then to the Sa’y, which felt like the hardest of all subhanallah. The walk between Safa and Marwa was so humbling. You see all kinds of people walking back and forth; some in crutches, some in wheelchairs, some very old, some very young, some with visible physical deformities, some young, strong and fit. You get to appreciate your health, your youth, your strength, and above all, contemplate on our mother, Hajar and her journey.
For the next few days, our life revolved around Masjid Al Haram and its environs. And what a pleasure, what an honour, to just stand behind Imams we’ve longed to hear in real life, to gaze at the Kaabah late into the night, to have solitude with Allah that we’ve always craved for, to meet so many lovely souls within the Haram. It was during this period that we met a friend of my partner, a Ugandan lady who was an inspiring, joyful soul and an activist. Her presence added a vibrant, familiar energy to our quieter routines in the Holy Lands. We had such wholesome and intriguing conversations with her, ranging from the Umrah experiences to Palestine and world injustices, to shared views on community upliftment. Her perspective, rooted in both faith and practical action, was a quiet inspiration. These unexpected meetings, though brief, reinforced the core lesson that Allah had chosen this specific, small company, including my partner and her friends, for my journey.
But above all, the greatest lessons were found in the day-to-day reality of living with my partner, which became yet another profound journey of learning for me.
***
Look, they’re not wrong. There are two kinds of people on this earth: me and my partner.She’s naturally outgoing, bubbly, effortlessly friendly, the kind of person who starts conversations with strangers in a queue and somehow walks away having made a friend. She’s bold, brave, and courageous, always ready to face whatever comes her way with a fearless heart.And then there’s me. A little quieter, a little more cautious. The observer. The overthinker. Gentle, soft-hearted, always careful about the next move.Even our food orders tell the story. Her plate is full of colour , greens, olives, and all things fresh, nourishing, and wholesome. Mine? Small portions of junk, whatever comfort food I can get my hands on. She takes life in strides, saying “Whatever happens, happens” with a calmness and groundedness I quietly admire. Meanwhile, I try to control every tiny detail, like peace depends on it. I don’t flow with life as easily, I wade through it with intention and constant questions.
I remember one afternoon, she bought me a Matcha. Very confidently, she said, “This slaaaps! You’ll love it!” I took the first sip and exclaimed, “Oh my God! They were right! This tastes like graaasss!” And we burst into laughter.See? Two kinds of people.You may call us the dynamic duo 😄
And so, very quickly, we learnt how widely different we are. Yet one thing connected us. One thing remained true: we are both striving souls, both seeking the pleasure of Allah, both deep in understanding the human psychology, both passionate about the pen and ink. And so we slowly learnt how to adjust to one another, accommodate one another, but most importantly, give each other grace. For someone who truly embodied the Islamic lifestyle, from her clothing to eating to health care to parenting to prophetic medicine, there was so much inspiration and wisdom I acquired from her.
I vividly remember one morning when I was so in my head. I had prayed istikhara about a matter and was just thinking about it privately as I hadn’t yet shared it with my partner. We were heading for breakfast when she started telling a story. I don’t even know how that conversation started, but she started sharing an experience she had had with a friend and what she’d advised her in that moment. As I kept listening, I could feel the goosebumps on my body. Her friend’s situation was quite exactly the same as mine. And there it was, the answer to my istikhara. Subhanallah. What are the odds? For me, it honestly felt like she was my Khidr, my teacher, in this journey.
We had many deep, eye-opening conversations throughout the journey, which made me realize why exactly Allah chose this trip for us together. Despite our differing approaches, our values, principles, and faith are well-aligned, and we shared the same deep aspirations in Deen. We focused on gently navigating our differences, both between us and with other people along the way, while simultaneously strengthening our shared purpose. Through this, we slowly learnt how to adjust to and accommodate one another, but most importantly, to give each other grace. As she would sometimes say to me, “Lubnah, this is marriage!” highlighting how individuals with good intentions may vastly differ in behaviour, personality, and mindset. This revealed the deeper dynamic of all relationships and the commitment required to make them work.
And so throughout the journey, the repeated theme was grace. Grace, grace, grace. And it was so beautiful and even comforting to experience and witness.
***
On our last night in Makkah, we headed for Qiyam. The distance between the bus stop and the masjid was quite a bit, so we trudged on, half asleep. My partner was listening to a voice note she’d received, when she started nudging me gently with her hand. “What’s wrong?” I asked. She kept listening, her hand still nudging mine, and soon she was in tears. “I’m fine,” she murmured between sobs. I knew she was undergoing a distressful stress during this trip, and I truly admired how she handled the entire matter with such calm and composure. We held each other tightly as she went on weeping. Finally, she managed to speak: “I prayed to Allah for a sign of His pleasure regarding my patience, and He has answered me! He has done it for me!” Goosebumps spread all over me as she narrated the news she’d just received. My heart just melted at how merciful Allah is, how good our Lord is. As she kept sobbing, we paused walking, embracing tighter, right under the last third of the night light. My heart was in awe with our Lord. Oh how generous our Lord is, subhanallah!
We then proceeded to do tawaf. The tahajjud gang was already there, so it was quite packed, subhanallah. We held each other’s hands and started circumambulating around the Kaabah. As we kept being moved by the crowd, at some point we found ourselves right at Maqam Ibrahim, and we were able to look at it closely, albeit in a minute and touch it, alhamdulilah. We then proceeded around. To be honest, for all the times we’d done tawaf, there was no way we could have touched the Kaabah. It was simply too packed, and we were just limited as two ladies surrounded by masculine men. But then at some point, almost in a miraculous way, I noticed an opening on my left side; there it was, right in front of me, just an empty space in the direction of the Kaaba. I turned to my partner, “Look! We have a chance!” She nodded, and we proceeded to move closer and closer to it. Wallahy at that moment, I just felt that that was Allah’s mercy. Cause of how people were moving, that space just appeared out of nowhere. It was like people literally made space for us, subhanallah.
So we inched closer and closer until we reached like three lines away from it. Now that was where the tug of war was happening. Everyone was scrambling to touch the Kaaba. A lady was groaning in front of us; you could see she was literally suffocating, trying to find her way out. Another Egyptian woman was stuck to the Kaaba, crying, not budging despite all the push and pull. And as my younger sister said when she heard the story, all that scrambling I’ve done with matatus back home had been preparing me for this moment 😂 I pushed myself harder into the crowd. I stretched my hand. I widened my fingers apart trying to touch the Kaaba. It was so so close. So close, but my hand was short. My partner, who’s taller than me, tried to pull my hand closer, and she kept doing that until we both finally touched the Kaaba. And that moment was so surreal, so emotional. I couldn’t hold myself back and just started sobbing, my weeping clear to the people next to me. And I cried my heart out on that wondrous night. And this night became the most favourite part of my journey. So surreal. So profound.
***
That evening we set out to Madina, only to find that all trains had been cancelled due to another train malfunction. We found ourselves in a five-hour long drive to Madina. We arrived exhausted, but excited. The heart singing, “Qalby fil Madina”.
Madina was just….beautiful. It is crowded too, but there’s just some different air to it. It’s slower paced. Less noisy. Less people. Just the place to find the solace you’ve been longing for.
Outside our hotel we could directly see Mount Uhud. It is humongous! I was mind blown by it and my partner reminded me of that hadith on following a funeral procession:
Allah’s Messenger (ﷺ) said, “(A believer) who accompanies the funeral procession of a Muslim out of sincere faith and hoping to attain Allah’s reward and remains with it till the funeral prayer is offered and the burial ceremonies are over, he will return with a reward of two Qirats. Each Qirat is like the size of the (Mount) Uhud. He who offers the funeral prayer only and returns before the burial, will return with the reward of one Qirat only.”
You guyysss, if you knew how bigggg that mount is, I don’t think any of us would miss a salatul janazah. And to think of how the prayer itself takes less than five minutes? I was mind blown!
There was just so much peace in Madina. Especially the Fajr hours, and you get to witness the amazing sunrise and the beautiful ‘umbrellas’ unfolding simultaneously.
It was quite heartbreaking to not have had a chance to go to the Rawdha. Due to the quick plans, we only got to be in the waitlist. I still joined the line in an attempt for another miracle 😄 But yeah, the guard wouldn’t hear it. I felt that kiaziiii 💔 It was heartbreaking. But then, I felt like I had no right to complain at all. Many things didn’t turn out as we initially anticipated, many places we didn’t get to go. We also didn’t get to visit Quba, or any of the other surrounding places. We didn’t do much of anything much beyond the Haram and our hotel room. The time was short and many things were not in our control, but Alhamdulilah for every blessing. This was simply not my night at the Rawdha. Maybe not the trip to explore all the towns and their deep histories. This trip simply felt like an intimate moment with my Lord with lessons to be learnt throughout the journey.
Leaving the town to get back home was quite heavy. You feel like you’re leaving home. It reminds you why this experience is so wholesome so fulfilling, cause we get to do what we were created for; worship Allah in the most sincere of ways.
Despite all the words I’ve written, nothing can truly capture the feeling, the emotion, and the deep peace that comes with being in the Holy Lands. It’s an experience I pray to have again and again. And I pray that you, dear reader, along with every soul yearning and preparing for this journey, get to feel it over and over, surrounded by your loved ones, in good health and high spirits. Ameen.
I want to take this moment to thank each and every one of you who made dua for me when the first trip didn’t happen. Many do not know, but this was the third time this trip had been rearranged. Those duas went a long way, and alhamdulilah Allah finally made it happen. May Allah surprise you all with a similar joy of a more beautiful Umrah and Hajj ya Rab.
This trip was far from being perfect. But the clear message, the clear lesson from Allah throughout this journey is that He doesn’t want our perfection. He wants our sincerity. Our effort. Our striving. Almost like He is saying, “Come as you are beloved servant. Come tired. Come broken. Come broke. Simply come. We’ll receive you as you are.”
May Allah accept our Umrah, our broken efforts, our imperfect ibadah, our desperate duas in the most beautiful way. And for my sister, whom Allah intentionally chose as my partner in this journey, may Allah elevate your status both in this life and the next. Nothing happens by chance with Allah, and you became a beautiful part of my destiny, of my most beautiful journey yet. Thank you immensely for your kindness, generosity and companionship. Barakallahu feeki.
To my favourite stranger, the kind soul who made the payment that confirmed this entire journey: May Allah reward you beyond measure for your generosity and trust. May my humble efforts during this trip produce a ripple effect of reward for you and your family, ameen.
Above all, the greatest blessing of this experience is that the journey itself was the answer to a persistent dua. Additionally, the family mission mentioned in Part I happened, alhamdulilah, by Allah’s overwhelming mercy and grace. The greatest lesson of all was that when we turn to Him with sincerity, He takes care of the details. His promise remains true:
وَلَسَوۡفَ يُعۡطِيكَ رَبُّكَ فَتَرۡضَىٰٓ
And ˹surely˺ your Lord is going to give you, and you will be satisfied.
Allahu Akbar!
***
Alhamdulilah by the mercy and grace of Allah, my blog ‘Strokes of my Pen’ (Lubnah) has been nominated for the BAKE (Bloggers Association of Kenya) Awards- Creative Writing Creator Awards. Please take a moment to vote: 1️⃣ Visit vote.bakeawards.co.ke 2️⃣ Enter your Name, Email & Phone Number 3️⃣ Select your preferred creators 4️⃣ Verify your vote via email using the code sent 5️⃣ Submit!
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Exactly 31 nights ago, on October 6th, I stood outside Terminal 2 at Moi International Airport, hugging my father goodbye as I waited to board my Jambojet flight. “Forgive me, Baba,” I murmured, feeling a lump in my throat. “Hmm, I have to think about it,” he laughed. “Listen, once you get there, make sure you find a way to fulfill what we asked you to do,” he reminded me of the important family mission I was tasked with once I arrived in Saudi Arabia. I nodded silently. “Let me check in.”
“It’s too early,” my brother said.
“I know, but if I stay out here, I’ll start crying. I just want to go in.” My sister laughed as my patriarchs shook their heads. They nodded and each gave me one last hug.
As I walked inside, my brother followed, trying to help me load my luggage into the baskets. They stood there until I disappeared through the doors at the far end. Once I finally sat down, I called my mother to let her know I had checked in. She made dua for me and wished me a safe journey. That’s when the lump in my throat finally broke. I let the tears flow freely. My reality felt surreal. I was going for Umrah. Me? My good Lord. How incredible that this seemingly distant dream was finally coming true!
This very moment was a manifestation of a miracle, an answered dua, a subsequent heartbreak, and one of the most important lessons I had to learn in my life.
***
The first time I seriously began making dua for Umrah and Hajj was in 2023, after taking the ‘Raise Your Dua’ course with Shaykh Muhammad Al Shariff. Before that, I would merely daydream and make dua for a visit to the Holy Lands in passing. But after the course, this specific dua became one of my six dream duas, the ones I would repeat during sujood, when it rained, when the masjid was empty at my workplace, and in the quiet moments when I conversed with my Lord. From then on, this dream became an obsession; I posted so much about it that my friends would often reply with duas for me to make it to those blessed lands.
Towards the end of 2024, on December 23rd, I posted a story on my Instagram, a reel of Makkah, with the caption: “Dear 2025, surprise me with an Umrah trip.” I reposted it with my own caption: “Dear LORD of 2025,” but like many similar posts, I didn’t put much thought into it.
In early January, a wonderful sister, herein referred to as ‘Chairlady’ or ‘Chair,’ posted about an Umrah trip for women, and my heart immediately melted. I jokingly said, “Nibebeeeee hata kwa hendbeg,” (insert crying emoji). She laughed and replied, “Listen to me: make dua. How it happens? Leave it to Allah,” reminding me that for Allah, nothing is impossible. I quickly forgot about the conversation, though I continued my dua as usual.
About five months later, the Chairlady posted something along the lines of, “There’s a sister I talked to about Umrah some time ago, and she said she couldn’t afford the trip. If that sister is you, please DM me; I have a sponsor for you.” I must have reread that story a million times, trying to comprehend what she was saying. My heart raced, but I didn’t want to get ahead of myself. With shaky hands, I texted her, asking if she was referring to me or someone else. If it was someone else, I requested her to consider me for the next sponsorship opportunity.
I vividly remember sitting with my sisters on the floor during lunch, completely distracted. Finally, I received a response: “Luby! It’s you!!! I had forgotten who I had that conversation with, but it’s you!” I stood up quickly, leaving my sisters puzzled by my sudden movement. “What’s wrong?” they asked. I stayed quiet, my hands shaking intensely, struggling to find my voice. “Check whether your passport is valid and let me know right away.”
I walked into my mum’s room, half-smiling and half-teary. “Ma, where’s my passport?” I asked. “Why do you need it?” she replied. “I need to check something real quick.” She pointed to the drawer where the passport was stored. I quickly opened it, and lo and behold, it was valid! “What is it?” my mum asked again. “I…I…” The words just wouldn’t come out. “I got…a free…Umrah ticket.” Tears started to flow. “Allahu akbar! Mabrukk!” I hugged my parents tightly. “Why are you crying, though? You should be happy,” my dad said, typical of his old-fashioned responses. “It’s tears of joy,” I muttered between gasps for breath.
I then walked into the kitchen where my sisters were still eating, trying to gather myself. “I got a free Umrah ticket,” I announced. In an instant, their surprise transformed into shared joy, and we all began to cry. “Allahu akbar. Alhamdulillah.” Our gratitude and awe overwhelmed us, leaving us with little more to say. My mum quickly called my other sister and brother; with each new congratulation, my emotions deepened, and I began to sob even harder.
I never thought something this extraordinary could happen to me. It wasn’t that I doubted Allah’s ability; I just never expected to be so blessed myself. I cried and cried, amazed at how a casual conversation had turned into a realized dream. How could a stranger, who knew nothing about me, become the means of this miracle? Subhanallah, the subtle ways Allah arranges our affairs left me astounded. Grateful and still trembling with excitement, I shared with the lovely sister, “How am I supposed to live the next five months now?! I feel like I won’t be able to do anything but wait excitedly.” We shared a laugh, excited for the incredible trip that lay ahead of us.
The very first thing I did, as I awaited official confirmation of the trip, was buy a small A6 notebook for my duas. My first entry was a seven-page dua specifically for the Umrah, praying for it to actually happen, for energy and health, for ideal weather, for good companionship on the journey, and for answered prayers; you name it. Slowly but surely, I wrote down other duas over the months. I spoke to Allah more often, requesting Him to forgive me and make me worthy of this trip. I was very conscious not to sin or make any mistakes that would make me unworthy of it all. I poured my entire heart into it, painting a vivid picture of the kind of experience I wished for. That became my mantra for the next few months.
Next, I bought comfortable shoes and increased my daily step target. I wanted to be not just ready, but perfectly ready for this journey of a lifetime. Every morning, I would go to the tallest building at our workplace and walk up and down the steep staircase. If I didn’t have enough time for that morning routine, I’d try to make it up throughout the day. I wanted to get accustomed to the long walks around the Haram and Medina, and to be fit for it. I was determined; I wasn’t about to take this lifetime trip lightly.
Next, I started by watching umrah tutorials, learning about the do’s and don’ts, the best duas to recite, where to do laundry, and which apps would be useful. I downloaded the Nusuk and HHR train apps, even though it felt ridiculously early to do so. And, as we all know how Instagram picks up on our conversations, my feed and Explore page quickly filled with umrah-related reels and posts.
Also, in preparation for my trip to Madina, I began watching the Umar ibn Khattab series, as recommended by our Chair. This helped me better understand the locations we would be touring. I have heard so much about the tranquility and peace of Madina; Aaahhh! I truly couldn’t wait!
Then, I made a list of all the items I would need for my journey and began ticking them off one by one. At that time, everything revolved around umrah. All my conversations with my sisters and loved ones focused on the things I needed to get or do for the trip. It got to the point where I would say, “Aaah, look,” and my sisters would laugh and say, “For umrah, right?”
During this period, one frequent dua I made was for abundance, so I could comfortably prepare for and enjoy the trip. Subhanallah, Allah, the Most Generous, delivverreeeed! Miracles were unfolding right before my eyes. I was getting gigs left and right, and money was coming from unexpected places. Allah was facilitating every need, want, and wish. I was awed and deeply touched by Allah’s kindness towards me. It was really happening!
I remember about a month before the trip, I opened my suitcase and started packing small items one at a time. My younger sister, who had a journey coming up, laughed and said, “My trip is one week away, and I haven’t packed yet. Yours is a month away, and you’re already at it. Truly, there are two kinds of people in this world.” It’s no secret that I’m the ultimate planner, but trust me when I say I was still arranging my bag right up until the very last day. I wanted everything to be perfect. Typical, I know.
Despite my overwhelming excitement and extensive preparations over the months, I still hadn’t received official confirmation for the trip, which made me feel a bit nervous about whether it would go through. However, once it was confirmed, I couldn’t hide my joy any longer. Maybe I overdid it, but honestly, no one could comprehend how excited I was. This was about a month before the journey, and so I began texting my friends, loved ones, and everyone who had once carried my list of duas, eagerly telling them, “It’s now my turn to make dua for you in the blessed lands.”
I also informed my co-workers and asked for their forgiveness as I continued collecting duas. I ended up gathering over 50 pages of everyone’s duas. I know, I know lol, it seems like I was doing the most 😀 But guys! I was not about to be stingy with my prayers!
That night, as I nervously boarded my first plane to Nairobi, I whispered my last-minute duas, asking for this journey to be a positive turning point in my life. The one-hour flight passed quickly, and we soon landed at our destination.
As I was removing my backpack from the overhead compartment, my lovely sister, our Chairlady, called me. “Luby, did you see the texts?” I told her I had just landed and hadn’t read them yet. She then said something that left me speechless: “The agents said the system has been down, and they were unable to acquire the visas for us. Let me send an Uber to pick you up and bring you to my home.” Honestly, I don’t remember what I answered; my mind just went blank. I didn’t know what to think, say, or feel. My thoughts raced during the ride through the night.
I kept reminding myself of the words our Chairlady had said during the months of preparation: “Such spiritual trips always come with tests. No matter how much experience you have visiting the Holy lands, you will always be tested in one way or another. Be mentally prepared for that and be very patient with whatever comes.” I thought to myself, “Aha, this is what she was talking about. The tests have started. But we must stay optimistic. We must be patient.”
Our group chat was lighting up with messages expressing confusion, shock, and reminders to exercise patience and make dua. Our trip was scheduled to start at 2 AM that same night, and we all kept hoping for a miracle to happen at the last minute.
When I arrived, our Chairlady welcomed me with a long hug and a nervous laugh. The night felt long as we tried to make sense of what was happening, embracing the uncertainty and remaining patient as Allah’s plan unravelled.
The next morning, we gathered with our fellow sisters in our team. We poured our hearts out amid the chaos, reassuring each other that this was merely a phase. Allah is testing us, but He is planning something better for us. We constantly reminded one another, “Qadar Allahu wa ma sha’a fa’al” (Allah has decreed, and whatever He wills, He does).
I remember our Chair stating, “I wholeheartedly believe that there is a reason behind this delay, and Allah will reveal it to us eventually.” I added, “That’s true, but sometimes Allah tests us without providing closure. If that closure doesn’t come, that’s a test too, whether we will trust Him regardless.” For the next few days, Allah tested me on my own words.
Amidst apologies from the agents, confusion, and unclear next steps, we had no option but to wait. This became the most dreadful wait of my life.
My family and close friends continuously checked on me, sending encouraging words and beautiful reminders of Allah’s plan and the khayr in all delays. During this time, I stayed with my two lovely cousin sisters, who went above and beyond to accommodate me, comfort me, and cheer me up.
All the while, my heart was crumbling. I kept desperately speaking to Allah, saying, “Ya Allah, there must be a reason why You brought me to Nairobi. I didn’t leave home and arrive here for no reason. I know there must be a purpose. Please reveal it to me.”
For many years, I had wanted the opportunity to go to Nairobi for one significant mission in my life. When my trip brought me to a halt there, I thought maybe this was my chance; perhaps Allah wanted me to fulfill my mission. But that door was also tightly closed. It was painful trying to understand, “Why am I here then?!”, to accept and fully trust His plan. As much as I tried to smile, inside, my heart was falling apart.
At that time, despite the delay, we still held onto hope that we would be able to recover our money, obtain our visas, and travel immediately to salvage the remaining bookings we still had. So, the waiting continued. I kept myself busy by meeting old friends, spending time with my sister in law and beautiful nieces, and admiring the stunning purple Jacaranda trees outside the house; anything to keep my mind occupied.
I also had the chance to meet a lovely revert sister whom I had been in contact with for two years but had never met in person. It was such an emotional meeting for both of us. We talked, we cried (yes, she’s a crybaby, just like me), we hugged like we’d known each other forever. My cousin later told me, “Maybe your stay in Nairobi was for this reason: this beautiful meetup.” And you know what? Maybe, maybe she’s the sole reason I stayed in Nairobi. I was destined to meet this beautiful, beautiful soul, Allahumma bareek! Allah knows best, you know?
By the fifth day, as I sat at the dinner table with my two cousins, our Chair sent a voice note. As I listened, my heart raced. We had reached a dead end with the visas and had to cancel the trip while they sought legal ways to resolve the matter. I couldn’t pinpoint when the tears began to fall, but I remember the dreadful feeling of my heart sinking. What followed were the longest nights of my life. I used to think I understood what heartbreak was, but this? This was on another level. It was undoubtedly the most painful heartbreak I had ever experienced. Even as my loving cousins comforted me with Allah’s words and I recognized the truth in what they said, my heart felt like it was crumbling like a wet cookie; I was devastated.
Of course, the shaytan thrives in moments of brokenness. I began to descend into a dark rabbit hole of overthinking. Did I do something to cause Allah to take this away from me? The umrah I had waited and prayed for years for, the important family mission in Saudi Arabia, the significant personal mission in Nairobi, it felt like all the doors had not just been closed but slammed shut right in my face.
I didn’t know how to process the heavy feeling, the sadness, the grief, and the shock. How was I supposed to return to normal life after this?
I travelled back home two days later with a heavy heart, but I was glad to embrace my parents once again. However, one more major plan for the end of October also fell apart painfully. Honestly, it was a humbling moment.
The biggest lesson I learned from this experience is that, once again, I am NOT in control. Despite all the preparation I put into this trip, ultimately, it is Allah’s plan that prevails. And that plan? You have to trust it blindly, even when you can’t see the light at the end of the tunnel, even when it doesn’t make sense, and even when you don’t understand why things had to happen the way they did.
This situation reminds me of the quote: “The universe will give you the same lesson in different forms until you master it.”
As someone who continually struggles with letting fate unfold as it comes, this was a stark reminder for me.
Above all, I kept reminding myself of my sister, our Chair, who faced an even greater challenge in losing all her bookings and tickets. She was placed in a situation that no leader or person ever wishes to be in. Whenever I thought about my own grief, I had to remind myself of hers. Yet despite everything, I found her to be resilient, patient, and firm, with unwavering faith. Alhamdulillah ala kul hal. May Allah reward her abundantly for her patience and compensate her for every heartbreak, every tear, every pain and worry and every penny she lost, ameen. Please take a moment to make dua for her, and for the other sisters in our group who also underwent this heartbreaking experience. May we all be compensated with what is better in all ways, ameen.
One of my dear friends (God bless her beautiful soul), who helped me extensively in preparing for my journey, reminded me of the Treaty of Hudaybiyyah. The Prophet Muhammad (peace be upon him) and his companions set out for Makkah to perform Umrah, but they were turned away when they were so close to the sacred land and instructed to return the following year. Despite this setback, Allah reassured them, describing that moment in the Qur’an as “a clear victory.”
This experience felt like my own Hudaybiyyah moment. Although I didn’t arrive in Makkah for Umrah, I underwent a different kind of pilgrimage in my heart. It’s a comforting perspective to hold.
It’s been 31 nights, and my suitcase still sits across my bed, mostly unpacked. My Nusuk app is still on. Umrah content still fills my Instagram explore page. Some may say it is denial. Some may say it is hope. I don’t really know where to place it; maybe somewhere in between the two. I really don’t know. In shaa Allah kheyr. In shaa Allah, it shall be well.
***
P.S. Regardless of everything that has happened, I will always be grateful to the stranger, my favourite stranger, who sponsored this trip for me. I also want to thank our Chair, whom Allah chose to be the reason I received this opportunity. I am deeply appreciative of my cousins, my sister in law, my closest friends, my loved ones, and my entire family, who went above and beyond to support me during this challenging time. May Allah bless you all in ways that will truly astonish everyone on this earth and in the heavens. Ameen.
P.S. 2: As I continued to navigate through this storm, my elder sister sent me a beautiful and soothing series on the Names of Allah by Ustadh Hisham Abu Yusuf. It has been a profound and timely reminder for me. I realize that to find peace of mind amidst life’s challenges, we first need to deeply comprehend who Allah truly is. I share this with you in the hope that it comforts you just as it has been comforting to me: https://www.youtube.com/playlist?list=PLSFZjjKC3qPYGLinbi1XurRSC3izxodtC
Ghost, because where are you hiding since the first letter, 10 YEARS BACK?! And 5 years since the last letter. Never mind the silence, because I’m pretty sure you’ve come across this thing called AdULTinG and by now, very familiar with all the oddities that come with it. Anyway, that aside; 5 years, hmm?
Our last conversation was during the pandemic, and now we find ourselves watching the Global Sumud Flotilla head toward Gaza, defying sea blockades to bring hope and aid. As Israeli forces intercept some ships, I pray, may Allah save Gaza and its people, grant steadfastness to those aboard, and may we live to see justice and freedom for them. How the times change, huh?
I too, have changed immensely. Time does a lot to you. You hurt. You cry. You heal. You learn. You unlearn. You make mistakes. You hurt again. An endless cycle of pain and growth. Looking back, I vividly remember when my plan was to get married by 21 years of age (the time of my first letter), latest 23. I’m telling you, I had this beautiful plan all laid out (A moment of silence for broken dreams 😀 ) Everyone close to me knew I LOVED and CRAVED motherhood. I always wanted to be a young mother. It did always feel like I was on this earth solely to become a mother. But God had other plans innit?
By now, I’ve heard it all. I’m too choosy. I am hiding myself. I am JUST scared. I am being difficult about this. I’ve definitely got a problem. I’ve been afflicted with hasad. I need ruqya. And as my beloved aunt once said, “Labda uko na shetwani” 😀 I’m sure ladies above 30 very well know these tales quite too well. I’ve been kept in uncomfortable situations and I have been interrogated for my lack of a husband, more than anything in my life.
Some months back, an old friend called after many years of not talking and obviously, they asked whether I had a husband yet. And when I said no, the response was, “Hujataka (you JUST haven’t wanted it i.e. marriage)”. Because obviously, I am this super woman who can move the earth to her liking 😀 Astaghfirullah. It obviously hurt, because I think it is so easy to judge based on what is apparent, but you truly never have an idea on what someone is really going through. But I pondered on that statement for a long time. “Hujataka.” Do people truly understand qadar? Like truly? Because on one side, each one of us has free will and we do have the liberty to make choices in our lives, but do we truly comprehend Allah’s power in all this?
It reminds me of a close friend who was always strong willed; she always knew what she wanted and she would go for it. Then came a time when her parents forced her to marry an older man that she didn’t want. She FOUGHT against the marriage. Fought and fought and fought. Eventually, she gave in. I remember walking into her home where the family gathering was taking place, and I saw her dancing freely before she saw me and came to hug me. My heart broke for her. We were both still very young, but I think that was the first instance that it struck me how qadar works. This beautiful, amazing girl that I knew would have never accepted this marriage, but she gave in. She accepted her fate. Not because she wanted to, but she had to. If something is meant to happen, it will happen, regardless of your thoughts, feelings, opinions about it. It will happen even if we scream at the top of our lungs or run away or try to hide. It will happen. Simply because this is what is written. It may be a blessing, it may be a test, it may be a blessing disguised as a test. All in all, it will happen whether you like it or not. And that’s just how firm my belief in qadar is.
On the other hand, I see how my friends’ eyes light up, or the excitement in my family’s voices, whenever I say I have good news. There’s that pause, that wide smile, that hopeful glance; like finally, this must be the announcement they’ve all been waiting for. And then when it turns out to be something else, like a new project, a trip, or even something big that I’m genuinely proud of, I can almost sense the drop in their faces. It comes from a good, concerned place, wishing me nothing but wellness and kheyr, but I almost feel bad for them; because in their eyes, all these other joys seem smaller. It’s like, if I just do this ONE THING, JUST THIS ONE THING, then everything will have fallen into place. But is that really the reality?
As someone who’s very emotional and attached, I do see the wisdom in Allah’s plan for me. It may be as everyone keeps saying, maybe I’m proud and too choosy and too scared and perhaps the ruqya is very necessary, I still absolutely believe that there is good in the delay.
Looking back, I am not who I was 5 or 10 years ago. I was struggling to control my BIG emotions. I was struggling to be okay alone, to embrace my own company without feeling incomplete. I was struggling to stand for myself. And to be honest, I think that despite my very good intentions, I wouldn’t have been the ideal wife and mother I’ve always hoped to be. Over time, however, I’ve learned that my seasons of solitude were not a punishment, but a gentle shaping by Allah; teaching me independence, patience, and self-reliance. Alhamdulilah for the timing. I may not be where I once imagined, but I trust I am exactly where I need to be.
With the little experience I’ve had raising my nephews, I’ve watched myself fall short far too many times. At the same time, I’ve seen my growth. Just recently, my two nephews left home with a friend without informing anyone. We looked around the neighbourhood, all their normal play areas, they were nowhere to be seen. It was around lunch hour and I could feel my anxiety kicking in. The wild thoughts. What if they get lost? What if they get kidnapped? What if someone harms them?😀 I know, I know, the mind of an anxious person is as wild as the thoughts 😀 But instead of entertaining those thoughts, I kept myself busy. I then overheard their mum say, “If they’re not back by Asr prayer, I’ll have to go search for them at the outskirts of our neighbourhood.” I thought to myself, “Good idea. I’ll give myself time until Asr, if they’re not back, I can start panicking at that time.” When Asr finally came, we saw them from our window, at the entrance of the masjid, taking wudhu. Phew! Alhamdulilah. Laughing now, I said to their mother, “I have grown.” She nodded, “Yes you have.” For other people, it may seem like a very small deal, but for me? It is major growth. The fact that I wasn’t already crying? That I didn’t shout when they came back? Aaaah, alhamdulilah for growth.
But it’s not just that, you know? I once traveled with my sisters for a few days, something we rarely do. When we came back, my mother had spent the whole day with us, quietly excited, having already cooked our favorite meals. She listened intently as we shared every little detail of our trip, asking gentle questions, smiling at our stories, because she had genuinely missed us. And when I laid my head on my father’s chest, he held me firmly. Whenever I tried to pull away, he held me tighter and longer, as if he wanted to make sure I felt completely safe and at home. And mahn, this is rizq too, one we often overlook. Love from parents? Alhamdulilah.
And then there’s the love of my siblings, the shared laughter, the quiet understanding, the way we just get each other without words. That bond, that companionship, is its own kind of gift. We may not always say it out loud, but in these small moments together, it’s felt deeply.
Sometimes I think maybe Allah just wants us to have more time together. He knows how my mother, who was separated from her children from her first marriage for decades, still needs her babies. He knows how my firm father, who learned softness from his daughters, still needs us. And we, of course, need their love and supportive presence too.
This doesn’t mean that marriage is the end of our relationship with our parents. But God knows, the day I leave their home, I’ll cryyyyyyy buckets. I know it. My parents know it. My siblings and friends know it. They even joke about how on my wedding day, I’ll probably cry as if I’m bereaved or being forced into marriage. We all know it. I’m still chudren 😀
And it’s in these moments of love, parents, siblings, family, that I realize Allah hasn’t deprived me. He’s just written my story differently.
The comments obviously hurt, however well intentioned they are. But my God has been there for me in ways that I can never afford to doubt His plan for me. It might be painful. Especially as someone who’s had a lot of health issues almost all her life, because it does scare me that I might fail myself and my marriage and my kids. But mahn, God has been too merciful to me, I cannot afford to doubt Him. It might be a longer route to my destination but I am sure, this is the best way for me to get where I want to be.
Anyway, husbandry, I hope you’re going through your own polishing stage and in shaa Allah we get to meet as the best versions of ourselves. They say this life has no formula, but my belief is that the only formula is to involve Allah in every step and stage in your life in such a way that you are confident that anything that happens or doesn’t happen, is by Him, and His Great Wisdom. We gotta trust.
May Allah polish our hearts, protect us from harm, and bring us together in the best of ways. May He write gentleness into our stories, keep our parents safe in His mercy, and let our hearts find peace in whatever He decrees. And when the time is right, may He allow us to meet with hearts refined by patience, strengthened by faith, and overflowing with gratitude.
And as we reflect on the patience and steadfastness of the Palestinians, may Allah grant them relief, ease their suffering, and bless them with victory sooner than soon.
For real now, may this be the last letter till we meet in shaa Allah. Till then, be good and you better behave!
So here you are, dear reader. You’ve fasted for an entire month despite the intense heat. You’ve given charity even amidst economic difficulties. You’ve stayed up at night for Taraweeh and sacrificed your sleep for Tahajjud, pushing through your exhaustion for the sake of Allah. Congratulations! May Allah accept your efforts and reward you abundantly for all your sacrifices.
As you move forward, cherish what you’ve achieved this month. Carry the lessons learned, the perseverance gained, the zeal displayed, and the inspiration felt into the coming months. Ramadan may be over, but the Lord of Ramadan remains with us.
This is a reminder to continue the good deeds you’ve practiced. Apply everything you learned from the khutbahs and darsas. Strive to be God-conscious in all that you do. Speak to Allah sincerely and intimately; He is always close to you, even after Ramadan.
Let’s commit to evolving as more faithful individuals from this moment forward. May we not be in the same position when the next Ramadan comes around. This is the challenge that lies ahead of us.
Ya Allah, accept our fasting and prayers, forgive our shortcomings, free us from the Fire and make Ramadan a witness for us, not against us; do not make this our last Ramadan, and grant us many more Ramadans in the future, ameen.
***
I sincerely thank you for taking the time to read my reflections; it means a great deal to me. Eid Mubarak to everyone! May your celebrations be brimming with joy, abundant blessings (barakah), and a deep sense of brotherhood. I hope you create beautiful memories surrounded by loved ones, enjoying festive meals and the warmth of shared laughter. Ameen.
Four years ago, a friend texted me. She was frustrated. Angry. Disappointed. She was beyond crushed that Allah had not responded to her desperate dua, despite her efforts, despite going out of her way, despite begging Allah. She had done all that is in the books. She had fulfilled her daily prayers, she had woken for tahajjud every single night, she had opened her heart bear and cried to Allah to fulfill just this one thing for her, yet He didn’t. Why would Allah let her down in this way?
Before you judge her reaction harshly, here is a bit of context. My friend had had the worst childhood you’ve probably heard of in real life. Physical abuse, emotional abuse, psychological and perhaps some would even name what she’d gone through to be plain torture. That in turn, made her, in many many way, wounded and traumatized. She didn’t know affection or love or warmth nor did she know how to give it. She had a distant, somewhat cold, relationship with herself, her family, her children and by extension, Allah.
That wasn’t all of it. She was diagnosed with bipolar disorder, and she extremely struggled with her self esteem, anxiety and depression.
And amidst all this madness as she calls it, there was only one person who knew how to ground her; her grandmother. The only person she felt seen, loved, appreciated. The only single person in the whole world who made this life a little bit bearable. While her entire journal would be about the voices in her head, the burden of this life, the only single beautiful thing she ever wrote about was her grandmother. And I don’t say this cause she just told me, I read those pieces (with her permission of course). Despite her claim of inability to love, it was clear that she could give her whole life to her grandmother. The only apparent light in her seemingly dark, dark life.
But during covid, her grandmother died. That was the first devastation. Then the following year, she lost a baby. It was too painful. Too heavy. Too crashing.
The next time she was pregnant, she did what she wouldn’t normally do. Talk to Allah more intimately. Begging him for this one thing, and this one thing alone. She wanted a baby boy this time round. So she religiously woke up every single night asking Allah for a boy. She dedicated all her time and energy, getting closer to Allah, trying to mend whatever was left of it, so her dua could be accepted.
After a series of very difficult pregnancies, this became the only normal pregnancy she’d ever experienced. Yet when she gave birth, it was a girl once again. She was angry. disappointed. Crashed. She felt little connection to her and would sometimes wish she never had her. That lack of motherly affection was close to none.
She didn’t really have much care for this baby. Not really. But alas, there is always wisdom in everything that Allah gives us or denies us.
Despite having other daughters, this baby was a special one. She was charming. She was affectionate. She was smart. Simply adorable. And Somehow, just somehow, slowly she was able to draw her mother out of the darkness she’d been accustomed to. She became her best friend, the coolness of her eyes, her whole heart.
Against all odds, this baby that she once detested her existence became her anchor. The one who grounds her now. My friend speaks of how her baby reminds her of her grandmother so much. From her features to how she projects so much love towards her. It is like Allah replaced her grandmother with this cute baby who now keeps her grounded. Oh how fondly she talks of this girl. It is like she was sent just to save her from the darkness she lives in.
And all this has got me thinking of that quote that says, “Every perceived rejection is a redirection for the best.” Perhaps my friend thought if she only got a boy, her heart will be at peace, one that she desperately seeks. Yet, sometimes Allah withholds what we want so that we can get what we actually need, what would actually be the best for us.
Despite all her rough background and turbulent present, Allah still brings her someone to anchor her at each stage of her life. If that isn’t Allah’s mercy on play subhanallah.
This in many ways reflects what The Messenger of Allah, peace and blessings be upon him, said:
“I am amazed by the believer. Verily, Allah does not decree anything for the believer except what is good for him.”* (Musnad Ahmad 12495)
It’s truly moving to think that just four years ago, my friend would have struggled to believe that this baby—someone she found it difficult to accept—would grow to be her closest companion and play a significant role in healing her heart. Yet, here we are, witnessing a beautiful transformation. This little one has undeniably become her greatest gift, truly the light of her life. With each hug and embrace, she finds a deep sense of peace, and her worries seem to fade away. It’s so heartwarming to see how their bond brings out the best in each other, filling her with immense gratitude for this unexpected joy that has entered her life.
Dear Reader,
I want to take a moment to remind you that amidst the myriad challenges life presents, whether they come in the form of difficult trials or moments of doubt regarding unanswered prayers, and even in the sadness of loss, there is a profound truth that remains: Allah has a uniquely tailored plan for you. This divine plan may not always align with your hopes and desires, but it might just be what your heart and soul truly need for growth and healing.
As you navigate through life’s uncertainties, hold on to this empowering thought: “But it may be that you dislike something that is actually good for you, and it may be that you love something that is ultimately bad for you. Allah knows, while you do not.”
Reflect on the times when you faced disappointments that later revealed hidden blessings. Consider how moments that once felt like setbacks transformed into opportunities for personal growth, deeper understanding, or new paths that led you to unexpected joy. Embrace the presence of Allah’s wisdom as it gently guides you, even when the way ahead seems unclear.
Trust in this process and let yourself be open to the unfolding of Allah’s will in your life. Embrace it fully, knowing that every twist and turn serves a purpose beyond your immediate understanding. There is beauty in surrendering to the journey that Allah has laid out for you.
Most importantly, remember: It is not a rejection. It is but a beautiful redirection.
One topic that deeply resonates with me is Qadar (fate). It’s truly fascinating to reflect on how Allah orchestrates our lives, reminding us of our own limitations and the unpredictability of our journeys. In moments when I find it difficult to comprehend Allah’s plans for me, especially when circumstances don’t align with my expectations, I often think back to a deep story I witnessed. It’s the story of a young believing woman, and her experiences are ones that many of us can relate to.
Imagine a 33-year-old woman living abroad with her parents in a big city. Her family cherished her deeply, but like many singles her age, she felt the weight of loneliness and societal pressure. At 33, it is often considered “old,” and the idea of an “expiration date” for finding a partner seemed more pronounced back then than it does now. Despite receiving many proposals since she was 18, none of them worked out for various reasons. Nevertheless, she remained steadfast in her trust in Allah’s divine plan.
When she turned 33 years old, she earnestly prayed for a spouse. Subhanallah, one night at 2 a.m., she poured her heart out to Allah about her desire for a partner. After her prayers, just after Fajr, her sister called to inform her that there were three proposals, subhanallah. A week before her engagement, she received another proposal. Fast forward, she got married at the age of 33 and moved to a rural area in a different country. It was a completely new life, filled with a different environment and culture far from home, but she embraced it with faith and excitement for her new journey.
Things took a sour turn soon after the wedding when her husband revealed that “his heart just couldn’t accept her,” despite her being a perfect wife and diligently fulfilling all her duties. Imagine the shock, heartbreak, confusion, and loneliness she felt—Subhanallah. Despite her deep efforts, prayers, and ruqya to improve her relationship with him, all was in vain as he ignored her and paid no attention to her at all.
Allah Subhanahu Wa Taala destined that she would become pregnant. In normal circumstances, this would have been an extremely joyous moment for the newlyweds. However, with an indifferent husband, there was little joy to be found. During those first two months, life was hell for the young woman. She had no idea how quickly and dramatically her circumstances had changed. However, this was not the end of her struggles. Allah tested her once more with an experience that every woman dreads: she had a miscarriage. As she mourned the loss of her unborn child and reflected on her troubled marriage, she returned to her family home. It was at that moment that her husband chose to end their marriage.
The lady was devastated. What would people say about a girl who got divorced after only two months of marriage? What would they think of her? They might assume that something must be very wrong with her. Who would want to marry someone like that again? She fell into despair. However, her family provided her with strong support, offering a shoulder to lean on and encouraging her to accept it as the qadar of Allah, reminding her that He knows best. Very slowly she healed. But the idea of marriage was totally deleted from her mind. For her, she felt like that was the end of her marriage chapter and that no one would accept her as a wife again.
Three years later, the lady visited her family. While there, she saw her sibling’s children and felt a deep yearning for motherhood and the warmth of having a family. That night, she returned to her prayer mat and cried out to Allah, asking for a new spouse—one who would be better than her ex-husband in every way. She only prayed that one night, not expecting anything to come of it. However, shortly after, there was a burial for a close uncle, and during the gathering, some ladies who were friends of her cousin, came to offer their condolences. They interacted briefly with her, and when they returned home, they spoke to a single man from their community about the lady they had met that day. Subhanallah, just one week later, a proposal came from the man, and she got married a month after that.
And Good Lord, the difference between her first and second husband was like heaven and earth. Subhanallah. She got the love, the respect, the friendship, the care that she prayed for for too long. She calls it a miracle and indeed it is one.
Whenever this story comes to mind I am in awe at how Allah meticulously plans our Affairs. And even when we don’t understand why things go the way they do, we gotta believe that He knows best. That He is merciful towards us even in the darkest of situations. For example, this young lady prayed istikhara in both cases of first and second husband. So her going through the first unhappy marriage was a test from Allah. And perhaps she needed to go through that experience, that pain, that heartbreak to be able to truly appreciate the huge blessing she is currently in. You bet that every time she thinks of her past and her present and sees the difference, she is moved by Allah’s mercy towards her. And her second marriage is both a blessing and a test. Will she be grateful for what Allah has bestowed upon her?
As human beings, we sometimes wonder why Allah doesn’t just grant us blessings from the start. Why does He test us first? No one can provide a definitive answer to this question, as only Allah understands the divine secrets of life and the wisdom behind each stage we go through. We may think we are ready to handle the blessings Allah wants to bestow upon us, but can we be sure? Perhaps through every loss, every moment of anguish, and every lesson learned, we become wiser and grow into the best versions of ourselves, ultimately preparing to receive those blessings.
As such, whatever pain you are going through right now, whether of marriage, wanting children, wanting a better job, or good health…do have yaqeen (firm belief) that you are exactly where Allah wants you to be. In Allah’s books, there is no delay, nor is there a rush. Everything has an appointed term. So does this hardship. It will not last forever. And Allah is in charge.
Additionally, we learn that there is always a reward for patience. Do you notice your poor health, loneliness, and poverty? Allah will compensate you for all of it. This may happen in a few weeks or even years, but it is a promise from Him. With every difficulty, there is ease. Even in the sad situation you find yourself in, He still cares for you in other ways. Never forget that and never despair. This is your reminder to slow down, to breathe, to have hope, and to believe without a doubt that there is calm after the storms.
Side Note: This is a reminder for our community to be considerate of one another. Let’s avoid being judgmental, shaming, or mocking those who are divorced, unmarried, or childless. In fact, we should simply avoid dwelling on what isn’t our business. We can never fully understand the challenges others have faced or are currently facing.
Beloved reader, as we conclude, I want you to hold onto this verse. Keep it close to your heart. Memorize it if you can. Let this be your guiding light even in the darkest of nights: “So be patient with your Lord’s decree, for you are truly under Our ˹watchful˺ Eyes. And glorify the praises of your Lord when you rise.” (Qur’an 52:48) Allah Subhanahu Wa Ta’ala is our guardian, caretaker, and handler of our affairs. Who else would you rather have to manage your affairs than Him?
“Had Allah lifted the veil for his slave and shown him how He handles his affairs for him, and how Allah is keener for the benefit of the slave than his own self, his heart would have melted out of love for Allah and would have torn to pieces out of thankfulness to Allah. Therefore if the pains of this world tire you, do not grieve. For it may be that Allah yearns to hear your voice by way of du’a. So pour out your desires in prostration and forget about it and know that verily Allah does not forget.” ― Ibn Al Qayyim.
“No vision can encompass Him, but He encompasses all vision. For He is the Most Subtle, All-Aware.” (Surah Al-Anam, Verse 103)
I used to hear about Allah’s name, Al-Lateef. I always understood that it encompasses His gentleness, graciousness, kindness, and subtlety. While I recognized these attributes, I often remained unaware of experiencing them in my life. Sometimes we don’t see it; we fail to notice how Allah delicately arranges our affairs for our own good. He is the Master of the Game of Cards, with every move made for a reason—very intentional and well thought out.
The significance of the name Al-Lateef dawned on me during a particular phase in my life when I started a new job role. After years of searching and hustling for employment, this moment was monumental for me—an answered prayer for something I had yearned for quite a while. However, as soon as I began the job, challenges started piling up one after another. It was overwhelming, and I felt so alone. I struggled internally, feeling I would be ungrateful to complain, since Allah had given me what I wanted. How could I dare to complain? I decided to embrace the experience as a test from Allah. I had received what I desired; would I be able to endure the minor discomforts that came with this blessing?
My primary colleague, regrettably, chose to complicate my work life. There was always a problem with him; it was evident that I was not welcome. I began to wonder if it was because of my religion, ethnicity, or my seemingly youthful appearance. I often found myself in tears and experienced embarrassing meltdowns at work on several occasions. At times, I felt so drained—mentally, physically, and emotionally—that I would sit under my desk for a brief moment to regain my composure. All I wished for was some ease.
About two months later, a new, young, and vibrant intern joined our team, straight from University. I was tasked with being his supervisor and teaching him the required skills. The first thing I noticed was that our values and personalities aligned, which made working with him easy. Furthermore, he possessed all the skills I needed in a team. It was also refreshing that he was passionate about our work and eager to learn new things. Gradually, I relied less on my challenging colleague and worked more closely with the intern. In my mind, I kept thinking, “This kid must be a Godsend. This is from Allah’s mercy.”
Then one day, the intern reached out to thank me for mentoring him and all the many things he had learned. During our conversation, he casually mentioned, “You know, I didn’t even study Communication. I studied Diplomacy. The Public Service Commission had placed me as an intern in a public office in Nairobi. However, the letter I received told me to come to this office in Mombasa. So technically, I wasn’t supposed to be here. According to the public service portal, I am actually in Nairobi! But here we are! In fact, my friends laughed when they heard I was working in a Communication office, considering I am very quiet, shy, and reserved. They still can’t believe I’m here, getting out of my comfort zone…”
Subhanallah, the way this information blew my mind was extraordinary. Truly, Allah is subtle in how He handles our affairs, always doing so with care and gentleness. There was no mistake; the intern was precisely where he was meant to be. He learned from me something he never thought he could do, and, for me, I received the assistance I desperately needed.
This experience has been a powerful reminder of how Allah extends His mercy and kindness to us, sometimes in a subtle manner. When the intern’s contract ended this February, I felt an immense void and work became increasingly challenging. Then, on the first Friday of this Ramadhan, a bright and cheerful young lady entered our office asking for directions. I pointed her the way, and when she asked for my name, her reaction caught me off guard. “Oh! My lecturer said I remind him of you and encouraged me to seek your guidance!”
We exchanged phone numbers, and I continued my day without much thought about it. The following Friday, during a meaningful conversation, she opened up about her struggles to join the university. As we spoke, she expressed, “I really want to learn from you. I have plenty of free time and live nearby. Please don’t hesitate to reach out if you ever need help. I’m here for you.”
It wasn’t just her words, but the way she expressed them that brought tears to my eyes. The number of times she repeated, “I am here for you,” felt like a deeply intentional message, as if she had been sent specifically for me. Just when I thought I was back at square one, Allah introduced me to another extraordinary soul who shares my principles and values and is ready to support me. She even signed up as a volunteer in our department to receive training. But to me, she represents a God-sent relief. Subhanallah. Alhamdulilah.
I often reflect on these incidents. Allah showers us with His mercy amidst trials. While it may not always be obvious, there are always ways in which He supports us, making life just a bit more bearable. He grants us ease in the most challenging situations and sends kind people to help us. Subhanallah, nothing is a coincidence. Everything that happens to us is part of His intricate plan, filled with mercy. He never overlooks anything and continues to bestow upon us His favours in such a way that we do not see or feel.
Reflecting on your own life, you will likely recognize numerous instances where Allah has showered you with affection and kindness, even when everything around you seemed dark and bleak. In moments when you feel like the situation is the worst it could possibly be, always remember that He is Al-Lateef. He does more for you than you could ever comprehend.
When your heart is shattered and you want to call upon Him, remember to invoke this beautiful name: “Ya Lateef…” Ask for His care, gentleness, and affection. He is already showering you with these blessings without your asking; imagine the abundance if you actually seek it from Him.
Transliteration: Allahumma ya Lateef, ultuf bina fima jarat bihi al-maqadeer, wa sahhil lana umoorana, waghmir quloobana bilutfika wa rahmatika, waj‘al lana min kulli hammin farajan, wa min kulli dayqin makhrajan, warzuqna min haythu la nahtasib, washmilna bi‘afwika wa karamika, innaka ‘ala kulli shay’in qadeer.
Translation: “O Allah, O The Most Subtle, be gentle with us in what You have decreed, ease our affairs, fill our hearts with Your kindness and mercy, grant us relief from every worry, an escape from every hardship, provide for us from where we do not expect, and envelop us in Your pardon and generosity. Indeed, You are capable of all things.”
May Al-Lateef bless you and all those around you with His infinite gentleness, mercy, and hidden blessings.
“Allah loves to see his servant who does a job with itqan (meticulously).” (Al-Mu’jam Al-Awsat lit-Tabrani)
As a perfectionist, this hadith resonates deeply with me. It’s a clear affirmation: YES! It should be this way! Efficiency, proficiency, integrity, and excellence are essential to Islamic work ethics. However, when we reflect on our sincerity, do we truly give 100% in our jobs or settle for the bare minimum?
The answer may be a resounding YES for self-employed individuals, but the real question pertains to those who are employed or contracted. When we examine the work culture in Mombasa and across our country, we often encounter a mentality of “doing the bare minimum.” This mindset also extends to individuals who sell low-quality products or provide subpar services to others.
I understand why this mindset exists. Working hours can be exhausting, and the work environment may be challenging. Sometimes, bosses can be demotivating or even harsh, which makes it difficult to feel inspired to put forth our best effort. As a result, many people perform their tasks just enough to get by, and some may not complete their responsibilities at all.
However, it’s essential to recognize that our work is, in fact, an amanah (trust).
When someone hires you or calls you for an interview, and among several other candidates, they choose to trust you with that role, it is considered an amanah (trust). This is something for which you will be held accountable. Regardless of whether you are a teacher, car dealer, nurse, or secretary, you will be questioned about how well you fulfilled your responsibilities.
Our religion is perfect and we have values, principles and ethics in every single aspect of our lives. When you overcharge a person due to their naivety, Allah knows. You lie and give fake excuses to miss out on work days, Allah sees. You accept bribes to do what you shouldn’t be doing, Allah is fully aware. You intentionally do shoddy work because you simply don’t care, Allah cares. You purposely waste time during work hours, avoiding the actual responsibility, it is all written down.
It doesn’t matter if you are the ideal Muslim who prays the obligatory prayers and the tahajjud, fasts on all the sunnah days, and goes to Umrah every year. If your good manners and work ethic do not reflect these practices, then something is still missing.
Remember, the Prophet Muhammad (peace be upon him) received the proposal from Khadija bint Khuwaylid not only because of his exemplary manners but also because of his excellence and diligence in conducting business.
Diligence is highly encouraged in Islam, as demonstrated in the hadith of the Prophet Muhammad (peace be upon him). He said, “If the Hour comes while one of you has a shoot that he is able to plant, then he should plant it.” [Ahmad, Al-Bukhari in Al-Adab Al-Mufrad]
Take a moment to reflect on the gravity of this hadith. Imagine it is the Day of Judgment; there is panic and chaos everywhere, and everyone is filled with fear about what lies ahead. It is a time of immense anxiety and confusion. Yet, the Prophet still advises that if you have the opportunity to plant a tree, you should go ahead and do it i.e. finish your task!
One question I often ask myself when I take on a new role is, “Do I truly deserve every dollar I earn from this job?” At the end of the day, can I honestly say that I have delivered or even exceeded expectations? I believe many of us lack taqwa (the fear of Allah) in our work because we tend to view this life as purely worldly, thinking that it doesn’t really matter to Allah. However, it actually does.
In the case that you believe you are doing more than what you are being paid for, take comfort in the Prophet’s assurance: “Help from Allah comes to the servant according to his diligence.” [Imam Al-Bazzar]
I know a man who started his career as a cleaner at the university. Today, he serves as a lecturer and holds an important leadership position at the same institution. There are many similar stories we have encountered over the years. For instance, another man began his journey as a cleaner at a bank and eventually became the manager. These successes come first from Allah and are followed by the effort and dedication that individuals put into their work. It is clear that if you strive sincerely, Allah will elevate your status.
Some people argue that the lack of respect and appreciation in their workplaces justifies abandoning Islamic work ethics. However, we must remember that our religion instructs us to treat others and act according to Islamic teachings, regardless of how others behave. We should not wait for humans to reward, appreciate, or acknowledge us before we strive to do our best. Indeed, everything we do should be done with Ihsan, for the sake of Allah, and ultimately to seek His pleasure.
Just as there was a time when people preferred to do business with Muslims, trusting that they would act honestly and not deceive others, let us also cultivate a culture of diligence and excellent work ethics.Let us be an example to society. Let people yearn to do work as we do, and be rather confident in working with us because ultimately, they know that Muslims deliver.
It is true that work is exhausting and draining especially in these tough economic times, but before you decide to lower your effort and do the bare minimum, remember that Allah has favoured you immensely by giving you a halal source of rizq that many wish for. I recently came across a tweet that hit me hard, it said, “Alhamdulilah for the exhaustion of work.” See all that sweat, all that fatigue? Many would die for a chance to experience it. So alhamdulilah always.
Ibn al-Qayyim (may Allah have mercy upon him) said:
The sages of every nation agree that welfare cannot be obtained through welfare, that anyone who prefers comfort will miss it, and that joy and pleasure depend on the level of risks and difficulties that are experienced when getting them. There is no joy for a person who has no resolve; no pleasure for a person who lacks patience; no bliss for a person who endures no hardships; and no comfort for a person who has no hard work. If a person is exhausted for a short time, he will relax for longer. If he endures difficulties for a short while, this will lead him to eternal welfare. People who will receive eternal delight [the people of Paradise] earned this status due to their patience in this very short worldly life. Truly, Allah alone gives help, and there is no power except in Him.
The loftier one’s own self is and the higher his aspirations are, the more a person’s body is exhausted and the less his comfort is. Yahya ibn Katheer (may Allah have mercy upon him) said. “Knowledge cannot be acquired when the body is in comfort.” [Muslim]
“All those who are sensible undoubtedly believe that perfect comfort depends on the level of exhaustion, and perfect bliss relies on the level of difficulties that are endured when achieving it. Comfort, pleasure, and bliss are free of exhaustion only in Paradise, not in this worldly life. [Quoted from ‘Uluw Al-Himmah by Shaykh Muhammad ibn Isma`il]
As we wrap up this bit, do have it in mind that even if you absolutely hate your work or your boss or your workmates, your job is an Amanah, and you shall be questioned about it. In the same way, you shall be rewarded for your hard work and efficiency. Stay diligent good people!
To a great extent, many of us have embraced the global social media community. Within this realm, we share lessons, absorb influences, and sometimes face pressures that challenge our character. In a world where fighting, insulting, and mocking have become all too easy, where silence is misinterpreted as weakness, and gentleness mistaken for stupidity, let us hold close the wisdom of the Prophet, peace be upon him.
Ibn Mas’ud (may Allah be pleased with him) reported that the Messenger of Allah (ﷺ) said, “Shall I not tell you whom the (Hell) Fire is forbidden to touch? It is forbidden to touch a man who is always accessible, having a polite and tender nature.” (Riyad as-Salihin 641)
Today, we find ourselves in an environment where conflict, resentment, and the tarnishing of others’ dignity over trivial mistakes have become alarmingly commonplace. This normalization has created a troubling culture where starting fights, whether in person or online, seems almost routine. We often underestimate the impact of our words and actions, particularly when directed at strangers, perhaps believing that anonymity shields us from accountability.
However, we must confront the reality that the emotional pain inflicted by online mockery is just as profound as that felt in face-to-face interactions. The sting of ridicule or harsh criticism can linger, affecting individuals deeply, regardless of the medium through which it is delivered. It raises an essential question: why do we assume that our actions on digital platforms lack significance? The truth is that every comment, every taunt, and every insult contributes to a broader culture of hostility, and we need to recognize and take responsibility for how our words can impact others.
This is dedicated to those gentle souls who often face judgment for their compassionate nature. This is your gentle reminder that embodying the principle of being the bigger person aligns perfectly with the teachings of the Sunnah. You should not be seen as foolish, naive, or weak for choosing to step back from conflict. In fact, your decision to refrain from engaging in battles, to restrain your words when provoked, and to forgive those who have wronged you is a mark of strength and maturity.
It’s important to clarify that embracing this path does not mean you should become a doormat, allowing others to insult you, trample over your rights or oppress you. A Muslim should always stand up for themselves and not allow anyone to humiliate them.
That aside, you should recognize that every act of patience, restraint, and forgiveness elevates your status in the eyes of Allah and sets you apart as someone who truly embodies these noble traits.
Consider the profound teachings found in the Sahifah of ‘Amr bin Su’ayb, where the Messenger of Allah (may peace and blessings be upon him) spoke about the Day of Judgment:
“When Allah will gather the people on the Day of Judgement a caller will call: ‘Where are the people of patience?’
A small group of people will stand up and move hastily to Paradise; the angels will meet them and ask: ‘We see that you are hurrying to Paradise; who are you?’
They will reply: ‘We are the people of favour.’
‘What was the cause of your favour?’ they will ask.
They will say:
‘Whenever we were wronged we remained patient, when we were ill- treated, we forgave, and when someone acted cruelly toward us, we showed forbearance.’
They will be told: ‘Enter Paradise; excellent is the reward of those who do good deeds. ” (Ibn Abi Al-Dunya in Al-Hilm)
Additionally, the Prophet peace be upon him also said, “I guarantee a house in Jannah for one who gives up arguing, even if he is in the right; and I guarantee a home in the middle of Jannah for one who abandons lying even for the sake of fun; and I guarantee a house in the highest part of Jannah for one who has good manners.” (Riyad as-Salihin 629)
This teaching serves as a powerful reminder that patience, forgiveness, and kindness not only reflect our character but also pave the way for a rewarding and elevated status both on this earth and in the Hereafter.
As much as this message is for everyone, it is particularly relevant to men who often face criticism or ridicule for expressing emotions such as affection, compassion, or gentleness. It is essential to recognize that the Prophet Muhammad, peace be upon him, exemplified the highest form of gentle masculinity. He was not only the commander-in-chief of the Muslim army but also the revered leader of an entire nation. Despite the weight of these responsibilities, he was celebrated for his profound tenderness toward his wives, his playful and kind demeanour with children, and his empathetic approach toward his neighbours and companions.
A great example is an incident during the prophet’s time when a Bedouin urinated in the mosque. Some of the persons stood up (to reprimand him or to check him from doing so), but the Messenger of Allah (ﷺ) said: Leave him alone; don’t interrupt him. He (the narrator) said: And when he had finished, he called for a bucket of water and poured it over. (Sahih Muslim 284a)
And in another occasion a man demanded his debts from Allah’s Messenger (ﷺ) in such a rude manner that the companions of the Prophet intended to harm him, but the Prophet (ﷺ) said, “Leave him, no doubt, for he (the creditor) has the right to demand it (harshly). Buy a camel and give it to him.” They said, “The camel that is available is older than the camel he demands. “The Prophet (ﷺ) said, “Buy it and give it to him, for the best among you are those who repay their debts handsomely. “ (Sahih al-Bukhari 2390)
Throughout history, it is clear how the prophet’s gentleness extended to all, setting a powerful example of how strength and compassion can coexist. Yet, that did not make him weak or powerless.
As such, let us not allow societal pressures or misconceptions to diminish our self-worth when we strive to embody the qualities of the Prophet. Instead, we should take pride in nurturing traits that are deeply cherished by Allah. Showing love, kindness, and gentleness is not a sign of weakness but rather an indication of true strength of character.
Aisha, the beloved wife of the Prophet, reported a significant teaching of his: “Verily, Allah is gentle and He loves gentleness in all matters.” (Sahih al Bukhari 6927) This profound wisdom, encourages us to incorporate gentleness into every aspect of our lives, reinforcing the idea that compassion is at the core of a fulfilling and righteous existence.
