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!
The voting deadline has been extended to 11th December, 2025. Thank you for your precious time!
*For latest stories and articles, please click on the ‘Subscribe’ button at the bottom of the page 😊
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
A few months back, just countable days before Ramadhan, my mum called me excitedly to show me a very moving story of a Pakistani woman in Tanzania being fundraised for. The project attracted so many donors around the globe that the fundraisers (a TV station) could buy a piece of land and build a house for her and her children (one of them is physically challenged). My mum’s first remark was, ‘Look! He does just like what you do! (fundraising projects)’.
‘Not for houses though!’ I laughed.
‘This is a TV station so they have a wider reach, but maybe one day you will do something like this too.’
‘Maybe…in shaa Allah.’
That became the beginning of our daily following of this exciting show and specifically, this Pakistani woman’s story. My mother would eagerly wait for the next episode so that we’d watch it together. To say it was inspiring is an understatement. Her life was changing COMPLETELY, and for the better; a true miracle was unfolding. As the building process went on, my mother would often reminisce about her younger years when she and my father were entrusted to do such projects to build mosques and wells and even houses alhamdulilah. Little did we know what lay ahead…
*
It was just a few days after Eidul Hajj when a friend whom I deeply admire for her dedication to her Qur’an memorization journey, reached out to me about their mud house that was gradually collapsing. All they were asking for was a loan so that they could restore their house. At the time, there were heavy rains all over Kilifi County and the imagination of how anyone could be living in such a condition truly broke my heart.
I mentioned the situation to someone I know who knows my friend’s neighbourhood, and was shocked! She asked, “You mean there are people living in that house?! I’ve always passed that same route to go to work and the house is in a very, very bad state. I never thought someone could even live in it!”
I felt helpless. And sad. And every time it rained outside my window, my heart ached a bit more. I had never done a project of this magnitude. Sometimes my projects take looong in such a demoralizing way. What if I start something, give them false hope then get stuck halfway? Still unsure of what to do, I decided to put up a post calling out to anyone or any organization to assist the family.
One of the first people to reach out to me was an ex-uni mate, and when he was asking for details about the house, I offered to give him my friend’s mum’s contact. He advised me then that it is best if I took the lead role in the project in order to efficiently manage the situation. I agreed, albeit reluctantly and decided to put up information for the opening of the fundraising. Before I even did that, someone from Twitter responded to my initial post and sent 100k. I was stunned. How?! A total stranger who didn’t even put me through an extended ‘interrogation’ as most donors do (I know I know, the world is full of scammers lol) So people can trust me with this? I got an immediate motivation boost subhanallah.
Right away, I called an architect/contractor to make a sketch of a new brick house. At the time, I knew a brick house would be way more expensive but I was unstoppable 😀 The contractor came the same evening and showed me the cost of just a few materials. It was around 300k. I said, ‘We can do this!’ He said, ‘There is still a lot more. It could get to double.’
‘Yeah, but I believe Allah will bring a way. Let’s tawakkal.’
‘My concern is that we don’t know how the fundraising could go. We could demolish the house and start building but then get stuck, leaving the family stranded.’
Excitedly, I said, ‘Yeah I understand but let’s just start. I believe when people start seeing the work taking place, more donors will appear. They’ll be motivated to finish it.’
Both my parents were seated with me at the time and they both interjected, ‘Kujenga si mchezo (Construction is not that simple)…’ My dad said.
‘Huyu she’s just excited at the moment,’ my mum joined, ‘but let us see. Perhaps the donors will come through when we start the process.’
We wrapped up the brief sitting with the plan to start the demolishing of the house soonest. At the time, another good lady and friend, Dr Kulthum, had collected donations for the family that had totalled 48,980/= alhamdulilah. (May Allah bless her with goodness in both worlds!)
And so it began. The fundraising. The shifting of the family to a rental. The house demolishing and the construction thereafter. The money coming in. Offers to help from every corner.
Whenever I talked to my friend’s family, I would tell them, ‘So I think this is only what we can do for now.’ But Subhanallah, money kept coming in and coming in. Friends. Family. Mutual friends. Total strangers. Long-term donors from previous projects.
Every few days I’d tell them, ‘Okay I think you can move into your house after two days’ or ‘Just this one thing remaining and we’ll be done with this project’, ‘We don’t have money to do this right now, maybe you can save for it in the future’ and someone would send me money out of nowhere. In the early stages of the fundraising, there was a short period where the donations slowed down a bit, but subhanallah, once we picked up the pace again, we were unstoppable. At some point, I stopped asking for donations anymore because I didn’t even have to ask. There were three individuals who were very keen on the project and let me know repeatedly that I shouldn’t hesitate to reach out to them in case anything was needed. Three total strangers. Three angels from Allah. Two of them ended up donating over 200k (one of whom was the one who sent the first 100k), and one close to 200k. Then two sisters joined in, sending me money from their family and friends group from time to time also getting to 200k (or over, I can’t even remember anymore 😀 ) Then Artistic Hope Organization offered to do some of the work (Plastering the whole house, plumbing and electrical). Best of all were our consistent donors who despite giving smaller amounts, kept giving and giving from what Allah blessed them with, alhamdulilah!
And I kept thinking Subhanallah, Allah is showing us again and again, ‘Who are you to determine what is enough?’ And I told this to my mum and said, ‘Perhaps our vision is so low compared to what Allah wants to give them. We just want them to have a house, but perhaps Allah wants to give them a dream house. Perhaps they have a secret with Allah or perhaps they have been patient for so long that Allah is finally giving the long-awaited relief.’’
And so we kept making changes to our initial plan because we had to consider what can we do better for them (since there was more money). It wasn’t easy of course and the construction team was inconvenienced quite a few times, but alhamdulilah for their patience and dedication.
During the finishing stages, when only about three fundis were still working on site doing the ceiling, I sat with my friend at the front stairs of the newly built house feeling the cool breeze from the ocean.
“I need you to tell me the secret…”
“Which secret?” She laughed.
“Which secret do you have with Allah? Because I’ve NEVER done a fundraising like this, and I’ve been doing fundraisings for almost a decade now. Never …Subhanallah. This is the FIRST TIME EVER that I don’t literally have to beg people to donate. You have seen it yourself! And now, people are racing to help your family mashallah Allah ybarik. What’s the story? Or what dua have you been making so we copy your method?” I laughed.
‘“Aren’t you the one who tells us to have secrets with Allah?” She chuckled, referring to the nasheed I love and frequently share by Mishary Al Afasy (Do you have secrets with Allah).
“Hahaha, okay but this secret you have to tell me. There must be a story behind it; a story that I and everyone who’s donated can benefit from. Because wallahy, this, for me, is a miracle. I’ve never seen this Subhanallah.”
With tears in her eyes, she said Alhamdulilah. Then went on to say, ‘It’s been dua, a lot of dua…’ Then started narrating their story to me.
Around 6 years back, my friend and her family lived on the outskirts of Mombasa town. However, their mother got divorced and because she was a simple housewife, she was unable to sustain the town life. She decided to come back to her father’s home in the remote areas of Kilifi. For them, it was a huge and TOUGH adjustment. From town life, they now moved to an old mud house. No electricity. No water. The bathroom is outside. The bushes became the toilet. As a jilbabi and niqabi, you can imagine the struggle of taking a bath in a space that is only covered with mabati and leso; almost an exposed space (especially since the mabati had holes only covered with nylon). They would share a bed that didn’t even have a mattress.
“I would walk 45 minutes to the stage every morning to go to university and another 45 every evening. It got so tiring, I started living with a relative in Mombasa. But she was verbally aggressive. And I would be patient until when I’d feel my heart is too tired I can’t take it anymore, is when I would come back to Kilifi and continue commuting daily. Then when I’d get tired of commuting I’d go back to my relative…like that…”
This was a family that was once at the upper middle class- with water in the house, electricity and stability of a home. Their life turned upside down. But their patience was yet to be tested even more.
With each heavy rain, the mud house developed more and more cracks. At the same time, the neighbourhood was gaining some development. Slowly, the neighbours around started building brick houses in place of their mud houses one by one. Then when the government launched the token metres, homes got the token devices for free. So soon enough, the neighbourhood was bright with lights. Except this one house. Because of its dire state, and despite having the token metre, it was a risk for them to connect electricity since the house was clearly collapsing. Eventually, KPLC uninstalled the service line just for the safety of the family.
The neighbours started making fun of them and their house. When my friend would go to the shop she’d hear people joke, ‘Waschana warembo lakini nyumba ya kuanguka’. When their youngest brother would come home from school, his schoolmates would laugh loudly, calling out his name, pointing at the collapsing house and saying, ‘Hii ndio nyumba yenu!’ They were all so humiliated, so ashamed that they’d avoid going to the shops or even outside except when necessary.
Now the neighbours, who were now of a better living standard, used to gather in the evening. The women around would lay down their mikeka to chit chat (spell ‘gossip’) and because my friend and her mother were against such behaviour and wouldn’t join them, they became even more secluded. The neighbours barely ever had a good word for them, instead, they were the ones mocking and humiliating them at every opportunity. And as known in Swahili culture, they would ‘walisha vijembe’ by blasting out taarab music with insults, clearly directed at them.
“Si siri wajulikana wewe
Hauna sifa za kike wewe
Una nongwa we jeuri wewe
Mambo nare nare
Niko nae mimi sare
Usilete hare hare
Utakuja kufa bure….
Nnavokujua sio mwanamke wewe
Unajitwaza si mwanamke wewe
Unachechemesha si mwanamke wewe
Umejiangusha cheo kujishusha
Sasa unapasha mpasha upashike
Heshima uweke
Heshima uweke…
Wakati wa mwengine huu
Si wakati wako huu
Wakati wa mwengine huu
Si wakati wako huu
Mambo nare nare du
Umewekwa kando du
Unachekwa sasa du
Unachekwa sasa du…”
(Rough lyrics)
At the time, it was raining heavily outside, the house is leaking all over…mother and daughter are hiding in their collapsing house; humiliated and heartbroken; calling out to Allah…during the best ten days of Dhulhijjah. Crying to Him out of helplessness and pain.
“I always wanted to be the one to build this house for my mother,” my friend said. “I had a part-time job and was trying to save slowly so that we could renovate the house. But life was so tough, especially as the firstborn..it was always hand to mouth. Then corona happened and I lost my job. That dream faded. I felt so helpless. So I returned to Allah and begged Him that I cannot do this myself, only He can…and I prayed that He brings me a halal and kheyr means for this house to be built. I prayed so much during Arafah as well. But since we came here, we’ve always been praying for relief. Then I contacted you after Eid asking for help and what happened happened…”
Goosebumps. Literal goosebumps. Tears in her eyes. Tears in my eyes as I write this. Subhanallah. Subhanallah. Look at Allah’s Power. His kindness. His mercy. How He can change one’s condition JUST.LIKE.THAT!!! How He responds to duas. How He rewards for patience. How He hears how others are mistreating you and will grant you comfort. Indeed, with hardship comes ease, ALLAHU AKBAR!
Now, from the very beginning of the project, we really desired that the family gets electricity in the house. However, we kept getting obstacles until finally, we opted for M-solar (lipa mdogo mdogo solar program) alhamdulilah.
So on Thursday evening, the family officially moved into their house. And as they were settling in, there happened a blackout in the entire town. Literally! There was darkness at every corner of the town except ONE HOUSE. Only this one house that was always being mocked. Only this one house that was always looked down upon. Only this one house that was once the symbol of extreme poverty. Subhanallah! And so while the whole town drowned in darkness, Allah illuminated His light on just this one house. Coincidence? Could never be! Here was Allah, showing the people His Might and Power to change circumstances. A moral lesson they’ll never forget!
And all this is clear proof that Allah’s promise is true when He said: “Surely, Allah is with those who are As-Sabirun (the patient).” [al-Anfal 8:46]
And again: “If anything good happens to you they are grieved; if any misfortune befalls you they rejoice at it. But if you remain steadfast and mindful of Allah their designs will not cause you harm. Allah surely encompasses all that they do.”[Al ‘Imran 3:120]
Now standing very tall, is the only fully-plastered, painted house with solar power in the neighbourhood, Allah ybarik!
This is our good Lord. ALLAHU AKBAR!
Here’s what it’s all about:
A believer’s patience.
The power of dua.
The reward of patience.
The power of Allah.
The justice of Allah.
The miracle of Allah.
The miracle house!
“And whoever is mindful of Allah, He will make a way out for them, and provide for them from sources they could never imagine. And whoever puts their trust in Allah, then He ˹alone˺ is sufficient for them. Certainly Allah achieves His Will. Allah has already set a destiny for everything.”
[At-Talaq: 2-3]
*
Sincere gratitude to EACH AND EVERY ONE of you for being part of this amazing project. Regardless of what amount you donated or whether you shared the posts only, YOU DID THIS! You raised KSHS 1, 018, 093.50. YOU BUILT THIS HOUSE! In just a matter of 41 days, we managed to raise money AND build a 4-bedroom house with a separate bathroom, toilet and kitchen. ALLAHU AKBAR! May Allah bless you and your families with lofty gardens and palaces in Jannat ul Firdaus, ameen!
Special thanks to both our contractor and his construction team and the Artistic Hope Organization team for the amazing work they did to the house. And for their patience throughout the challenges. May Allah bless the work of your hands and raise your status in Jannah.
And to my dearest family and closest friends who gave me so much support, both physically and emotionally throughout this project(my biggest one yet!) and for being patient with me when I was crying or getting very irritable at every small inconvenience 😀 Alhamdulilah thumma alhamdulilah.
*
When I posted the last video update showing the house, I showed it to my parents first. Both of them cried, and they kept replaying the video over and over and over, tears still streaming from their eyes. I wish y’all could have seen how my mother was now excitedly waiting for my daily updates on the construction project more than she was when we were watching that program. But better than all that is that this entire project was mainly under their guidance,alhamdulilah!!
Just a few days before the completion of the project, as I was laying down in bed looking at the house standing, my mother patted my hair and said, “Finally you’ve come into our line (of projects). You’re truly my daughter.” Urgh. My heart. For them to have witnessed and actively guided and supported me throughout this project is a full circle for me. Alhamdulilah! May Allah grant us all sincerity in what we do Ya Rab!
My only request is that when you see any goodness in my very flawed being, please make dua for my 3 parents (one is deceased, Allah yirhamha) to be granted good health and wellness both in this life and the next, and that they enter Jannatul Firdaus without hisab, for they have been my inspiration always and my biggest supporters alhamdulilah!
This article (the edited version) was first posted on the Standard Newspaper, Ramadhan insert on 1st May 2020.
Photo Courtesy: Ahmed Elmawi.
Ibn Abbas reported: The Messenger of Allah, peace and blessings be upon him, said, “The best of women among the people of Paradise are Khadija bint Khuwaylid, Fatimah bint Muhammad, Maryam bint ‘Imran, and ‘Asiyah bint Muzahim, the wife of Pharaoh.” For our Ramadhan series in shaa Allah, we will discuss the stories of these four magnificent women. Today we start with the story of Maryam Aleyha ssalam. Bismillah.
#The Dua (The Prayer)
It all begins with one beautiful dua.
One sincere supplication. One important pledge by a pious mother. Hannah, the
wife of Imran and mother of Maryam, made a special dua when
she became pregnant.
“Mention, (O Muhammad), when the wife
of Imran said, “My Lord indeed I have pledged to you what is in my womb,
consecrated (for your service), so accept this from me. Indeed, you are the
Hearing, the Knowing.” Then she goes on to say, “And I have named her Mary, and
I seek refuge for her in You and (for) her descendants from Satan, the expelled
(from the Mercy of Allah.)” (Qur’an; 3: 35-36)
This supplication was accepted by
Allah Subhanahu Waatala and Maryam became the greatest woman of her generation.
She was very devoted, very pious, very chaste; the noblest and purest of all
women. And just as her mother had pledged, Maryam did become attached to the
service of the Sacred House to worship Allah therein. Take note that the dua
wasn’t just for Maryam. Hannah included her descendants in it, and thereafter
Maryam’s son, Essa aleyhi ssalam became a prophet. This also shows the
importance of choosing a pious spouse who will thereafter be a guiding light to
the children.
It all began with a dua. Something we
sometimes take so much for granted. It reminds us of the power of dua and its
huge capacity to change fate. Allah Subhanahu Wataala says: “And your Lord
says, “Call upon Me; I will respond to you.”” (Qur’an; 40: 60)
Common misconception is that Allah
Subhanahu Wataala only responds to the pious. You might be thinking, ‘But I am
not Hannah, the wife of Imran who was mentioned in the Qur’an, why would Allah
respond to me?’ Yes, Allah will respond to you because you are His beloved and
He loves you just as well. He will respond to you if only you take a moment to
raise your hands and supplicate sincerely. Yes, He will respond because He says:
“And when My servants ask you, [O
Muhammad], concerning Me – indeed I am near. I respond to the invocation of the
supplicant when he calls upon Me. So let them respond to Me [by obedience] and
believe in Me that they may be [rightly] guided.” (Qur’an; 2: 186)
Take note, Allah in the verse above says,
‘when my servant’, he does not say, ‘when the believer, the super
pious, the prophet’ he says ‘I respond the invocation of the supplicant’,
that means anyone. You, me, even the worst sinner on earth, Allah hears
all our supplications and He will respond. He will respond.
#The Girl Child
After Hannah pledged to Allah that
her child will be of His service, she eventually gave birth to a girl. She then
said to Allah, and I quote from the Qur’an :
“But when she delivered her, she
said, “My Lord, I have delivered a female.” And Allah was most knowing of what
she delivered, and the male is not like the female…” (Qur’an; 3: 36)
Hannah goes ahead and shares her
concern with her Lord, ‘she is a girl’. How will a girl be in service to a
place of worship? How will a girl preach about the religion? The male is
definitely not like the female. But Allah Subhanahu Wataala narrates to us,
that HE KNEW that it was a girl. That was no accident. It wasn’t by mistake
that she gave birth to a girl. Yet Allah knew that this same girl would be one
of the greatest, most devoted person in His worship.
“And (mention) when the angels said,
“O Mary, indeed Allah has chosen you and purified you and chosen you above the
women of the worlds. O Mary, be devoutly obedient to your Lord and prostrate
and bow with those who bow in prayer.” (Qur’an: 3:42-43)
You still think the girl child is
under-valued and oppressed in Islam? Think again!
#Allah’s Rizq (Allah’s provision)
There is this common saying that goes
like, ‘If human beings were responsible for our provision, then we’d definitely
starve to death.’ Well luckily then, our Lord is the Giver and He is Most
Merciful with His servants and we get to learn something through Maryam’s
story.
“So her Lord accepted her with good
acceptance and caused her to grow in a good manner and put her in the care of
Zechariah. Every time Zechariah entered upon her in the prayer chamber, he
found with her provision. He said, ‘O Mary, from where is this (coming) to
you?’ She said, ‘It is from Allah. Indeed, Allah provides for whom He wills
without account.” (Qur’an; 3:37)
Allah gives to whomever He wills. Some people get more than
others, some get less than others and that is all part of Allah’s test and
decree upon us. And when you have trust and faith in Allah, He always blesses
you beyond what you expect.
“…And whoever fears Allah – He will make for him a way out.
And will provide for him from where he does not expect…” (Qur’an; 65: 2-3)
#Qadar of Allah (Decree of Allah)
“And mention, [O Muhammad], in the
Book [the story of] Mary, when she withdrew from her family to a place toward
the east.And she took, in
seclusion from them, a screen. Then We sent to her Our Angel, and he
represented himself to her as a well-proportioned man.She said, “Indeed, I seek refuge
in the Most Merciful from you, [so leave me], if you should be fearing of Allah
.” He said, “I am only the messenger of your Lord to give you [news
of] a pure boy.”She
said, “How can I have a boy while no man has touched me and I have not
been unchaste?”He
said, “Thus [it will be]; your Lord says, ‘It is easy for Me, and We will
make him a sign to the people and a mercy from Us. And it is a matter [already]
decreed.’ ” (Qur’an: 19: 16-21)
Indeed, it is a matter already decreed.
A closed case. Imagine being in Maryam’s shoes; a woman known for her chastity
and devoutness is suddenly pregnant. Imagine the despair, the agony and the
great fear. This was a tragedy for her. Her chastity and purity was in
question. Despite being so pious, Allah still put her through a huge test. That
was Allah’s decree for her because He had better plans for her. He knew that
she would give birth to a prophet who would speak at birth, do unconceivable
miracles and call people to the religion of Allah. He knew that there was
actually a greater good to come from it. So yes, Allah will always test us;
whether we are the most pious or the biggest sinners. We will all feel the
pinch of this worldly life, but it is not just for no reason. Allah knows why
He gave you the struggle that you do. You might never realize it, but there’s
always some good in it. Allah reminds us here why we are tested:
“Do the people think that they will
be left to say, “We believe” and they will not be tried?But We have certainly tried those
before them, and Allah will surely make evident those who are truthful, and He
will surely make evident the liars.” (Qur’an; 29: 2-3)
Yet still he reminds us of His
promise:
“Verily, I have rewarded them this Day for
their patience; they are indeed the ones that are successful” [Qur’an;
23:111]
#Sorrow
We all face sorrow at some point in
our lives. Some huger than others yet Allah does not burden us except that we
can handle, so each is given as per their ability to persevere. So here was
Maryam aleyha ssalam, pregnant yet unmarried. What does she do? She goes away
to a remote place.
“So she conceived him, and she
withdrew with him to a remote place.And the pains of childbirth drove her to the trunk of a palm
tree. She said, “Oh, I wish I had died before this and was in oblivion,
forgotten.” (Qur’an: 19: 22-23)
Here we come to the issue of mental
health whereby we still somewhat regard it a taboo to talk about in our
societies. Maryam aleyha ssalam was in so much pain and anguish, she wished for
death. This brings one reality to light; however much we deny it, sometimes
people do wish for death. Whether pious or not, it happens to the best among
us. It doesn’t necessarily mean one has weak imaan (sometimes it is),
sometimes, our human nature unintentionally takes over our faith and we fall
into despair. Yet, grief and sadness is not something new. Prophet Ya’qoob
aleyhi ssalam wept over the loss of his beloved Yusuf until he lost his
eyesight. Prophet Muhammad was so saddened by the death of his wife Khadijah
and his uncle Abu Talib that that year was called ‘the year of sorrow.’ And
when his son Ibrahim died, ‘tears began to fall from the eyes of the Messenger
of Allah (ﷺ). He said: The eye weeps and
the heart grieves, but we say only what our Lord is pleased with, and we are
grieved for you, Ibrahim.’ (As narrated by Anas Ibn Malik).
Indeed sadness is part of human
nature, and does not necessarily make someone less pious for feeling sorrowful
over what has befallen them. Yet still, we are always reminded to be patient
and have faith in Allah’s decree.
Narrated Anas bin Malik:The
Prophet (ﷺ) said, “None of you
should wish for death because of a calamity befalling him; but if he has to
wish for death, he should say: “O Allah! Keep me alive as long as life is
better for me, and let me die if death is better for me.’ “
So whenever the pain of this life
overpowers you, remember that we have a Most Merciful Lord over-watching you.
Indeed, you have no better Protector. And when you are around a grieving
person, be kind, empathic and compassionate. We all need support systems.
#Tawakkul (Reliance on Allah)
Despite being in great pain, angel
Jibril asks Maryam to shake the palm tree so she can get the ripe dates.
“But he called her from below her,
“Do not grieve; your Lord has provided beneath you a stream. And shake
toward you the trunk of the palm tree; it will drop upon you ripe, fresh dates.
So eat and drink and be contented…’” (Qur’an: 19: 24-26)
Remember at this point Maryam is in
labour, how will she do that? Where will she get the strength from? But Allah
still gave her ease in it.
“And whoever relies upon Allah – then
He is sufficient for him. Indeed, Allah will accomplish His purpose. Allah has
already set for everything a [decreed] extent.” (Quran; 65:3)
#Parting Note
The story of Maryam and her son, Eesa
aleyhim ssalam and the lessons from within are many. The above mentioned are
but the very few. With all that is going on right now, having Ramadhan during a
pandemic, is a very sad situation, yet we can still make the best use of this
time for self-reflection, more ibadah (worship) and seeking more knowledge. For
more details on Maryam’s story, you may read surat Maryam, some parts of Surat
Imran and other Surahs in the Qur’an.
May Allah protect us during these
trying times, may He grant us peace and tranquility, may He bless us, may He
accept us repentance and our good deeds. Ameen. Stay safe wherever you are and
Ramadhan Mubarak!
***
Note: This is just my small effort in trying to research on this topic in the best of my ability. Kindly pardon me for any mistakes and don’t hesitate to correct me if anything.
To ensure that you don’t miss out on any of the parts of this series, kindly subscribe below, and please share the articles so that more people may benefit in shaa Allah 🙂
