Shifa Saltagi Safadi is back with her latest book, and more writing advice for Muslim authors! How much Islamic rep is too much Islamic rep for kidlit? Do you really need to develop craft? Isn’t enough to tell Muslim kids just to be good Muslims? And can Muslim authors survive the advent of AI… or should they tap into it?

Tune in for writerly advice and a peek at the latest Amina Banana chapter book for the kiddos.

Synopsis:

The science fair kicks up a rivalry in book four of the delightful Amina Banana chapter book series from National Book Award-winner Shifa Safadi!

Finally, the science fair is here, and Amina Banana is ready to showcase her skills. But when she is paired with someone unexpected, the science fair suddenly becomes . . . UNfair.

All Amina wants to do is win the fair and impress her grandmother, who is visiting from Syria. Will Amina be able to develop a formula to help her work with her challenging partner?

 

 

 

 

Related:

[Podcast] How To Free A Jinn & Other Questions | Ustadha Raidah Shah Idil

[Podcast] Kosovar Rep & What’s Missing In Muslim KidLit

The post [Podcast] Shifa Saltagi Safadi and the Formula for Writing Muslamic Books appeared first on MuslimMatters.org.

 

Hassan Aweys, the second-in-command of the Islamic Courts, was a longstanding target of the United States. (Picture: African Arguments)

2026 brings a seminal anniversary to the history of Somalia and East Africa, but also an important and overlooked one in modern American history. It marks twenty years since the United States cooperated with Ethiopia in an invasion of Somalia, overthrowing a short-lived, unrecognized, but effective administration of Islamic courts that had taken over Mogadishu by summer 2006. Not only did this Islamic Courts Union, as it was known, defeat a coalition of longstanding militia commanders, many of whom were on the payroll of American intelligence, but it also briefly established the closest thing to a functional and independent government that Somalia had had in fifteen years.

State Failure and Societal Resistance

At the turn of the millennium, it was fashionable to describe Somalia as the world’s first “failed state”, one with no functioning government that could reasonably claim to control, let alone govern, more than a fraction of its territory. The downfall of Siad Barre’s longstanding dictatorship in 1991 had reopened rifts that had in large part been exacerbated by the same dictatorship, and militarized by a widespread influx of weaponry during the 1980s. With the partial exception of a largely disparate Somaliland in the north, most of Somalia fragmented as notables from merchants to army officers to chieftains to politicians armed militias from their clans, giving the conflict a clan dimension.

Internationally, Somalia was best-known for the United Nations campaign sent purportedly to bring relief, and the American involvement that soon dominated this campaign. The famine was in fact largely over by the time that the Americans arrived, at the end of 1992, and critics pointed out that the mission seemed less a humanitarian endeavour and more an attempt to impose the new unipolar world order under a thin humanitarian cover. Both the United Nations and the United States played favourites among Somali factions in a way that prevented resolution of the conflict, while supposed peacekeepers frequently proved abusive and trigger-happy. That summer, after a militia commander Abdi Qeybdid ambushed foreign troops, the Americans effectively declared war on his Hawiye clan confederation that dominated the capital Mogadishu.

In total the American mission would kill three thousand Somalis over the course of the year, a third of these in an infamous last battle in October 1993, where Hawiye militants famously shot down a helicopter and killed eighteen soldiers. In a media atmosphere where Somali infringements were frequently amplified and vilified and foreign abuses received scant attention, the resultant and entirely misleading impression, which survives to this day in the United States, was that Somalia’s people had ungratefully bitten the hand that had tried to feed them. In more sophisticated circles, the continuing competition between Somali militias gave the country the moniker of “failed state”.

Even as intermittent conflict and cooperation between militias continued, Somali society independently rebuilt. Private merchants often provided services, setting up their own more disciplined militias for security. Clan resolution, where tribal leaders negotiated and mediated, were a frequent recourse, but these were limited since they rarely went beyond the clan. Islam was a more powerful glue, and at the local level various preachers, scholars, and Islamic activists set up courts at a local level to provide order and justice: one major example was the Ifka Halane court in Mogadishu. Somali businessmen, seeking a secure environment for their business and often hailing from a similar background, frequently collaborated with them: Ahmed Jimale, at one point Somalia’s richest merchant, was close to the Islamists. Militias had a more ambiguous attitude; some collaborated with Islamic networks but others saw them as rivals.

Ethiopian Interference

The Islamic courts’ influence came alongside a related and partly overlapping phenomenon, the war in the Somali-majority region of the Ogaden, adjacent to Somalia and ruled by Somalia’s “Auld Enemy” Ethiopia. During this period Ethiopia was rather a darling for the international community; its ruling government had overthrown their own dictatorial predecessors just months after the Somalis ousted Siad in 1991, but by contrast established a functional regime with nominal autonomy for Ethiopia’s different regions. Yet this autonomy was practically nonexistent in the much-abused Ogaden, where support for union with Somalia had been high for decades and over which the two neighbours had, similarly to India and Pakistan over Kashmir, repeatedly gone to war. In the mid-1990s Ethiopia launched a little-noticed crackdown in the Ogaden, and many of the Somalis who went to fight a jihad there were linked to Islamic networks, either Sufis or more famously the Salafi Itihaad network. Their profile soared when in 1996 Ethiopia launched the first of many raids into Somalia: the Islamists were often at the forefront of resistance.

Some Islamic networks had links with foreign fighters; for example, a young Qaeda network had established a small front in Somalia, applauded the 1993 ouster of the Americans, and returned American focus to the East African region by bloodily bombing American embassies in Kenya and Tanzania during the summer of 1998. This played further into Ethiopia’s securitized role toward Somalia: like Ethiopia, Washington viewed Itihaad-linked Somali Islamists such as Hassans Aweys and “the Turk” Hersi, former army officers who had become Salafi preachers and militant organizers, as enemies.

Ethiopia’s interest was not only in fighting Islamists or Ogaden militants, but also in preventing any single faction from achieving power that might challenge it: in this regard, it played off different commanders and clans, and offered a similarly shallow “federalist” solution, based on a quota of clans, to rule Somalia. Though Egypt and Eritrea contested Ethiopian influence, none matched its intrusiveness or skill at the game and the shadowy but crafty Ethiopian commander Tafasse Mamo repeatedly made the Somali borderlands his stomping ground for a decade.

In the early 2000s Somali delegates in Djibouti elected a government, albeit a weak one that existed more in name than reality. But this marked a challenge for Ethiopia, whose army raided and supported number of Somali commanders to challenge it under the pretext of demanding “federalism”: the most prominent such commander was Abdullahi Yusuf, who ruled the northeast region of Puntland and had longstanding links with the Ethiopians.

After the September 2001 Qaeda attacks on the United States, Ethiopia and its Somali clientele were able to present the government’s links with Islamic networks as a security threat: Somalia was often compared to the recently invaded Afghanistan as a new “haven for terrorists”. In turn, Washington blackballed both political leaders like Aweys and civilians such as Jimale, whose designation was only removed in 2016. Even Abshir Musa, a former inspector-general who had worked with the United Nations mission in 1993 and long lived in the United States, was targeted as a potential extremist because he had been a rival of Yusuf and had a reputation for Islamic rectitude.

American intelligence and military networks in the region threw their support behind Yusuf, who in a token election was selected as Somalia’s new ruler over a federalist regime. Like the preceding government, however, this only controlled patches of Somalia, mostly through commanders who were given ministerial titles. Even parliament speaker Sharif Aden, a merchant with good relations to Islamic networks, dismissed the new order as an Ethiopian method of “divide-and-conquer”.

Meanwhile, in 2003 American security, led by regional spymaster John Bennett and future Falluja commander John Sattler, had begun to pay off various militias to hunt “radical Islamists” on its behalf. These included militiamen affiliated with the government, such as prime minister Ali Gedi’s more powerful cousin Mohamed Dheere and the minister-commander Botan Alin. Even former opponents were paid off by the United States as preferable to “radical Islamists”: Qeybdid, whom the Americans had known as “Mad Abdi” in 1993, was now put on the payroll of American intelligence. Other American clientele included former rivals like Musa Yalahow and Mohamed Qanyare, who had fought on opposite sides of the Ethiopian campaign at Mogadishu in the 1990s. Despite his own links with Sufi networks, Yalahow turned on the Islamic courts; Qanyare, who had hated the Ethiopians, seems to have fondly imagined the United States, whom he admiringly described as “war masters”, as an alternative.

Over the mid-2000s American-funded militias raided Mogadishu in search of suspected “extremists”; in turn, Islamists mobilized. Perhaps the most famous of these was Aden Ayro, a bold but ruthless commander of Itihaad background linked to Aweys’ Ifka Halane court, whose notoriety soared after he excavated an old Italian cemetery in Mogadishu and replaced it with a mosque. A more mainstream figure was the official leader of the courts’ coalition, Sharif Ahmed. This Sufi preacher enjoyed considerable respect but was viewed by the United States as little more than a figurehead for such targets as Aweys and Ayro.

Abdi Qeybdid went from being a target of the United States, whom they attacked as “Mad Abdi” in the 1993 Battle of Mogadishu, to their collaborator in 2006. He has held several senior positions in Somalia since the 1990s. (Picture: HM News Updates, Youtube)

Slam Dunk for the Courts

In February 2006, three years after the militia strategy began, it was formalized as the “Alliance for the Restoration of Peace and Counterterrorism”. One member of this clunkily named coalition was Bashir Shirare, a militia-running merchant who had fallen out with one of Mogadishu’s wealthiest merchants, Abukar Adane. It was Adane, who funded what was probably the capital’s single largest militia but was linked to the Islamists rather than American intelligence, who funded the Islamic Courts’ spectacular backlash. In a dizzying series of counterstrikes that lasted into the early summer, the Islamic Courts routed one militia opponent after another: Shirare, Alin, Yalahow, Qeybdid, and Qanyare were forced to flight, and for the first time in fifteen years the capital came under the control of a single government. If we are to define governments by who controls the national capital, it was the Islamic Courts under Sharif Ahmed that were Somalia’s actual, though unrecognized, government by the summer of 2006.

What accounted for the Islamists’ staggering success? The binding effect of Islam, to which all Somalis paid homage but by whose restraining influences few factions abided, was a major factor:  despite the alarm over their supposed radicalism, the Islamic courts were simply more disciplined and restrained in their dealings with wider society: by all accounts Mogadishu was far safer under their rule than it had been for a generation before or since. This gave them the appreciation of Somalia’s large business class for the  security they provided: it was no coincidence that Adane, their first finance minister, was a major merchant. There were also links to both local Somali society, particularly in the Mogadishu environs, and the diaspora: the Islamists’ first foreign minister, Ibrahim Addow, was a well-respected scholar who had lived in the United States.

Similarly the courts used their links across political factions: for instance Islamist leader Khalif Adale, an in-law of the merchant Jimale, was also a clansman of Qanyare, who eventually surrendered his arsenal to him to keep resources within their clan. The Islamists were adept at bringing various segments of Somali society and political leadership to their side: their first defence minister was notable militia commander Yusuf Indhaadde, who had lately embraced religiosity. Other commanders, such as Yusuf Makaran in central Somalia and Hassan “the Turk”’s colourfully named Raskamboni militia in the deep south, would spread Islamist influence beyond the Mogadishu region over the next few months, though this brought them into collision with the Ethiopian military. In autumn 2006 Tafasse Mamo, the shadowy commander who had so skilfully manipulated Somali politics for a decade, was killed in a clash.

A self-fulfilling escalation

While the Islamist takeover was popular inside Somalia, it attracted alarm abroad. Abdullahi Yusuf’s coalition retained international recognition and used it. Their argument, advanced as well as an Ethiopian regime alarmed at a stable government in Mogadishu, made was that the Islamic Courts Union were similar to the Afghan Taliban emirate that the United States had overthrown and a magnet for “radical Islamists”; therefore, they must be overthrown.

This was the argument accepted by the United States’ diplomatic head for the region Jendayi Frazer, who overruled a contrary proposal by Sudanese diplomat Attaullah Bashir for a multilateral peacekeeping force and a compromise government; such forces had not worked in the past, but more to the point Ethiopia and the United States wanted to control this new, arbitrarily constructed front in the “war on terror”. Frazer and the United States’ regional commander, John Abizaid, worked secretly with Ethiopian premier Meles Zenawi and military commander Samora Yunis to plan the attack: the ongoing wars in Afghanistan and Iraq meant that it would have to be conducted primarily through Ethiopian soldiers, but with a small contingent of American commandos at key junctions.

The claim, advanced in the United States by neoconservative lobbyists including Israeli spies with longstanding links to Addis Ababa, was that if the United States did not preemptively defang the Islamists, radicalism and associated violence would somehow spread. It need also be remembered, as Somali archivist Abdimalik Warsame has pointed out, that a considerable proportion of the American military and foreign policy elite continued to resent Somalia: the 1993 Battle of Mogadishu had been their first defeat after the Cold War, and many were inclined toward revenge. It was commonplace at the time to point out Usama bin-Ladin’s approval for the 1993 battle, as if this indicated an inherent extremism in Somali society.

As with claims about Taliban support for international terrorism, claims of violent “radicalism” were greatly exaggerated. But during the height of the “war on terror”, exaggeration carried weight. Links with foreign “mujahideen” were subject to hysteria, and the Courts Union had plenty of links in the persons of Aweys, Ayro, Adale, “the Turk”, Indhaadde’s influential deputy Mukhtar Robow, and Mogadishu sheriff Abdullahi Nahar. While internationalist militants were by no means homogenous, by the end of summer 2006 several of them, under the leadership of a certain Abdullahi Arale, secretly formed a clique called Shabaab, linked to Qaeda’s local officials Fazul Haroun, Saleh Nabhan, and Tariq Abdullah. This clique was particularly influential in helping Hassan “the Turk” capture the deep south from Yusuf’s defence minister Barre Hirale and finance minister Abdullahi Farataag.

Yet Shabaab’s influence on Courts overarching policy was negligible. Emir Sharif Ahmed and foreign minister Ibrahim Addow continued to negotiate with the opposition, particularly Sharif Aden, and even more hardline colleagues like Aweys did not challenge them. It was only well after the American-Ethiopian invasion of Somalia, which began at the end of 2006, that Shabaab would grow in influence, eventually becoming the premier Somali militant organization. As with other fronts in the “war on terror”, violence spread through the region in large part as a result of the invasion. Far from a quick decapitation of “radicals”, the American war in Somalia, conducted mainly through airstrikes at this point, saw violence spread through East Africa, and twenty years later is approaching the United States’ longest war in history with no resolution in sight.

The post Slam Dunk on the Mogadishu Court: The Islamic Courts Union of Somalia appeared first on MuslimMatters.org.

Painting by Safia Latif

Our Prophet ﷺ never gave up on fasting on Ashura, which is the 10th day of Muharram (Sunan al-Nasa’i, 2416). The Quraysh used to fast on this day in times of Jahiliyyah, and so did he ﷺ when still in Makkah. Once he ﷺ arrived in Madinah, he ﷺ noticed that the Jews were fasting on this day too, commemorating that sayyidina Musa had triumphed over Pharaoh. He ﷺ turned to the Muslims and said “You (Muslims) have more right to celebrate Musa’s victory than they have, so observe the fast on this day” (Sahih al-Bukhari, 4680). In order for us to distinguish ourselves as Muslims from the Jews and the Christians and their practices, our Prophet ﷺ decided to fast on the ninth day of Muharram too if he ﷺ would get the chance to the next year (Sahih Muslim, 1134).

 

Once fasting became obligatory in Ramadan, fasting on Ashura was made voluntary (Sahih al-Bukhari, 4504). In this sense, fasting on the 10th of Muharram was part of the process to introduce fasting as an integral part of our religion. The fast’s reward on this blessed day is clearly known. When asked about it, our Messenger ﷺ said that it expiates the sins of the previous year (Sahih Muslim, 1162).

Earmarks of Truth

Let us go back in time. On the exact day of Ashura, sayyidina Musa found himself trapped as he and his Bani Isra’il, an oppressed nation of enslaved people who had been exiled in the desert for 40 years, were hot on heels by the corrupted army of Pharaoh, the epitome of despotism. The only thing they had left was their faith. At that terrifying moment, Allah guided him to lead his people to the edge of the rumbling sea. His people cried out in pure desperation that they would be overtaken by the tyrant’s army or swallowed by the waves, yet he encouraged them, full of faith, “Absolutely not! My Lord is certainly with me—He will guide me” (Surat ash-Shu’ara, verse 62). His words were barely out of his mouth when Allah ordered him to strike the sea with his staff. Allah then split the entire mass of salty water in halves as high as mountains so they could get to the other side safely, creating a path of freedom. The army of Pharaoh? They all drowned. It is a timeless reminder that, by the grace of Allah, steadfast righteousness nurtured by absolute faith always triumphs over tyranny.

 

On the 10th of Muharram precisely 1387 lunar years ago, in the year 61 AH, another pivotal moment in our shared past as Muslims took place. It was a particularly tense time, as the Umayyad caliph Muʿawiya had appointed his son Yazid as his successor. Hereditary succession was unprecedented in Islamic history. The decision had stirred growing controversy and grunting discontent. Sayyidina al-Husayn ibn Ali, one of the most beloved grandsons of our Prophet Muhammad ﷺ, took it upon himself to stand up against Yazid’s unjust governance and the moral crisis in which his fractured community had found themselves. What followed was a staggeringly unfair battle between al-Husayn’s troops, painfully limited in number, and the thousands of merciless Umayyad soldiers.

Tragically, al-Husayn ibn Ali was decapitated and mocked, and about seventy of his close family members and companions were martyred. Many others were captured. This battle, the Battle of Karbala, and the betrayal of al-Husayn, may Allah approve him, by the people of Kufa it stood for, would mark the start of the Second Fitna. However, it teaches us not to measure victory according to dunyawi standards. You have probably caught yourself doing this too. We often attach more worth to the means and forget the goal. Al-Husayn’s true success, however, comes in the Hereafter. His martyrdom is a symbol of his deeply-rooted faith and endless sense of justice. It is an ultimate testimony of honoring the notion of tawhid, of striving for the Truth and standing up for it.

Ashura questions

Ashura reminds us that every Pharaoh will drown eventually. Every oppressor, big or small, will go down. Allah can do this easily. For every Pharaoh there should be a Musa who does his best to drown the oppressor, even if he only has a stick. Our iman should be that stick. Sayyidina Musa did not know that the sea would split, but he relied on Allah regardless. Allah did the rest. His assistance is always there for those who do not give up on His wisdom and mercy, those who strive in righteousness.

Over and over, we turn to the guidance of our Prophet ﷺ, especially in times of darkness. Muharram, one of the four sacred months of the Islamic calendar, stands for new beginnings. It is the chance to revive our commitment to his sunnah, to his path. Not to the path of those in power, nor of the financial elite of this world. Through fasting on its tenth day, we express our gratitude to Allah for the victory He granted sayyidina Musa over Pharaoh, and we commemorate sayyidina al-Husayn’s bravery when standing up for what is right.

As Muslims, we do not act as mouthpieces for injustice. Submitting to our Creator means renewing our covenant to tawhid, which inherently means standing for His truth, for justice, over and over again, unshakingly. Ashura asks us a crucial question. Do we really express our love for our Creator by speaking kalimat al-haqq in the face of tyrants, small and big? Or do we merely give lip service to Allah’s path? Do we really face the Pharaohs of this world, within ourselves and within others? Or do we betray the oppressed and sell them out like the people of Kufa did to sayyidina al-Husayn? Do we really have the level of tawakkul and courage it takes to take a clear stance when we face what feels like insurmountable adversities in this earthly realm? Do we truly grasp that this is what leads to ultimate victory? In essence, undoubtingly knowing that Allah is with us is what it takes.

The Red Sea, which Allah split for Prophet Musa on the day of Ashura. Getty Images.

How you can strike the sea

 

This year, the 10th of Muharram falls on a Thursday so we can combine the intentions of fasting both sunnahs. In this day and age we need to stand with the oppressed and try to be the stick in the wheel of the tyrants. Merely fasting without reminding ourselves of this would be like praying without khushuʿ or reciting the Qur’an merely for the reward of reading its letters without trying to understand its meanings. Here are some steps you can take.

 

• Fasting with intentions that reflect the above. Fasting in Muharram is the best fast after the fast in the month of Ramadan (Sahih Muslim, 1163). Fast at least on Ashura, and if possible also the day before and/or after. Shortly after Ashura come the White Days, so you can fast those too.
• Do what it takes to nourish your belief that victory will come, even in unlikely circumstances.
• Reflect on what injustice entails, close to you and further away. We cannot allow ourselves to be oppressors to our own soul, to our family, friends, colleagues, spouse, children, our ecological environment… Which injustice in your life do you need to take care of before you stand in front of Allah?
• As Ashura is a day of forgiveness, who will you forgive this year?
• Follow up on news of our oppressed brothers and sisters worldwide, in your own circles and communities, in Sudan, Palestine, Lebanon, Kashmir, China, and elsewhere, and let it sink in. Feel it in your heart and pray for them.
• Reflect on how you can strike the sea, with the right intention. Which stick will you use to fight tyrants and their injustice? Put this into action against oppression according to your context and capacities, without seeking fame nor praise: post on social media, help out someone who is oppressed (for instance, overwhelmed by debt), organize, stand up against bullies, get involved in your own community, select a cause for which you want to use your talents for and strive, and get connected to those who have experience therein.

The post Ashura: A Stick in the Oppressor’s Wheel appeared first on MuslimMatters.org.

As the caravan passes through Central Asia, Darius slowly falls in love, and Kuangren experiences something brutal.

Read Part 1 | Part 2 | Part 3 | Part 4 | Part 5 | Part 6 | Part 7 | Part 8 | Part 9 | Part 10 | Part 11 | Part 12 | Part 13 | Part 14 | Part 15 | Part 16  | Part 17

* * *

Vast Blue Sky

The mountains gradually gave way to rolling grasslands that invited a man to breathe deeply, and a horse to run fast. Great green hills stretched to the horizon beneath a sky that was bigger than the world, while herds of horses grazed freely across the open country. The land too felt immense, but maybe it was only that there were few wells, fewer roads, and fewer signs that anyone had ever attempted to tame it.

At times I wished I too was a horse, so that I could gallop free across this sweeping land, my mane streaming behind me like a banner of victory. At other times the sky was so unrelenting that I had an irrational fear that a bird as big as a city would glide down and seize the entire caravan in its beak.

I wondered if this was what my father had felt like when he was released from prison. That the world was too large, that so much liberty was heady but frightening, as if he were a mouse that had been released from a cage, and now must fear the hawk. It made me uncomfortable and sad to think of my father being afraid. I shook these thoughts off and spurred my horse forward, to find Weili and chat.

The cold wind blew constantly, as if it too had escaped a prison and come to a land where it could gust as hard and carelessly as it wished.

“This is Kyrgyz land,” Longwei informed me as we rode alongside the wagons.

“How do you know?”

He looked offended. “I have been here before.”

We passed many nomadic settlements. Everyone in this land rode horses, even the children, with an ease and grace so natural it was as if they’d been born in the saddle. Maybe they had. These people lived in circular felt tents supported by wooden frames. Hundreds of these yurts – for so they were called, Longwei said – dotted the surrounding countryside. Smoke drifted lazily upward from their chimneys while horses, sheep and goats wandered between them. Men wore long coats trimmed with fur and tall felt hats, while many of the women dressed in bright embroidered garments decorated with silver jewelry that flashed in the sunlight.

Fight With A Nomad

I saw a man and his son practicing stick fighting. They carried long staffs, and danced around each other, whirling, thrusting and parrying. It reminded me of my practice sessions with my aunt Jade. I felt a pang of sadness.

To distract myself, I broke away from the caravan and rode up to the father and son. Dismounting, I bowed to the father, and he bowed back.

I tapped my chest. “Darius.”

The man pointed to himself. “Almaz.”

Gesturing wordlessly, I indicated that I would like to spar with him. Grinning, the man said something to his son, who tossed me his staff. Almaz and I bowed to each other again, and without preamble, he attacked. I parried his attack easily. The man was talented but limited in his repertoire, and slow by my standards, I spun and reversed, attacking from odd angles, giving the father something to think about. He grunted with the effort of blocking my blows. Sweat broke out on his forehead.

Still, I held back. I only wanted to have a bit of fun, not hurt the man.

As we fought, some of the caravan guards rode up to watch, and a number of nomads gathered around, including Almaz’s wife and children.

Almaz came at me with what I thought would be an uppercut strike. I leaned back to let it pass me harmlessly, but instead the tip of his staff dug into the ground and flung dirt in my eyes. Blinded, the next thing I saw was the tip of the staff at my throat, the father grinning behind it.

I laughed, held up a hand in surrender, and returned the staff to the boy. I was genuinely glad to have been bested. I had shown Almaz a few new moves, and he’d taught me something too. I shook his hand, and everyone applauded.

As I rode away, I looked back to see Almaz beaming as his friends clapped him on the back and congratulated him. Some of my fellow guards ribbed me about being beaten by a nomad, but Weili gave me a knowing smile, and I knew that she knew that I could have defeated the man at any time. I never forgot that smile, and the admiring look in her eyes.

A Bracelet and a Wooden Horse

We came to a city beside a broad river. High mud-brick walls surrounded clusters of flat-roofed buildings. Scents drifted to us before we reached the gates. Roasting meat mingled with fresh bread, horse sweat, leather, wood smoke and spices I could not identify. Merchants from a dozen lands crowded the roads leading into the city. Some led camels. Others drove wagons piled high with goods. I heard languages I could not begin to recognize.

The Five Stars caravan established camp on a flat topped hill. The city loomed on the horizon. Several merchants prepared to enter the city to see what goods they could acquire at the local marketplace, which Longwei called a suq. Two wagons were selected for the trip, along with a contingent of guards. To my surprise, Sergeant Karim chose me for the detail. He also chose Kuangren.

“If you disappear again,” Karim warned, pointing a finger at him, “I will nail your boots to a wagon. With your feet inside them.”

Kuangren considered this carefully. “You’re too good a man to do that.”

Karim gave him a serious look. “Don’t count on that.”

The suq was one of the most fascinating places I had ever seen. Narrow streets wound between market stalls crowded with carpets, silverwork, horse tack, bows, knives, embroidered clothing and goods from every corner of the world. One merchant sold hunting falcons. Another displayed exquisitely carved saddles. Yet another offered tiny painted figurines no larger than my thumb. I also saw many things, from bracelets and amulets to furniture and tea sets, that were decorated with Islamic designs, including geometric patterns, and the names of Allah and the Prophet. I assumed these items were here to catch the eyes of passing Muslim travelers.

I fingered a silver bracelet decorated with onyx stones that reminded me of Weili’s eyes. Feeling embarrassed, I nearly put the bracelet back, then bought it anyway.

Later I found a carved wooden horse small enough to fit in my palm. I told myself I admired the craftsmanship. The fact that it looked exactly like something Haaris would treasure had absolutely nothing to do with my decision.

No, nothing whatsoever. Still, I would hold onto it. Maybe someday I’d find someone to give it to.

A Muslim Land

Once the sun passed its zenith, the call for salat sounded from every direction. I gazed at one of the merchants in amazement. He grinned and nodded his head, giving me permission to investigate. Store owners everywhere closed their shops and exited the suq. Customers, travelers, tribesmen, nobles and servants streamed toward the masjids. That’s right, masjids, plural. There was not one grand masjid, like in Deep Harbor. Rather, there were masjids everywhere. I realized for the first time that all these people were Muslim. I felt the hair rise on the back of my neck.

In my country Muslims were a minority. Deep Harbor was one of the most heavily Muslim cities in the land, and even there only a fifth of the population were Muslim. I had known, of course, that there were faraway lands where Islam ruled, but I hadn’t known that we had reached such a place. I felt almost like weeping, but couldn’t say why. I felt powerful, like nothing could threaten me.

I followed one group to a local masjid, performed wudu, and with my travel pack and dao on my back, prayed beside people of many lands. When the salat was over I found myself grinning and shaking hands with everyone. No matter what language they spoke, everyone knew how to say as-salam alaykum. A man might gesture at my size – for I had grown taller and stronger on this trip – and say, “mashaAllah!” Another pointed to my dao, then pointed to the sky and said, “Allahu Akbar!’ I wasn’t sure if this was an indication of approval, or a reminder that true power was with Allah.

Raiders!

By late afternoon our business was concluded and the wagons rolled back toward camp. It was only after we arrived that someone noticed Kuangren was missing.

Several guards exchanged resigned looks.

Ahmed sighed, Meilin rolled her eyes and Longwei merely shook his head and said, “Again?”

No one seemed especially alarmed. Kuangren disappearing was hardly unusual. In fact, it had become so common that we hardly knew whether to laugh, get angry or simply not care.

The sun had already set when the sound of galloping hooves shattered the evening calm. A lone rider burst into camp at full speed, his horse kicking up dust and covered in sweat.

“Raiders!” he shouted. “Raiders!”

It was Kuangren.

The camp erupted into motion.

Guards scrambled for their weapons while merchants took shelter behind the wagons. Horses whinnied nervously as teamsters rushed to secure them. I drew my dao and joined the line forming along the outer edge of camp. Kaungren slid from his beleaguered horse and gesticulated.

“Raiders!” he shouted. “Hundreds of them!”

“How many hundreds?” Karim demanded.

Kuangren shrugged. “A lot, probably.”

Hold Your Fire

A dark mass appeared on the horizon – hundreds of riders, coming fast from the direction of the city, and spreading across the grasslands as they approached. My stomach tightened. They came up the hill at a gallop, raising a cloud of dust behind them, their horses moving with the effortless grace of men born in the saddle. Bows hung from their shoulders, spears bounced against their backs, and curved sabers gleamed at their hips.

Our archers raised their bows. We had the high ground advantage. We could cut down a good portion of this attacking force before they even reached us.

“Hold your fire!” Karim shouted.

The riders continued to close the distance.

“Hold your fire!”

Something about the approaching force seemed wrong. They were certainly armed, but none had drawn a weapon. Nor were they forming for an attack. They were not trying to flank us, for example, nor was anyone shouting commands.

The riders finally slowed and spread out in front of the camp. At their center rode a wealthy merchant with a magnificent beard and an expression of such furious outrage that I reached up for my dao, though I did not draw it, for a young woman with thick chestnut hair, and dressed in embroidered riding clothes rode confidently by his side, mounted on a gorgeous spotted horse. She wore no sword, but a long knife hung from one hip, and she carried a bow on her back. Yet gold bracelets adorned her wrists, and one nostril was pierced with a gold ring. She resembled the merchant strongly, and was obviously his daughter. She was altogether quite impressive.

On the other side of the merchant sat an elderly man with a long beard, wearing an expensive coat. He was surrounded by heavily armed retainers, and might have been a tribal chief.

The rich merchant said something to the young woman, who slowly surveyed all the guards, then extended an arm and pointed.

Every head in camp turned to see what she was pointing out.

She was pointing at Kaungren.

Kuangren attempted a smile, which faltered and disappeared.

Karim strode up to him. “Raiders?”

Kuangren cleared his throat. “I may have misstated the case slightly.”

“What did you do?”

Kuangren shrugged helplessly. “I met the young lady in the suq.” He gestured to the lovely young lady.

“And?”

Kuangren chuckled nervously. “Well… It’s hard to talk to a lady when she’s with her chaperone. We found a quiet spot in a garden.”

Sergeant Karim took a step toward Kuangren. “And?” His tone was menacing.

“Come on, Sarge. I didn’t make her do anything she didn’t want to. How was I supposed to know her father is some kind of big shot? It’s not my fault that – “

Karim struck Kuangren with a series of blows so rapid I hardly followed them, ending with a fast chop to the side of the neck. Shocked, I watched as Kuangren crumpled bonelessly to the ground. The young woman cried out, not in satisfaction but in protest, and her father silenced her with a gesture.

Negotiations

The negotiations that followed consumed the better part of an hour. Translators moved constantly between groups while the merchant, the chieftain, several elders and Karim argued as Kaungren sat miserably on the ground, massaging his bruises.

The daughter herself seemed perfectly content with the situation. She stroked her horse’s neck and watched the proceedings with glittering eyes. I had the feeling this woman never did anything she didn’t want to do. On that, at least, Kuangren had not lied.

Her father, on the other hand, shouted and gesticulated continuously. More than once he took his bow from his back and nocked an arrow, aiming at Kaungren, whereupon our own people armed themselves in response. Each time the chieftain spoke a sharp word, and everyone settled back into an uneasy truce.

As the discussion continued, it became increasingly clear that there would be no peaceful solution that did not involve marriage. The father demanded it. The chieftain demanded it. Most surprisingly to me, the daughter seemed pleased at the prospect. Who would want to marry Kaungren of all people?

Eventually Karim made an announcement:

“Five Stars will provide compensation to the merchant and his tribe. The merchant’s honor will be restored. The caravan will continue unmolested.” He paused. “And Kuangren will marry the girl.”

For a moment there was silence.

Then Kaungren stood. “What?”

Karim folded his arms.

“You heard me.”

“I object.”

“I don’t care.”

“I can’t get married. I don’t even speak this woman’s language. Besides, I’m not fit for marriage. I’m a scoundrel. Sergeant, tell them I’m a scoundrel.”

“Trust us,” Meilin said, “they already know.”

“You will have to convert to Islam as well,” Karim said. “They will never accept their daughter marrying a disbeliever.”

Kaungren threw up his arms. “Doesn’t anyone know that we live in enlightened times? Such things don’t happen anymore!”

A Swordpoint Wedding

Things moved very quickly. Money changed hands. Ahmed was recruited to conduct the ceremony. A carpet was spread beside the campfire. Witnesses were assembled. The merchant sat proudly beside the tribal chieftain. I had the feeling that he was happy to be rid of his daughter, who seemed like a handful herself. I wondered if Kuangren knew what he was getting himself into. The daughter appeared delighted by the entire affair. Kuangren looked as though he had been condemned to death.

Ahmed cleared his throat and began in the name of Allah. The laughter faded as he recited a few ayat of the Quran concerning marriage and the creation of mankind in pairs. He then delivered a short khutbah on responsibility and kindness. It lasted less than two minutes. When he finished, he turned toward Kuangren.

“Repeat after me.” Ahmed recited the shahadah, and Kaungren – with a grimace – repeated.

Ahmed nodded, satisfied. “Do you accept this marriage?”

“No.”

Sergeant Karim took a step toward Kuangren.

“Let me ask again,” Ahmed said. Do you accept this marriage?”

Kuangren looked around as if seeking an escape route. The merchant glared. The chieftain narrowed his eyes. Karim took another step forward and put a hand on the hilt of his sword. It was not, I was sure, an empty threat. The bride smiled sweetly.

“Okay, then.”

Ahmed turned to the young woman and asked the same question. Someone translated. Her answer came instantly and enthusiastically.

“I accept!”

The surrounding tribesmen erupted into cheers. I found myself grinning. For some reason I wanted to seek out Weili and give her a nudge, as if to say, “What do you think?” But I knew that was beyond foolish.

The bride immediately wrapped her arms around Kuangren and kissed his cheek. More cheering followed. Kuangren stared into the distance as if contemplating whether being trampled by wild horses might improve his circumstances.

The celebrations continued into the night. Sheep were slaughtered, musicians appeared from somewhere, and gifts changed hands. We found ourselves sitting with these tribesmen, making mutually unintelligible conversation that consisted mostly of hand gestures, and sharing coffee and sweets. The merchant transformed from a man ready to start a war into the happiest father in Central Asia. The bride spent most of the evening sitting beside Kuangren, smiling at him and occasionally resting her head on his shoulder. Kuangren spent most of the evening staring into his bowl with the expression of a man trying to come to terms with a diagnosis of a terminal disease.

I almost felt sorry for him. Almost.

When the celebrations were over, the tribesmen departed. A covered wagon was emptied, with its goods distributed among the other wagons, and it was given to Kaungren and his bride as their wedding suite, which I found somehow funny, embarrassing and scandalous.

A Brutal Judgment

The next morning, immediately after Fajr prayer, Karim ordered every guard assembled. Gone were the laughter and celebrations of the previous night. Even the air felt different.

We gathered in silence while dawn spread slowly across the grasslands. Kuangren stood among us looking tired and uneasy. His bride watched from their wagon, looking somehow satisfied and nervous at the same time. She clearly sensed that something was wrong, though she could not have known exactly what.

Karim waited until every guard was present. Then he began to pace before us with his hands clasped behind his back. Something that looked a lot like a bullwhip was looped and hung from his belt. This puzzled me, as my mind did not conceive of any possible use for it.

“Kuangren,” he said. “Step forward.”

With a half-grin, half-grimace, Kaungren stepped forward. He expected a stern dressing down, and was prepared to accept it with humility.

“I have tolerated your foolishness for months,” Sergeant Karim said. His voice was quiet, which somehow made it more threatening. “You drink too much. You gamble too much. You disappear whenever we pass near a town. You ignore orders. You ignore common sense. I have overlooked all of this because you fight well. So despite being an idiot, you are a useful idiot.” A few guards smiled despite themselves. Karim noticed immediately, and the smiles vanished.

The sergeant took a long, shuddering breath, and for the first time I realized that he was white-hot furious. He was trying to contain his rage. I had never seen him like this, and it frightened me.

Once again his gaze fixed on Kuangren. “Last night you endangered this caravan. You created enemies among the local population. You forced me to negotiate with armed men. You cost this company a substantial amount of money.” His voice rose with each accusation. “Had those negotiations failed, I might have lost guards, merchants, and teamsters. Good people. People who trust me to get them safely to Persia and back. All because you could not keep your trousers tied.”

The silence that followed was absolute. Even Meilin, who could make a disparaging comment about anything in existence, kept her mouth shut.

Karim held up the index finger of each hand. “You have two options. One, you and your bride may accept exile from the caravan. Your wages are forfeit. You can take your travel pack and weapons, and go wherever you wish. What becomes of you is not my concern.”

With the other index finger, he pointed to the nearest wagon wheel. “Option two, I tie you to that wheel and give you twenty lashes.” He drew the bullwhip from his belt and with a swing of his arm, flicked it. It billowed out as fast as lightning and gave a crack that made me jump.

“If you choose that option, you may remain in service to Five Stars, and there will be no further punishment.”

Twenty Lashes

For several seconds nobody moved. We all understood the choice. Thousands of miles from home, the caravan represented food, protection and survival. Without it, Kuangren would either have to settle permanently in a foreign land or attempt the impossible journey across half the world on foot, accompanied by a wife he had acquired less than twelve hours earlier. Or I supposed he could dump the wife at the city gates and run for his life.

He looked toward the distant hills, then toward the wagons. For the first time since I had met him, he appeared genuinely frightened. He opened his mouth to protest, then shut it.

“I’ll take the lashes,” he said quietly.

The punishment was carried out immediately.

Kuangren removed his shirt and was bound to a wagon wheel. He was a pale, skinny man with narrow shoulders. I couldn’t imagine what women saw in him.

Sergeant Karim rolled his shoulders and shook out the bullwhip. Around us, merchants emerged from their wagons and tents to watch. Even the horses seemed unusually quiet.

Karim wound up, swung his arm and let the whip fly. The first strike landed with a crack like a branch snapping in half.

I flinched, as did several others. A red welt appeared on Kaungren’s back, and while he grunted in pain, he did not cry out.

The second blow cut through the skin. The third opened it. By the fifth, blood streaked Kuangren’s back and dripped onto the grass beneath him. His bride began shouting in alarm. Longwei, who spoke some Kyrgyz, hurried over to her and attempted to explain what was happening. Whatever explanation he offered only seemed to upset her more. She tried to push past him and run toward her husband, but Longwei gently restrained her.

The sixth lash landed. Then the seventh. Then the eighth. Each impact sounded worse than the last. Kuangren’s entire body jerked with every strike, yet somehow he remained silent. Sweat poured down his face. The muscles in his neck stood out like cables. His breathing became ragged and uneven, but not once did he cry out. This surprised me. Though he was a good fighter, I had always seen him as a fundamentally weak man. I did not find him funny or cute. In fact, I realized now, I despised him. Seeing him whipped provided me with no satisfaction, but it didn’t bother me either.

Still, by the tenth lash I found myself staring at the ground. By the twelfth, several of the older guards looked disturbed. Meilin looked as serious as I had ever seen her. The bride wept.

The whipping went on. A movement beside me caught my eye. Ahmed had stepped forward. Not much. Only a pace. But enough that everyone nearby noticed. His face showed horrified resolve. For a moment I thought he was going to intervene.

Karim looked at him. No words passed between them. Yet something in Karim’s expression caused Ahmed to slowly step back into line.

When the whipping was done, Karim stepped forward personally and untied the ropes binding Kuangren’s wrists. The moment he was released, Kuangren’s legs gave out beneath him. He was unconscious.

The camp physician immediately ordered everyone away. Without really thinking about it, I volunteered to help. The old man looked surprised. “You know something about medicine?”

“Yes.”

“Good.”

Kuangren awakened as we treated his wounds. His hands clenched and unclenched around the blanket while the physician worked, yet he never complained.

“You know the worst part?” Kuangren said.

“What?”

“I’m not even sure I know my wife’s name.”

The physician burst out laughing.

I shook my head, though I couldn’t help smiling.

Blue Domed Mosques

The weeks that followed carried us westward through lands I had only seen on maps. Uzbekistan was a country of broad valleys, ancient cities and blue-domed masjids that gleamed beneath the sun like polished gemstones. These masjids were the most beautiful things I had ever seen, and I thought that Uzbekistan must be a piece of Jannah on earth.

With everything that had happened after our visit to Kyrgyz, I had never given Weili the bracelet I bought for her. Now, the moment seemed right. I knew she was stationed at the rear of the caravan, and as we passed through a glorious valley alight with wildflowers, I pulled my horse out of formation and dropped back to find her. Her long black hair was loose and whipping in the wind. Sergeant Karim would not like that if he saw it. She rode easily in the saddle, her eyes scanning the surrounding hills.

I nodded. “Any news?”

She snorted. “What am I, the town crier?”

I laughed. With a smile, keeping my voice casual, I said, “I got you something back in Kyrgyz. With all the excitement I forgot to give it to you.”

Her face lit up. “Really? What is it?”

I handed her the bracelet. “It reminded me of you.”

A smile brighter than the sun transformed her face. “It’s lovely! Thank you so much, Darius. That’s so nice of you. Next time don’t wait a month to give it to me, though.”

I laughed again. “Glad you like it!” With that I galloped forward to my station. I was pleased with myself for having played it just right, nice and easy.

We arrived at a city called Samarkand. I stood staring at buildings so beautiful they seemed unreal. Great turquoise domes rose above tiled courtyards covered in geometric patterns and Quranic calligraphy. Merchants crowded the markets selling melons, apricots, silk, spices and carpets from every corner of the known world. Everywhere I looked I saw evidence of centuries of wealth, learning and trade.

And all these lands were Muslim. For the first time I was beginning to understand the vastness of Islam. It was not a local religion practiced by a minority of people. It was, quite possibly, the dominant belief system of the world. Many on our caravan were not Muslim, and in a turnaround I found satisfying, they were now the minority. All around me I was surrounded by my brothers and sisters in faith.

Yet I saw pick pockets and the occasional street fight. A local merchant struck his wife in the face, and another whipped his donkey too cruelly. A drunk sat slumped against a wall. One businessman accused another of cheating. Being Muslim, it seemed, was not a cure-all for humanity’s problems. It did not turn men into angels. This was something I would have to ponder.

Beyond Samarkand, we traveled through Bukhara, where Islamic scholars seemed almost as common as merchants. Half the people we encountered seemed to have memorized much or all of the Quran. This astounded and inspired me. Zihan Ma would love this place. I wished our caravan could stay longer. I resolved that one day I would return to study here.

Ahmed nearly drove Karim mad by repeatedly disappearing into bookstores and madrasahs whenever we stopped for more than an hour.

“If the scholars kidnap you,” Karim warned him, “I’m not paying a ransom.”

Ahmed looked genuinely puzzled. “Why would the scholars kidnap me?”

“To make you listen to their stories.”

Ahmed laughed. “Hey, as long as you’re not going to bullwhip me, I’m fine.”

Karim turned away, all humor gone from his face. No wonder Ahmed almost never told jokes. He was terrible at it.

After our time in Bukahra, I began spending more time with my own copy of the Quran. I memorized all of Juz Amma, and began on Surat Al-Mursalat, and then Al-Insan.

Good Spirits

From there we entered Tajik lands. The roads climbed steadily into mountain valleys fed by icy rivers descending from distant snow-covered peaks. Villages clung to hillsides above terraced fields. Stone houses stood against slopes so steep I could not imagine building anything there. The people looked different from those we had encountered farther east, many with lighter skin, lighter eyes and sharper features than I was accustomed to seeing. At first they looked strange to me, but soon I began to find them quite beautiful.

During all this time I continued to ride with Weili at times, sit with her at the campfire at night, and teach her the Quran. She often wore the bracelet I’d bought her, and that made me happy. I taught a number of the short surahs of Juz Amma. She stumbled over some of the Arabic, laughed at her own mistakes, and occasionally became frustrated, but she persisted.

“I know that you believe deeply in Islam,” she said to me one night over a campfire. “You talk about Allah, and it’s as if you are talking about your best friend. It’s amazing to me.”

“Don’t you believe?”

She stared into the flames for a long moment.

“I don’t know. I have seen a lot of evil.”

It was an honest answer, and I did not try to change her mind with my words.

In exchange, she began teaching me archery. I quickly discovered that shooting a bow well was much harder than it looked.

“You are pulling with your arms,” she said one afternoon as I attempted to shoot a very large tree and failed. “Use your back.”

I understood the concept of not using the arms to power a movement. My father had taught me the same thing in martial arts. Power came from footwork, body rotation and body weight. The back, however, was foreign territory.

“My back is for loading crates at the dock,” I complained. “How am I supposed to use it to pull the bowstring?”

“You’re not on the docks. Be quiet and empty your cup.”

That made me laugh. I had heard that expression many times from Zihan Ma, but never from Weili.

“Where did you learn that saying?”

“What? You think I’m stupid just because I don’t know how to read like you?”

“Of course not,” I said hastily. “You are very intelligent. I admire your brain. I mean, I think you are the most, you know, I mean you’re great, and -”

“Oh, shut up and shoot.”

I released the arrow. “I hit it!”

“It’s the biggest tree in the world,” she said. “It’s the size of a house.”

Which was true. And the arrow had, in fact, barely struck the edge of it.

Slowly, something changed in me. I found myself waking before dawn in unusually good spirits. Chores that normally irritated me seemed less burdensome. I brushed horses, checked harnesses, repaired equipment and stood watch without complaint. Food tasted better. The weather seemed friendlier. Even Karim’s constant criticism became easier to tolerate. And I thought about Weili a lot. I looked for her, and smiled when I saw her.

One evening Longwei sat beside me while I sharpened my dao and Weili practiced archery a short distance away.

“You look at her too much,” he observed. “And you smile too much.”

“I do not.”

He recited one of his poems:

A bee finds a flower
and believes the sun rises for him.
The flower blooms.
The bee grows drunk.
Winter begins its unforgiving descent.
The flower that bloomed dies away,
and the world wishes only to survive.

“That is depressing.”

“You should consider it carefully.”

I threw a pebble at him, and he smiled sadly.

Orange Bellbird

Several weeks later we entered a broad valley filled with farms, orchards and prosperous villages. Long before we reached the largest town, however, we began noticing signs of unusual activity. Banners hung from rooftops and fences. Families traveled the roads in carts and on horseback. Musicians played in the streets, and entire groups of villagers seemed to be heading in the same direction.

A local merchant eventually explained the reason. An annual archery competition was being held. Competitors traveled from throughout the region to participate, and the winner received not only a substantial prize but considerable prestige. The moment Weili heard this, she became impossible to live with. For the remainder of the day she bombarded every local she encountered with questions about the competition, the rules, the bows and the previous champions.

Weili’s excitement was infectious, and I was excited for her. She and I had grown very close by this point. We spent a lot of our free time together, though always in public. Our relationship was not physical, but I found myself dreaming about her occasionally. Even though Kaungren’s wedding had been a fiasco held at swordpoint, I thought about it a lot. Kaungren’s bride was no older than Weili. Yet whenever I considered the prospect of marrying Weili, my mouth became dry, and sweat broke out on my forehead. I knew that Weili liked me, but beyond that I was not sure of anything.

By the time we pitched camp outside the town, half the younger guards wanted to attend the archery competition. Karim eventually relented and allowed a group of us to go, provided we remained armed and returned before sunset.

Longwei approached me as I secured my pack straps.

“Have you considered my poem?” he asked.

“Which one?” I didn’t have time for this.

He regarded me solemnly. “Never mind the poem. In the forests of Southeast Asia there is a bird called an orange bellbird. It’s small, but sings more beautifully than any lute or harp. When you hear it, you are reminded of Allah’s angels. You feel that the world is beautiful, and that everything is possible.

Yet if you catch it and cage it, you will be disappointed, for it will sit silently, and will soon die. You can never own an orange bellbird. You can only appreciate it from a distance.”

I made a helpless gesture. “Are we talking about flowers or birds?”

Longwei pursed his lips. “Neither. Enjoy the archery competition.”

* * *

As-salamu alaykum dear readers. Sorry for  the delay. But hey, I have you a double length chapter this week!

Come back next week for Part 19 – The Glory of Persia

Reader comments and constructive criticism are important to me, so please comment!

 

See the Story Index for Wael Abdelgawad’s other stories on this website.

Wael Abdelgawad’s novels – including Pieces of a Dream, The Repeaters and Zaid Karim Private Investigator – are available in ebook and print form on his author page at Amazon.com.

Related:

Pieces of a Dream | Part 1: The Cabbie and the Muslim Woman

Trust Fund And A Yellow Lamborghini: A Short Story

The post Far Away [Part 18] – The Flower Blooms, And The Flower Dies appeared first on MuslimMatters.org.

Previously (in Part I), I discussed some of the rationale behind the pressing need for Muslims to pursue law and emerge as excellent, well-rounded practitioners grounded in the Islamic worldview. The following turns to the practical, drawn from my own experience, mistakes, and the mentorship I received.

How Do You Know You’re Ready for Law School?

There is no single moment of readiness; however, what you should have is clarity of purpose and a realistic picture of what the next three years (and further study) will cost, financially and spiritually. If you cannot articulate why you want to practice beyond a blasé desire “to help people”, that is a sign to spend more time researching and speaking with lawyers in the field.

The day-to-day of legal practice is unglamorous, and law school is a sustained exercise in pressure. Solely wanting to do good, inshaAllah, is not enough of an anchor when it is difficult, and it will get difficult.

Relatedly, another signal of readiness is reading seriously and widely. Law is a discipline built on close, critical reading and writing. You should already be someone who reads deeply: history, philosophy, journalism, Islamic texts, etc. If sustained reading feels like a burden now, law school will not fix that. The students who thrive are not necessarily the most credentialed; rather, they are ones who have trained themselves to sit with difficult material and write clearly. Start there.

A word on finances: law school is expensive. High debt constraints choices and naturally push people towards higher-paying work and away from precisely the paths – public interest, solo practice, nonprofit, etc – most likely to serve everyday Muslim legal needs. Before committing to any school, do the math honestly. Look at average starting salaries in the field you want to enter and run numbers against your projected debt. Note that scholarship negotiation is normal, expected, and unlikely to jeopardize your admission. If you have a stronger financial offer from a comparable or better institution, say so professionally and leverage it. Often, students leave significant money on the table simply because they feel it was presumptuous to ask. 

Getting In and Getting Through: Practical Advice

1. Map Out the Next Few Years

Before starting the law school application process, take time to map out where you want to be in the next 3-5 years. Think carefully about your ‘ilm goals, family goals, areas of interest, finances, and potential challenges, then speak to professionals in the field you aspire to enter. 

These conversations offer invaluable insights into the realities of the field, the steps you need to take, the timeline for achieving your goals, and what mistakes to avoid. Aiming for, say, expertise in tax law or the big-law route will look and make different demands on time, region, and (sometimes) tier of school, more than pursuing a judicial clerkship or becoming a solo practitioner.

I found it especially helpful to receive candid advice from other Muslimahs. All of them echoed that familial responsibilities should not be underestimated, but require diligent planning. A common concern is that being a Muslim woman in law will be impossibly difficult or require sacrificing marriage and family, but that is shaped by an outdated view of the profession, often modeled on the high-pressure, high-hour lifestyle of big law firms. In reality, the field is far more diverse. There’s a world of difference between litigating at a top defense firm and working remotely as corporate counsel, or building a public interest career. Government roles, nonprofit advocacy, academia, transactional versus litigation work, these all carry different demands, and many offered far more flexibility than I realized going in. The legal profession is vast, and with good guidance and planning, it can accommodate a wide range of life goals.

2. Pursue ‘Ilm Early and Consistently

I spent my summer before and during law school in Cairo with my husband, studying with different teachers, and now have returned for (inshaAllah) a year of studies. I recognize that this is not feasible for everyone. However, there are excellent programs in the U.S. that make it possible to gain exposure to ‘ilm, whether online or in-person, part-time or full-time. The point is, any engagement with good teachers is invaluable. Begin with foundational works that cover ‘ibadat (worship), then exposure to issues of mu’amalat (transactions and relationships).

Prior to making the decision to move abroad, I spoke with a few mentors, including the Assistant Dean at my school. She noted that while it is not uncommon for law graduates to immediately start pursuing advanced degrees like an MBA or a PhD, delaying entry into the workforce results in falling behind peers financially and career-wise. That was her only point of caution when I mentioned my goals, but otherwise, she was supportive. 

If I could do it over, however, I would have pursued ‘ilm earlier, and not just for spiritual reasons. It simply is harder when career considerations and familial obligations grow. Learning Arabic, for example, opens access to legal texts and compendia that are indispensable for anyone interested in Islamic jurisprudence. Doing so would’ve been easier for me to engage in and relate to my classes and research papers by bringing that depth of research.

3. Seek Mentorship and Good Suhbah (Company)

The legal field is already competitive, and depending on the school, it can be cutthroat. Law school is an isolating experience in many ways due to the demands on one’s time and relentless focus on performance. It builds discipline and good work ethics, but can quickly devolve into dreaded burnout and spiritual sickness.

During my first year of law school, I joined online legal ethics classes with Shaykh Amin Kholwadia of Al-Amin Ethics. Shaykh Amin’s focus on training Muslim professionals “to understand, present, represent, and re-present Islamic Civilizational values in their respective professions” bridged the gap between theory and practice I was looking for. It offered rigorous knowledge through an established methodology, tying back to the pursuit of ‘ilm point above, but also a space for mentorship and community, a rare combination that sustained me throughout my legal education.

Beyond the ethics classes, annual conferences and regular meetings became a crucial part of my suhbah and growth. They provided an opportunity to discuss challenges we were facing in our schools, receive guidance on applications and assignments, and engage with experienced legal practitioners and mentors with a similar mindset.

Good suhbah also provided a critical spiritual component. In the midst of demanding schedules and a hyper-competitive environment, being connected with individuals who prioritized faith and reminded me of my higher purpose kept me grounded. These were people who understood the unique challenges of weighing professional ambitions and religious obligations, and could reinforce the importance of maintaining integrity in both.

Conversations often extended beyond academic or career advice to reflections on how to approach legal practice as a form of service and accountability to Allah . This spiritual companionship was essential in navigating moments of doubt or moral compromise. Finding a support system that can do this, whether at your university, local mosque, or similar online classes, will be invaluable.

4. Engage with Your School and Extracurricular Activities

Extracurricular activities provide opportunities to polish critical skills. Joining a law journal allowed me to engage in editorial decisions and contribute my own writing, offering a place to bring nuanced perspectives relating to issues like the niqab. The next year, we held a symposium on the topic “Emerging Issues in International Humanitarian Law,” wherein many speakers discussed war crimes in Gaza.

Involvement in student leadership or organizations that represent the broader student body is another meaningful way to engage and have our positions heard. Like with many fields, one of the challenges was the dismissive or anthropological treatment of religion, which was particularly intriguing at an institution that prided itself on serving minority communities, many of whom are deeply religious. But, constructive discussions with school leadership can make a difference. Our Muslim Law Student Association was able to provide feedback that led to reasonable accommodations for religious holidays, including Ramadan, which started with building a good relationship with the administration and being active on the campus, and then substantive discussions on bringing in guest lecturers and possibly even classes on religion and the law in the future. In another example, our Law Students’ Association signed onto a letter to affirm its commitment to protecting students who were being doxxed or threatened for their views in support of Gaza. The same association also held an open forum to gather perspectives for its statement addressing the violence in the Middle East. 

While graduate school is a different environment from the undergraduate level, where most are more occupied with full-time responsibilities, that doesn’t mean meaningful campus engagement should be left behind. Advocacy at this stage also builds real-world skills (coalition-building, strategic communication, institutional negotiation) that translate directly into legal and policy work. Additionally, the relationships forged at this time with faculty, admin, or fellow students become the ones that open doors down the line, which leads me to my last point.

5. Network Widely

Networking is essential, and limiting oneself to only Muslim circles can lead to an insular view of the legal system. While connecting with other Muslims, as noted above, is vital, engaging with non-Muslims is also critical for professional growth. Many areas of law (estate planning, corporate law, or even niche fields like arbitration) require collaboration with attorneys who have specialized experience. The opposite is also true; a non-Muslim attorney with Muslim clients in a region with little to no Muslim attorneys may often consult a Muslim attorney for guidance on certain issues. Attending webinars, conferences, or specialized training programs exposes you to a broader range of expertise and resources.

Every Muslim who enters the field with sincere intentions and a desire to seek sacred knowledge is, in some way, closing a gap that has had real consequences. The advice above is tailored towards providing a framework for entering the legal profession as a well-rounded individual, whose worldview informs the substance and direction of their work. The community’s legal needs run deeper than surface-level representation. Muslims dealing with issues of marriage, divorce, contracts, estates, disputes, etc., deserve attorneys who understand U.S. law and the moral and jurisprudential tradition that has shaped how Muslims understand their obligations. 

The work is long, the preparation longer, but as the community grows, its needs deepen, so too must the ranks of those equipped to serve it. Those who enter this field grounded in ‘ilm (sacred knowledge), supported by strong mentorship, and connected to a broader purpose, will be best positioned to practice law as a form of service and accountability to Allah , inshaAllah.

 

Related:

– The Limits Of Obedience In Marriage: A Hanafi Legal Perspective

The post So You Want To Become A Lawyer? [Part II] – How To Ready Yourself For A Career In Law appeared first on MuslimMatters.org.

Before applying to law school, I spoke to Muslim lawyers for advice and mentorship. One lawyer I connected with was based in the U.K. and worked in human rights, advocating for Muslims impacted by the War on Terror. 

At this point in my life, I was interested in either immigration law or international humanitarian law. During the call, he explained that while many Muslims seek a path in the legal field for similar reasons, many Muslims’ legal needs in the West actually lie in the day-to-day. Marriages, divorces, disputes, business contracts, estate planning – these are areas where the average Muslim regularly finds themselves at odds with the law of the land or unsure of how to reconcile their faith’s obligations as U.S. residents or citizens. You may be able to avoid it, but if you intend to live out the rest of your days in the U.S., then you must know that even you cannot outrun probate courts, and preferably thought about it beforehand rather than after the death of a loved one.

This idea was reinforced during an internship at a Muslim boutique law firm where the supervising attorney stressed the importance of “bread and butter” legal work: drafting contracts and settling disputes. These are, in the language of jurists, matters of mu’amalat: the domain of the Shari’a that governs our transactions and relationships with one another. This is not to diminish the significance of civil rights advocacy, humanitarian law, or immigration law. These fields are undoubtedly critical, especially in light of the genocide in Gaza, arbitrary detentions of student protestors and advocates, and deteriorating civil rights. However, we also cannot overlook the need for legal expertise in the domains that shape our everyday lives, particularly where our fard al-ayn is concerned. Ensuring that our daily interactions – contracts, marriages, business dealings, and how we resolve disputes with others both on an individual and institutional level – are shari’a-compliant (as best we can) is an obligation, not a personal preference or last-minute add-on. It is a fard (obligation) to know the ruling (hukm) of an act before engaging in it, yet we routinely do so.

A Case Study: Islamic Marriage Contracts in the U.S.

I’ll give readers a case study that is perhaps unusual when we think of Islam and U.S. law, nonetheless salient for the point I am trying to make. In 2001, the following case was presented to the Court of Appeals of California, Fourth District1: a Muslim couple married decades ago in Egypt filed for divorce. California, like other community property states, has a presumption that acquisitions during a marriage (barring exceptions like inheritance) belong equally to each spouse, thus are to be divided equally upon divorce – unless the presumption can be overcome. The husband presented their Egyptian nikah contract, claiming it was a prenuptial agreement stipulating that marital issues were to be governed under “Islamic law”, but nothing more. If the nikah contract was upheld as an enforceable prenuptial agreement under U.S. law, his medical practice and retirement accounts would be considered his separate property and not community property, thus would not have to be divided with his ex-wife.

And therein lies the problem: the Court here was not looking at the substance of Islamic law on marital assets, per se. In one footnote, they even comment, “There are at least four schools of interpretation of Islamic law…The legal system in various Islamic countries will often be influenced by one school or the other. Egypt, for example, has been influenced by both the Hanafi and Maliki schools.” Instead, the Court focused on whether the document contained sufficiently clear and enforceable terms to function as a pre-nup. They found that it did not. So, the presumption of splitting everything equally held.

When my marital property professor, herself a family law practitioner, taught this case, she mentioned the lack of adequate legal help for Muslims in the local area. Because when Muslims, like others, marry and divorce, and like others, who generally want to proceed in a manner most aligned with their values, they want to seek attorneys who understand their needs and know not only U.S. law, but are competent in Islamic law. In her experience, she’d seen clients with disputes over unpaid mahr, oral agreements, and the like, with little precedent on the best way to proceed.

This is not an article on how enforceable contracts among Muslims should be in U.S. courts and what the jurisdictional implications are for Islamic public law in America, nor am I the first to articulate this. Rather, it’s a point on how thin calls for diverse legal representation and Muslim representation are if it does not go beyond being a particular type of face among the same types of faces. It is far deeper and urgent. There is an immediate need for Muslim professionals who can articulate the Islamic worldview in their research and work.

The above case is just one of many growing numbers of cases dealing with the intersection of Islam and U.S. law, but the number of legal practitioners who have a basic grounding and connection to the Islamic sciences, equipped to think about these issues a step further than the status quo, is fewer than desired. And conversely, it is not within the realm of work, nor is the faqih/mufti equipped to navigate U.S. legal realities. 

The disconnect between ‘secular law’ and ‘shari’a’ (though the distinction is not so discreet as we would think) is one of the enduring consequences of secularism. The systematic marginalization of Islamic legal principles in favor of Western legal frameworks has left a void in which Muslims are forced to compartmentalize their lives: ‘ibadat in one corner, everything else in another. Obviously, this is due to living in the U.S. in the first place (and on a higher level, the structure of nations/states). By residing in a non-Muslim jurisdiction, one implicitly and explicitly affirms certain obligations to its system. But this overlooks and oversimplifies, for example, the freedom to contract, which allows individuals to determine many terms of their relationships and transactions, provided they do not contradict public policy or statutory law. This creates some space, however imperfect, for communities to govern their affairs in alignment with their values, even within a secular system. For example, multiple scholars and writers have drawn comparisons between the American Jewish experience with beth dins – Jewish religious courts – and Islamic councils or tribunals.

This sort of interplay of religious and secular legal systems, therefore, has precedents, despite what bills attempting to ban ‘shari’a law’ would have one think. Critics – both within and outside the community – might argue that such a ‘coexistence’ is ultimately contradictory and makes Islamic principles subordinate. Yet the alternative is a community left to navigate a legal framework that often fails to account for their religious needs, leading to compromises that undermine both their legal rights and their spiritual commitments. 

This challenge must shift from theoretical discussions to actionable strategies. Muslim lawyers have a significant opportunity to collaborate with ‘ulema and other relevant experts, leveraging their knowledge of Islamic jurisprudence while refining their own expertise in legal research and practice. Even those engaged in civil rights, humanitarian law, and other legal fields remain deeply connected to Islamic principles and jurisprudence; their work is inseparable from questions of right and wrong, justice and ethics, with accountability shaped by the moral and legal foundations of shari’a. Muslim lawyers must recognize that what we do is not value-neutral, and the community must recognize and support the need for competent Muslim lawyers. Work devoid of an Islamic objective and actualization is a failure of purpose.

[Look out for Part II next week inshaAllah]

 

Related:

– Age of Consent in Classical Islamic Law

– Why Studying And Teaching Aqidah is Necessary for the Ulama And Students of Knowledge

1    105 Cal. Rptr. 2d 863, 88 Cal. App. 4th 398.

The post So You Want To Become A Lawyer? [Part I] – On Faith, Duty, And The Legal Profession appeared first on MuslimMatters.org.

Dear Struggling and Distressed Muslim,

This letter was meant for you. Yes, you specifically. The one who has been struggling and not understanding why it’s not working out. The one who has seen countless members of your family and friends “getting ahead” and sailing through this stage of life. The one whose suffering is not as visible or discussed in our communities, despite the pain striking and settling at the core of your heart, as you feel you have been left behind. This is regarding your pain from infertility and the struggle of not being able to have a child.

Know that you are not alone. There are millions across the world who are dealing with the same exact problem. But you have something that many do not: the Ultimate Supporter and Creator of the Universe is with you.

Infertility is not a sign of Allah’s Displeasure, but rather a test. As with every test, everyone advises patience; yet, sincerely practicing patience is difficult. It is, however, a choice and an action. How we actively practice patience will inshaAllah bring peace and blessings to our hearts and lives. While I cannot take away your pain and struggles, what I can offer is advice to remind you of some actions that can be taken to strengthen your relationship with Our Creator, and find ease through this difficult time. 

Advice #1: Elevate Your Du’a and Fully Trust Allah

Du’a is not simply asking from Allah . It’s the essence of worship and a way to rewrite our destiny. Du’a is, without a doubt, the most powerful tool we have at our disposal, but there are ways to make it more effective and meaningful. I will focus on these 3 points:

1. Etiquettes of Du’a
2. Focus on Forgiveness 
3. Practical Game Plan

The Etiquettes of Du’a

The first etiquette is regarding what we should say before we even start making dua to Allah . Specifically, praising Him and sending durood (peace and blessings) upon the Prophet . Sending durood on the Prophet is so powerful that even if we were to not ask anything and just spend our entire time sending durood on the Prophet , our worries would disappear and our sins would be forgiven. 

This isn’t to say we shouldn’t ask and make du’a for what we want, but it’s just a point of how many blessings there are in just sending peace and blessings on the Prophet . It could be that Allah appreciates so much that you send peace and blessings on the Prophet -the most beloved creation to Allah – instead of asking for your own needs, that He solves your problems and rewards you for it too. Do we really think that any problem in the world can withstand so many blessings coming from Allah ?

The second etiquette I want to mention is calling on Allah by His many blessed Names and Attributes. 

Specifically, some names that come to mind are:

• Al-Kareem and Al-Wahab – the One who is the Most Generous and Gives the best of gifts
• Al-Qadeer and Al-Azeez – there is absolutely no problem we can ever have that will be more powerful or unable to be solved by the Almighty and All-Powerful
• Al-Jabbar – the One who can mend your broken heart while you suffer through the pain

The third etiquette is to mention your weaknesses to Allah and never be disappointed in making du’a. When Zakaria made du’a to Allah for a child, he knew that his state of being old didn’t matter – the Lord of the Worlds could change anything and everything if He willed it. He went decades without children but remained optimistic.

Do not focus on what you can realistically do, but focus on what the Lord and Creator of the Worlds can do. Allah made the rules of the world we live in, including our own medical states, and He [wt] can do whatever He wills. 

The fourth etiquette is to have full trust in Allah’s Plan for you. This leads to consistency and surrendering yourself to Allah – you cannot lose hope. Even if you do not receive what you asked for, remember that Allah gave or will give you something equivalent or better; but it will be on Allah’s timeline, not ours. Our task is to be patient in making du’a. 

“Every one of you will have his supplications answered, as long as he is not impatient and he says: I have supplicated, but I was not answered.” [Bukhari and Muslim]

I’ve been guilty of this, where I make du’a and expect that my problem will be immediately solved. But du’a doesn’t always work like Amazon Prime. I personally know a couple who had multiple miscarriages, and it took almost 10 years for them to have their first child. We have to remember and trust that Allah knows and decides when the best time is for everything. He knows what is good for us and when it is good for us, and we do not. 

This is part of the perfection of our faith: to be content with what Allah has ordained after we have done everything we possibly can. This sentiment is perfectly encapsulated by the beautiful du’a of the righteous caliph Omar ibn Abdul Aziz : 

“O Allah, make me pleased with Your decree and bless me in Your providence, such that I would not like to hasten anything You delay, nor delay anything You hasten.”

The fifth and last etiquette I will mention is to take advantage of the times when du’a is accepted. These include:

• The last third of the night
• Between the adhan and iqaamah
• When it is raining
• When in sujud
• When traveling
• A fasting person as they break their fast

Focus on Forgiveness

We all fall short of our duty to Allah , and we all make mistakes. Even if we fulfill the obligations, did we fulfill them to a level that is befitting the Lord of the Universe? But, by the Mercy of Allah , He still may accept our broken actions. 

Allah created us so that we would turn back to Him after we slip. What’s also interesting is that asking forgiveness from Allah for those same mistakes is directly linked to certain blessings.

A man once came to al-Hasan al-Basri and complained to him: “The sky does not shower us with rain.” He replied: “Seek Allah’s forgiveness (i.e. say أستغفر ألله).”

Then another person came to him and said, “I complain of poverty.” He replied: “Seek Allah’s forgiveness.”

Then another person came to him and complained, “My wife is barren; she cannot bear children.” He replied: “Seek Allah’s forgiveness.”

The people who were present said to al-Hasan: “Every time a person came to you complaining, you instructed them to seek Allah’s forgiveness?”

Al-Hasan al-Basri said, “Have you not read the statement of Allah? ‘saying, ‘Seek your Lord’s forgiveness, ˹for˺ He is truly Most Forgiving. He will shower you with abundant rain, supply you with wealth and children, and give you gardens as well as rivers.’”[Surah Nuh:10-12]

So, given that asking for forgiveness is one of the best ways to have a child, what is one of the best ways to ask for forgiveness?

The Prophet taught us Sayyid al-Istighfar – the master du’a for forgiveness. I would highly recommend memorizing it and repeating it often.

Finally, an important part of seeking forgiveness is to leave the sins that we are knowingly committing. While we cannot eliminate every mistake, we can at least do our best to leave the things we know we are doing that are crossing the boundaries of Allah . 

Practical Game Plan

Now, what is a practical way to implement some of these etiquettes of du’a? Here is a game plan inspired by the dua of the mother of Imam Bukhari and of the legendary hero Salahuddin when he defended Jerusalem from the Crusaders. While you may not be able to do all of this, the goal is to try to do the best of your ability and at least do part of it. 

1. Wake up during the last 1/3 of the night, especially on Friday night, about 30-45 minutes before Fajr, and pray 2 rakaats and make a long dua during sajdah (remember that in the Islamic calendar, Friday night starts on Thursday after maghrib)
2. Go to the masjid, especially on Friday morning, right before fajr adhaan
3. Combine the intention to pray 2 rakaats sunnah of fajr, sunnah of entering masjid, and sunnah in between adhaan and iqaamah, and make dua during sajdah
4. Make dua right after fajr salah, after you’ve done the adhkaar after salah
5. Consistently repeat this at least once a week, if not daily

During your du’a, complain of your own poverty to Allah and how you have done everything you possibly can, but there is nothing else you can do. Keep knocking on Allah’s door, just like Imam Bukhari’s mother. Imam Bukhari was born almost blind, and his mother would spend her nights making du’a for her son’s eyesight to be restored.

For 2-3 years, she she didn’t lose hope or give up. Just kept knocking and asking for a medical miracle from Al-Shafi.

Then one night, she saw Prophet Ibrahim in a dream, who told her that because of her persistent du’a, her son’s eyesight had been restored. Imam Bukhari would go on to author the most authentic book ever written by man, leaving behind a legacy of scholarship that still endures over 1,000 years later. 

This is the power of du’a. Not because of what you can do. But because of what Allah can. 

There are many other things that can be done to elevate one’s du’a, but the crux of du’a is recognizing that Allah is in control and we need Him . When we show and verbalize our need to Allah and show that we are not self-sufficient but rather completely reliant on Him , we hope He will shower His Mercy and Bounties upon us. And just like anything in life, if we continue to do the same thing over and over again the exact same way, du’a can start feeling mundane and even empty, so I hope implementing some of these points can revitalize and reenergize our du’a again.

Advice #2: Internalize the Quran

The Quran was sent as a mercy to mankind and the way to expel darkness from our hearts and lives as we go through the trials of life. But when we only focus on reading it without reflection, especially as non-Arab speakers, we miss many subtleties and messages. 

Do these 2 things, and you will see how your perception of the Quran will change and how peace will enter your heart:

1. Make yourself the audience of the verses you are reading. Do not just read the story of Musa and think of it as a nice history lesson. Internalize the message as if the Quran is speaking to you and that the verses were revealed specifically for you. If there are verses about arrogance, ask yourself – am I arrogant? If there are verses about patience, ask yourself – am I patient? And so on and so forth.
2. Pay attention to the Names of Allah that are used in the verses. Allah is the Greatest Writer, and every word and Name He places is placed in a very specific location for a reason. Reflect on what the verse is saying to YOU and why that specific name of Allah is being used. 

Advice #3: Practice Gratitude

Often, when we are struggling with something difficult, patience is what is recommended. But the fact of the matter is, sincere patience requires something even before that: gratitude. 

Allah told us in the Quran:

˹Consider˺ when Moses said to his people, “Remember Allah’s favour upon you when He rescued you from the people of Pharaoh, who afflicted you with dreadful torment—slaughtering your sons and keeping your women. That was a severe test from your Lord.

And ˹remember˺ when your Lord proclaimed, ‘If you are grateful, I will certainly give you more. But if you are ungrateful, surely My punishment is severe.’” [Surah Ibrahim; 14:6-7]

The Bani Isra’eel, after being tested with hundreds of their babies being murdered by Firawn, are not being told to be patient. They are being advised to be grateful. Ponder this profound point. Why would Allah and Musa advise them on gratitude and remembering the blessings they have? Does not patience in this scenario make more sense?

The only way to practice sincere patience is to first appreciate all the blessings Allah has already given us. Only then will we find the strength to sincerely endure the hardships we are facing for the sake of Allah . 

And for those who think, “What blessings do I even have to be grateful for?”, consider these questions:

• Would we trade even one of our eyes for Elon Musk’s trillion-dollar pay package?
• Would we trade our warm beds for living in makeshift tents during the freezing, wet winter of Gaza while consistently being threatened by bombs and airstrikes? Or for a place in a Rohingya refugee camp?
• Would we trade the security of our lives for the constant violence, hunger, and humanitarian crises happening in Sudan and Lebanon? 
• Would we trade our freedom to practice our religion and beliefs for the religious and political persecution happening to Uyghurs in China or Muslims in Kashmir and India? 

None of this is to say that we don’t have problems or tests in life. But when we consider the enormous blessings Allah has bestowed upon us, we would not trade our problems for anyone else’s across the world. 

Furthermore, not having a child does not mean you don’t already have a loving, supportive spouse – do we appreciate him/her as we should? Or do we wonder if things would have been better if we had married someone we could have children with? If so, we are failing at understanding that while children can be a beautiful part of marriage, not having children does not mean a marriage is any less successful or less full of love. The Prophet loved Aisha more than anyone else, and their marriage serves as a role model for all of us. This is despite them not having any children together.

Another point that I want to mention is that if we are given children and one of them causes us to lose our faith, was that child really a blessing? This point is emphasized during the story of Musa and Khidr in Surah Al-Kahf. Khidr kills a child and later explains to Musa that Allah wanted to replace that child with another one for the parents, as the first child could have caused them to become kuffar and destroy their relationship with Allah . Who is to say that if we are given a child, that would not happen to us, and Allah is in fact protecting us from a greater evil?

The final point I will mention is that there will always be blessings given to others that we may never receive. At the same time, we have been given blessings in our lives that others can only dream of. This is by the decree of Allah . So our focus should be on the blessings we have and how we can maximize them in pursuit of pleasing Allah . 

As Prophet told us, “Know that whatever happens to you could never miss you, and whatever misses you could never reach you.” [al-Mu’jam al-Kabīr]

Advice #4: Increase in Good Deeds

Part of showing and practicing gratitude to Allah is to obey Him and fulfill the obligations He ordained on us. But, if you only fulfill the obligations, that alone will not necessarily get you special treatment from Allah . If you think about our careers – how do we get ahead? We have to work harder than our coworkers, contribute extra on projects, serve on committees, etc., to get promoted. Those who barely do their job, under fair circumstances, would not be the ones who would get promoted and benefit from a bump in salary, benefits, perks, etc. 

In a hadith qudsi, Allah said:

“Whosoever shows enmity to someone devoted to Me, I shall be at war with him. My servant draws not near to Me with anything more loved by Me than the religious duties I have enjoined upon him, and My servant continues to draw near to Me with supererogatory works so that I shall love him. When I love him, I am his hearing with which he hears, his seeing with which he sees, his hand with which he strikes, and his foot with which he walks. Were he to ask [something] of Me, I would surely give it to him, and were he to ask Me for refuge, I would surely grant it to him. I do not hesitate about anything as much as I hesitate about [seizing] the soul of My faithful servant: he hates death, and I hate hurting him.” [Bukhari]

There are so many good deeds that can be discussed, including qiyam al-layl (which is the best prayer after the fardh salah), dhuha salah, various adhkaar, praying in the masjid, fasting, etc., but the one I want to emphasize is sadaqah. It’s an absolutely amazing, widely encompassing, and easy deed if we have the right mindset. Moreover, in the current state of the world where everyone is talking about investing and making money, the fact of the matter is, whatever money we spend in charity is our real investment because that is what we will see on our scale of good deeds in the Hereafter.

“Envy consumes good deeds just as fire burns wood. Charity extinguishes sinful deeds just as water extinguishes fire. Prayer is the light of the believer, and fasting is his shield from the Hellfire.” [Ibn Majah]

Advice #5: Seek Professional Help

The problem with this step is that we often either prioritize this step over fixing our relationship with Allah , or neglect this step completely. Take advice from qualified medical professionals, talk with your family and elders, pray istikharah, and make a decision regarding next steps in your journey. We will never know what will or will not work unless we try, but we should be informed about the risks and benefits of each avenue available to us so we can make an educated decision.

I would also mention that infertility can come with a whole set of emotions, including depression, anger, despair, hopelessness, etc., so a qualified therapist, especially one with an Islamic background, could be beneficial in understanding how to process and manage our emotional state from both an Islamic and psychological perspective. I have included a list of resources for mental health at the end of this letter.

A man said, “O Messenger of Allah! Shall I tie it and rely (upon Allah), or leave it loose and rely (upon Allah)?” The Prophet SAWS said: “Tie it and rely (upon Allah).” [Tirmidhi]

Final Thoughts

The Prophet frequently made a du’a asking Allah to make him firm in his religion.

It’s so hard to be consistent, and it’s even harder at times to be consistent and trusting when you don’t have physical proof in your hand of what you’re aiming for. There’s a reason why Muslims are called believers – one of them is that we believe in the Unseen. And can you imagine that the greatest of all creation, the Prophet , is making du’a to be steadfast on Islam? It’s surreal to me because he had the Quran revealed to him by Jibreel . But while we’ll never have the same level of iman as the Prophet , that doesn’t mean we don’t try. It’s up to us to remember that Allah is writing our story in the best way possible. 

Don’t be displeased with Allah . You are where you are, and I am where I am, and every person is where they are exactly as the Greatest Story Writer has written. While we don’t know how things will go in the future, our job is just to do our best with what we know now. And part of this journey for you involves your family, so encourage them to do the things you all find beneficial – inshaAllah you all will grow closer together as you continue to support each other.

At the end of the day, it very well could be you’re never gifted a child. That doesn’t mean that all your efforts and du’as went to waste. We don’t know what Allah protected us from and what reward Allah has prepared for us in the Hereafter. 

I want to end with this advice a friend pnce gave to me:

“One of Allah’s Mercies towards you is that He continually creates needs for you to Him. Whenever He fulfills one of your needs, He creates another for you, so that you do not become detached from Him. Indeed, souls are inclined to detach from those they feel self-sufficient without.  Whoever becomes self-sufficient from Allah and detaches from Him will perish. Therefore, some scholars have said: ‘that Allah creates needs for you so that your servitude to Him may grow.’”

May Allah always guide and bless our families and us to what is best for us in this life and the next, relieve our struggles, anxieties, and fears, and always keep us hopeful in His Mercy and Plan. 

 

List of Mental Health Resources:

• Muslim therapists in various localities in the USA: https://www.mapsnetwork.org/ 
• For a local Muslim mental health professional: Please take a look at the resources here to find a local Muslim therapist: 
  • https://muslimpsychologycenter.com/directories/
  • https://muslimmentalhealth.com/getsupport/
  • https://www.muslimtherapist.directory/
• If you are looking for assistance regarding spiritually-related concerns: Please consider Khalil Center: https://khalilcenter.com/. They are able to provide many psychospiritual resources, including therapy and religious consultations.
• For general options: Please try www.psychologytoday.com. This website can narrow searches down by religion, therapy type, insurance, and zip code.

The post On Infertility And Not Having A Child: A Letter To Couples Going Through The Silent Struggle appeared first on MuslimMatters.org.

Sun’s out, and while some people are ready for (halal) pool parties, some of us just want to pick up a good book or ten. And with Muharram having just begun, it’s important for us not to get caught up in the ghaflah (heedlessness) of summer holidays and to maintain a sense of intentionality in how we spend our time off.

As always, the MuslimMatters Bookshelf has you covered! No need to hunt around for interesting books when we’ve got a list ready to go right here.

A Beautiful Patience by Samaiyah Mushtaq [Non-Fiction]

Dr. Samaiya Mushtaq writes about her husband, Dr. Mahmoud Sabha, and his journey into Gaza on medical mission – not just once, but twice. But this book isn’t just about him, or about what he witnessed in Gaza; it’s also about her own raw experience being the wife who stayed home with two young children, who wrestled with her own emotions… with guilt, fear, shame, anxiety, and more.

This unique memoir is so beautifully written that I was on the verge of tears almost every time I opened it. The author touches on her own background, her first marriage and divorce, her second – happy – marriage, motherhood and post-partum… and how all the blessings in her life competed with her husband’s decision to serve the people of Gaza.

There’s so much I want to say about the book, but really there’s nothing more to be said other than that everyone should read it immediately. It’s a book for us all – not the heroes of Gaza, but those of us left behind, those of us who open our newsfeeds every day to read about massacres upon massacres and then swipe to pictures of restaurant meals and think about buying a sweet treat on our next outing and then wonder what we’re doing for Palestine.

Dr. Samaiya’s vulnerability and honesty pulls the reader in, holds up a mirror to our own selves, and then shines a light on how – even as we grapple with our guilty consciences – the people of Gaza and the medical heroes of Gaza push through daily horrors with a quiet strength and beautiful patience that comes from complete and utter trust in Allah alone.

This book is truly incredible, especially as more and more news from Gaza is throttled by the zyeo entity and the genocide escalates daily. It is a primer on sabr and tawakkul, and challenging ourselves in our positions of privilege.

Hope and Despair: My Struggle to Free My Husband by Monia Mazigh [Non-Fiction]

Most young Canadians today don’t recognize the name of Maher Arar, but as part of the 9/11 generation, I grew up reading the news about Arar’s illegal abduction by the FBI and his deportation to and torturing in Syria at the behest of the RCMP.

Hope & Despair was written by Arar’s wife, Monia Mazigh, whose unyielding pursuit of justice for her husband is what finally resulted in his release – and the exposure of the Canadian government’s responsibility in the entire affair.

While this book is about Monia and what she experienced from the day of her husband’s disappearance, to the day that a public inquiry finally vindicated him, this book serves as a stark reminder of the reality we live in: our governments are corrupt to the core, intelligence and security agencies are evil in their very essence, and both have no inclination to change their ways.

Yet rather than languish in silence, it is our responsibility to do as Monia did: to never give up, to pursue justice, to fight against the powers that be, no matter the discomfort or risks it carries. Given that the Canadian government continues to target Muslims, this book is necessary reading for us all – that we too do not give into learned helplessness, but know that Allah does not help a people until they help themselves.
It’s also a reminder that anyone who blindly trusts in the government as an agency of truth or justice is an absolute idiot.

That’s not to say that there aren’t occasionally good people out there. Mazigh writes of individuals who listened to her, who campaigned with her, who did their best to subvert the machinations of injustice from within. Allah brings forth help from where we do not expect… but we must demonstrate our own commitment first and foremost.

The Arar case isn’t just an aberration in the fading annals of Canadian history. It is just the tip of the iceberg of the Canadian government’s entrenched Islamophobia, and just a glimpse of what they have done and continue to do to Muslims across the country.

Some Justice: A Ghazi Ammar Medieval Mystery by Laury Silvers [Adult Historical Fiction]

Laury Silvers’ medieval Muslim mystery novels are a force of creativity and thoughtfulness that make the reader overlook the lack of professional editing and the rough-around-the-edges craft.

This newest book, the first of a new series connected to her original series (The Sufi Mysteries), follows former Ghazi Ammar at-Tabbani as he tries to solve the first big case to come to his investigation agency… a case that seems doomed from the very beginning. Zaytuna, the original heroine of the original series, has her own mystery to solve, of course – one that will teach her yet another lesson in trusting God. Ammar has his own lessons to learn, and readers will be enthralled by the introduction to medieval Baghdad’s more unsavory elements.

Note: This book explores very heavy, very dark themes of suicide (and worse), and is absolutely a very adult murder mystery.

The Ocean Would Paint Me Blue by Zoulfa Katouh [Young Adult Fiction]

The author of the legendary “As Long As The Lemon Trees Grow” is back with a new novel! This one is solidly young adult, and definitely targeted at Muslim teen girls.

Jihad is a Syrian American Muslim girl, whose grief over her mother’s death has leached away her ability to see the world in colour. When she’s enrolled at a bougie private school to improve her chances of getting into an exclusive arts university, Jihad has to contend with elitism, Islamophobia, and a sketchbook with the mysterious power to magically paint her murals across the city.

In all honesty, this is in many ways a Muslim teen girl fantasy: from Jihad’s unique talents as an artist to the smart, attractive teen boy who’s interested in Islam and becomes Jihad’s loyal friend/ protector, there’s a lot of angst and just-under-the-surface romance (nothing explicitly haram, as there’s a lot of care to avoid this, but there is a fair bit of Jihad and Jamie talking alone together). This is also a magical realism book, which might not be everyone’s cup of tea, but I know my teenage self would have been all over this book! Fans of SK Ali’s Misfits series will adore this book as well.

Amina Banana and the Formula for Fairness by Shifa Saltagi Safadi [Chapter Book]

The Amina Banana series never fails to serve up an excellent story that’ll keep kids hooked!

In book 4, Amina is struggling with how unfair life can be, AND with the school science fair. As always, the author manages to weave together a rich, layered story that covers themes that all kids will relate to: unfairness, jealousy, making some (big) mistakes… but also faith, forgiveness, and understanding.

I ADORE that there’s a scene where Amina wakes up to her grandmother praying tahajjud, proving once again that it is absolutely possible to include powerful Islamic representation in a kids’ story in a way that is organic and adds to the story without being preachy or annoying. There’s also a science activity included, as well as a recipe, and an explanation of the Islamic lunar calendar!

The Amina Banana series needs to be a staple for all chapter book readers – filled with heart, STEM, and most importantly, Islamic values that are never compromised.

Papa and the Missing Something by Shieda Majeed

“Papa and the Missing Something” by Shieda Majeed is a unique, incredibly sweet story about a man whose life is perfect… almost. Something inside him is missing, and he’s not quite sure what it is. This adorably illustrated picture book follows Papa and his family as they search for the “missing something.”

This is the first time I’ve ever come across a kid’s book specifically about parents coming to Islam, and this book is beautifully done! I did find it a titch long, but it should keep the attention of kids 7+ for sure. This is such a beautiful concept to see in Muslim kidlit, and it’s wonderful to see the spectrum of authentic Muslim representation mashaAllah.

…

What books have you added to your summer reading list?

Related:

From The MuslimMatters Bookshelf: Summer Reads For All Ages

From The MuslimMatters Bookshelf: Your Go-To Summer Reading List

The post From The MuslimMatters Bookshelf: Your Summer 2026 TBR appeared first on MuslimMatters.org.

Darius is sent on a journey that shows him sights he never would have imagined, as well as feelings he did not expect.

Read Part 1 | Part 2 | Part 3 | Part 4 | Part 5 | Part 6 | Part 7 | Part 8 | Part 9 | Part 10 | Part 11 | Part 12 | Part 13 | Part 14 | Part 15 | Part 16

* * *

Back Into the Fold

The next few months passed without serious incident. Our caravans were attacked a few times, but the attacks were clumsy and undermanned. I knocked a man out, broke another’s leg, and slashed another’s hamstring, hobbling him, but I did not kill anyone. This was deliberate on my part. After what had happened last time, I wanted no more blood on my hands, no murdered souls haunting my nightmares.

I began praying again. Ahmed welcomed me back into the fold without comment. By then I had earned a reputation within Five Stars Trading Company as disciplined, reliable and unusually calm under pressure. I arrived to work early, maintained my equipment carefully, avoided gambling houses and never drank. I also fought well enough that older guards stopped treating me as a curiosity.

Back in Deep Harbor, I was summoned unexpectedly to the company offices overlooking the western canal.

Shah Suliman stood waiting beside a large map covered in ink markings and trade routes.

“You read maps?” he asked abruptly.

“Not really, but I learn quickly.”

“But you are literate?”

“Yes, of course.”

One eyebrow lifted slightly. “Interesting. Come, let me show you.”

Using a slender stick, he pointed out to me the features of the map: mountains, rivers, provincial and national boundaries. He showed me the scale that indicated the relationship to actual distances, and the green lines that represented standard Five Star routes.

Then he pointed toward a route stretching westward farther than any I had traveled before.

“Have you heard of Persia?”

I twisted my mouth to the side and thought. “Far away land. A Muslim land. Where the flying carpets come from. And pistachios.”

Suliman laughed loudly at that. “Carpets indeed. Not flying, but yes, the Persians make intricate, durable and iconic carpets. Pistachios, as you say, and other nuts as well, along with dates and dried apricots, and a variety of spices. And horses! You have never seen horses like these, Darius. The Emperor’s horse is one we brought from Persia.”

“It sounds amazing. Have you actually been there?”

“Yes. And you are going in six days. There will be sixty wagons. The route is dangerous, and the potential for profit immense. We are sending Sergeant Karim with you.”

For a moment I thought I had misheard him. Then a smile crept over my face.

“You are sending me to Persia?”

He clapped me on the shoulder. “Prepare well. The war has cut into our profits. We are hurting more than anyone knows. This expedition must not fail.”

I felt honored that Suliman had confided in me, and vowed that, for my part, I would not fail him.

Sixty Wagons

The caravan that departed Deep Harbor was unlike anything I had ever seen. Sixty wagons stretched along the road like a moving village. There were merchants, translators, scribes, cooks, teamsters, laborers and guards, along with more than three hundred horses and pack animals. Every wagon carried cargo worth a small fortune. All the recruits I had trained with were together on this voyage.

As we rolled out through the city gates, I looked back only once. Deep Harbor’s walls receded behind us, then vanished into the morning haze.

At first the journey felt much like any other route. We crossed familiar provinces, camped beside familiar roads, and listened to the same complaints from merchants who thought the world existed solely to inconvenience them. They complained that the horses smelled, the road was too rough, and that we took too many breaks or not enough.

A common complaint was that the guards were not subservient enough. They wanted us to bring them food or drink, wash their clothing and polish their boots. We were not there for that. Our job was to be vigilant.

I had a small dual-language copy of the Quran with me. In the evenings, when I was off shift, I sometimes spent time reading it, working my way through the Arabic letters as Zihan Ma had taught me, learning the shorter surahs in Arabic, and memorizing the meanings in my language.

I sometimes noticed Weili watching me as I did so. Oh, she pretended she was brushing her horse or mending a tear in her tunic, but every now and then she’d glance my way. This made me smile. Weili was a beautiful young woman. There were a lot of men in the caravan who wanted her company, both merchants and guards. All were older than me, and some had money. The fact that she chose to spend her time spying on me as I read the Quran filled me with a warmth I did not care to examine.

When I had memorized a surah, I would sit with Ahmed, and he would check and correct my pronunciation, and tell me something about the tafsir or asbab an-nuzul.

Thin Air

The landscape began to change.

Mountains rose higher than I had ever seen or imagined. We crossed over a high altitude pass where, bundled like sheep, we shook with cold and gasped in the thin air. Several horses died of pneumonia and were slaughtered for food, though the Muslims among us did not eat of that.

Longwei, the poet of our group, composed a short poem:

Six horses drink from a mountain stream.
Two are soon to die.
A dragonfly buzzes from wagon to wagon.
The mountains watch us pass
without a whisper or a nod.

Meilin groaned. “If this journey does not kill me, old man, your poetry will.”

As for me, I found Longwei interesting. In the evenings when the caravan camped for the night, the guards took shifts keeping watch and guarding the perimeter. When Weili and I were not on shift, we often joined Longwei around his campfire. He was the eldest of us by far – perhaps sixty years old – and, by his account, as well travelled as anyone in the world. He claimed to have studied horsemanship in Mongolia, kung fu at the Shaolin temple, philosophy at a great university of the west, and poetry with a disciple of the tradition of Su Dongpo.

I could not guess at the truth of all that, except for the martial arts. I had noticed that Longwei always woke with a groan, clutching his back and rubbing his knees. Once he warmed up, however, he went through a series of morning exercises that looked much like my own Five Animals warmup. In combat, he was not acrobatic or flashy, but rather highly efficient in his movements. That kind of efficiency only came from training. His movements were in fact reminiscent of snake style, and reminded me of how my father used to move.

Often Meilin joined us around the fire, though I could not imagine why, since all she did was poke fun at Longwei.

A Drinker and Gambler

As we moved on, I saw rivers wider than any in my homeland, and valleys so fertile it seemed that they could feed the world. We passed through cities whose names I could not pronounce and whose markets sold foods that were gloriously spicy and strange. One town was famous for melons so large that a small child could sit inside one. Another sold sweet cakes flavored with rose petals.

Longwei composed:

A river as blue as a lung full of air.
Rose petal cakes.
A moment in time
fading to the sound
of the wagon wheels.

I liked it. It made me feel wistful and slightly sad. Yet Meilin cackled and said, “Those cakes went to your head, old man. Who do you think you are, Li Bai, the Poet Immortal? As for me, I welcome the sound of the wagon wheels, for with every moment it takes us closer to our destination.”

As for Kuangren, the little punk was missing in action half the time. He might be the son of a noble, trained in riding, etiquette, and archery, but he was a degenerate drinker and gambler. He owed money to a score of merchants and guards, and carried a flask from which he drank like a pelican, even when on duty. Our caravan did not pass through cities – we skirted them – but whenever we were within a few hours riding of one, Kuangren inevitably disappeared. Sometimes he returned looking spooked, as if someone were chasing him.

Other times he came back whistling, often with a trinket he hadn’t possessed before. He might return with a silver ring, silk gloves, a carved pipe or a jade figurine. When questioned, he refused to say how he’d come upon them. We guessed that he was either a thief, or – judging by the smell of perfume that sometimes clung to him – a seducer of wealthy women.

“Do you not care,” I asked Sergeant Karim once, “that Kuangren might be a thief?”

“I despise thievery,” he replied, “but first, I cannot prove anything, and second, what I care about is this caravan. If he steals from someone on the caravan, or if his thievery imperils us, I’ll deal with it. Otherwise, it’s not actionable.”

I did not know how Karim would “deal with it,” but I was sure it wouldn’t be anything pleasant.

Alhamdulillah

One night as I sat with the Quran, Weili approached me openly.

“Would you teach me?”

“Sit,” I told her, and without further discussion I began to teach her Surat Al-Fatihah.

“Zihan Ma taught me,” I told her, “that we begin every day with Bismillah, and lie down to sleep with Alhamdulillah. When Adam’s soul was breathed into his body, he sat up and sneezed, and said, ‘Alhamdulillah.’ This was the first word spoken by a human being, because it expresses the fundamental relationship between humankind and the Creator. We praise Him, and we are grateful to Him. Both of these attitudes are included in the word hamd.”

Weili smiled at me, and it was as if the sun had risen in the middle of the night.

“Darius, you’re very smart,” she said.

I blushed, and was grateful for the cover of night. “Not especially. I was fortunate to have a teacher.”

“My father taught me some things when I was small,” she said. “But I don’t remember. He was Muslim, but my mother was not. My family were farmers from the south. The invaders attacked our town. My father was killed, and my mother was taken captive. All my close relatives were slaughtered. I hid in a water urn and survived. I was sent to live with my aunt’s cousin in Deep Harbor. Her husband is an archery instructor. But he’s not Muslim.”

She said all this in an apologetic tone, and I felt deeply sad for her. I had often felt sorry for myself, but her story was far more tragic than mine. Yet she never complained. She rode tall in the saddle, practiced her archery, fought well when necessary, and cared for herself without asking for help from anyone.

That was the moment I began to fall in love with her.

The Birth

One evening the caravan stopped beside a stream. While we were making camp, I heard someone – a portly merchant with long, braided hair – say that one of the mares was acting strangely. I and a few other guards went to look. The other horses were feeding, but this mare was pacing, then lying down, then standing back up again. Her coat was slick with sweat.

“She’s in labor,” Weili said.

“Why would someone bring a pregnant horse on a caravan?” I asked.

She shot me a look. “It’s not always obvious. Don’t ask dumb questions.”

“Don’t we need boiled water, clean towels and I don’t know what else?”

“No,” Sergeant Karim said, arriving on scene. “Just back up and let the mare do her job.”

At that, a few dozen people stood at a respectful distance and watched as the mare gave birth, then licked the foal to clean away the birth fluids, and nudged the foal to breathe. Within an hour the foal was standing on wobbly legs. It was astounding, and all I could say was subhanAllah.

The next day Longwei recited a poem:

A mare knows how to clean the afterbirth.
A swallow builds a perfect nest.
Even turtles know where to bury their eggs.

Yet we humans walk where there is no path,
and often fail to earn our daily bread.
We kill from desperation,
and walk in darkness
in the midday sun.

Meilin groaned. “Just kill me now, please. Darius, do one of your insane moves and cut me in half with your sword.”

Coming out of the mountains, our caravan went south. We moved slowly as always, and the mare who had given birth – freed from the duty of carrying a rider or pulling a wagon, trotted alongside, as did the foal. The foal was brown with a white chest and white feet, and Weili named him White Chest, which I thought was a silly name, though I kept my opinion to myself. When White Chest became tired, he was ushered up a ramp onto a wagon, where he slept as the caravan rolled on.

A Barren Land

I kept thinking of Longwei’s poem. I had found the foal’s birth to be a beautiful and miraculous event, yet the same event had pushed Longwei’s mind to thoughts of loss and death. What had he been through to see the world that way? And what did he mean that we kill from desperation? I killed as a last resort, to protect the property of my employers. It was not an act of recklessness or despair.

We stopped at a river, and Sergeant Karim commanded us to fill every container we had with water. Continuing on, we passed through sparsely wooded foothills, then into a land of flat red earth that baked beneath the sun. When Sergeant Karim saw a man using the water generously to perform wudu, he punched him hard enough in the chest to knock the wind out of him. As the man lay gasping, Karim shouted, “A trickle only! Enough to wet your skin for wudu, no more! Any man who wastes water will be put on horseshit duty and cut to half rations.”

Trees in this land were scarce, and were twisted and stunted. In the villages we passed, everyone was barefoot. The men bore spears and hard stares, the women looked disconsolate and overworked, and the children had bloated bellies.

As we rode, Longwei recited another poem he’d composed:

A dry forest and a roasted plain.
A raven pecks at a monkey’s corpse.
I suddenly feel that I am dreaming
of my own future.

At this, Meilin laughed uproariously.

Kuangren gave a disgusted cluck of his tongue. “Why are you laughing? It’s the most depressing thing I’ve ever heard.”

Meilin grinned. “That’s what’s funny. The poet opens his mouth, and just when you think he might offer a wing of hope or a glimpse of heaven, he slaps you with a handful of baked earth.”

Weili, riding past, sitting upright and alert in the saddle, smiled. “That was well put. You are a poet too, Meilin.”

“Heaven forbid,” Meilin muttered.

The One I Missed

The foal, White Chest, grew quickly, and often ran madly up and down beside the caravan, making everyone laugh. At some point I realized that I was no longer lonely. I rarely thought of my parents, or of my aunt, Zihan Ma and Haaris. It wasn’t that I didn’t care about them. I loved them. But I was young, and every day was an adventure. There was always something new to see. And the job was demanding. I didn’t often have the luxury of daydreaming. By the time my head hit the pillow at night, my body was a wrung dishrag. I always fell asleep almost immediately.

The only one I truly missed was Far Away, which was strange. Why should I miss one mangy old cat more than the people who had taken me in and cared for me? Yet I did. I made dua for him after every salat: “Ya Allah, protect Far Away and care for him. Don’t let him run off or come looking for me. And let me see him again one day.”

One evening, after Karim caught two guards neglecting their horses, he marched the entire company into the camp enclosure and delivered one of his lectures.

“If your horse goes lame,” he growled, pacing before us, “the caravan slows down. If the caravan slows down, merchants lose money. If merchants lose money, Five Stars loses money. If Five Stars loses money, Shah Suliman becomes unhappy. And if Shah Suliman becomes unhappy, Karim becomes unhappy.”

He pointed at the guilty guards.

“You do not want Karim unhappy.”

“No, Sergeant,” everyone answered.

Karim was not satisfied. He paced up and down. “You all have grown lax,” he said at last. “We have not had a serious attack in some time. You have grown complacent. Men swapping shifts without permission, not oiling and sharpening their weapons, neglecting their horses, gambling.” He smiled at us, but it was like a tiger’s smile before it rips your throat open.

“It’s my fault,” he went on. “I’ve been too easy on you.” He pointed, and moved his finger along the line of men. “Not anymore. The next guard I catch neglecting any aspect of their duties, there will be consequences.”

I soon found out what those consequences were. I had often been astounded that Kuangren got away with half of what he did. One night, apparently, it was too much for Sergeant Karim. What happened next shocked me.

* * *

As-salamu alaykum dear readers. Just a quick note to assure you that Darius’s story is taking him far from where he began, but the road has not forgotten its destination. Stick with me, and inshaAllah we’ll get there together.

Come back next week for Part 18 – The Glory of Persia

Reader comments and constructive criticism are important to me, so please comment!

 

See the Story Index for Wael Abdelgawad’s other stories on this website.

Wael Abdelgawad’s novels – including Pieces of a Dream, The Repeaters and Zaid Karim Private Investigator – are available in ebook and print form on his author page at Amazon.com.

Related:

Kill the Courier |Part 1 – Hiding in Plain Sight

Moonshot: A Novel of Marriage, Love and Cryptocurrency

The post Far Away [Part 17] – The Caravan appeared first on MuslimMatters.org.

This Qurayshi woman remains anonymous, but her story features most prominently in the Qur’anic exegetical literature in connection with the well-known 20th ayah from Surah An-Nisa1. Her claim to fame was an incident in which she confronted ʿUmar ibn al-Khaṭṭāb (d. 23 AH/644 CE) for a policy he enacted while caliph that limited the amount of mahr (marital gift) a woman could request upon marriage. While the general contours of her story are well known, what is missing is a closer analysis of the transmitted historical narrations about this incident and the remarkable details they reveal about the changed cultural ethos of seventh-century Arabia regarding women. More significantly, when we use this incident as a benchmark to measure women’s access, visibility, and advocacy in North American mosques, it reveals critical gaps that need to be addressed within our Muslim communities.  

Pre-modern and modern exegetical heavyweights alike often affirmingly cite this anonymous woman’s advocacy in connection to the meaning of the verse:

“If you desire to replace a wife with another and you have given the former a heap of gold (as a dowry), do not take any of it back. Would you take it unjustly and very sinfully?” [Surah An-Nisa, 4:20].

Most narrations focus on her success in convincing ʿUmar ibn al-Khaṭṭāb to rescind his policy to institute a cap on the mahr based on the merit of her argument. According to one narration, ʿUmar instituted a policy that put a 400-dirham limit upon the marital gifts given to women upon marriage.2 The Qurayshī woman argues that a correct understanding of Q. 4:20 demonstrates the permissibility of  women requesting a high marital dower (even heaps of gold), if they so wish. 

It is interesting to note that not a single exegete (mufassir) cites this story with any sense of rebuke, chastisement, or dissent to this woman’s advocacy. From Ibn Atiyya (d. 541/1147), Fakhr al-Dīn al-Rāzī (d. 606/1209), and Muḥammad ibn Aḥmad al-Anṣārī al-Qurṭubī (d. 671/1273) to Ismāʿīl ibn ʿUmar Ibn Kathīr (d. 773/1371) and Muḥammad al-Ṭāhir ibn ʿĀshūr (d. 1973), among many others, exegetical heavyweights cite this incident affirmingly. The woman’s success in advocating her case and ʿUmar’s subsequent repeal of his policy becomes further evidence for classical exegetes that it is permissible for women to request a high or excessive marital gift. The primary piece of evidence they reference is the verse itself, since God does not use anything that violates divine law as an example.3 Accordingly, the verse’s example of a man giving his bride a qinṭār (a large amount of wealth) for her marital gift means it is valid to do so.  

Yet what is more important than the validity of women’s right to request as high a mahr as they choose, are the critical lessons offered by this historical incident on the ethics of dissent, a community’s inclusivity of individuals impacted by policies, women’s advocacy, and cultivating an egalitarian cultural ethos. There are many relevant lessons to glean from the historical encounter between this anonymous Qurayshī Arab woman and ʿUmar ibn al-Khaṭṭāb (God be pleased with them) during his reign as caliph of the Muslim empire between 634 to 644 CE. The woman’s ability to offer a dissenting opinion to his policy reflected a new cultural ethos that valued women’s perspectives, intelligence, knowledge, and contributions. I will provide a brief analysis of the historical narrations (riwāyāt) that have been transmitted about this woman’s advocacy and ʿUmar’s response, God be pleased with them. 

In the twentieth-century commentary of Muḥammad al-Ṭāhir ibn ʿĀshūr (1879–1973), Al-Taḥrīr wa’l-Tanwīr, he narrates the following version of this historical incident: 

For this reason, when ʿUmar ibn al-Khaṭṭāb delivered a sermon in which he forbade excessive dowries, after he descended [from the minbar], a woman from Quraysh said to him, “O Commander of the Faithful, is God’s Book or your statement more worthy of being followed?” He replied, “Indeed, the Book of God. Why is that?” She replied, “You have just forbidden people from charging a high amount [al-mughālāt] in women’s dowries, although God states in His Book: even if you have given her a great amount of gold, do not take any of it back” (Qur’an 4:20).

ʿUmar responded, “Everyone has a greater understanding [afqahu] than ʿUmar.” In another narration, he said, “A woman is correct and a leader is mistaken—and God’s help alone is sought [wa-llāhu al-mustʿān].” Then he returned to the pulpit and said, “I had previously restricted you from being excessive in the dowries of women; however, let every man do with his wealth as he wishes.”4

The first lesson to be gleaned from this riwāya (narration) is the nascent Muslim community’s inclusivity of women in this space where ʿUmar declared this new policy. All the historical narrations about this incident demonstrate that this woman was in the vicinity to hear ʿUmar’s ruling and publicly challenge this policy. Furthermore, the historical records underscore the woman’s accessibility to ʿUmar (God be pleased with them) such that she could respond to him when he declared this new ruling. She did not struggle to hear his policy from a remote room with a dysfunctional sound system. She did not have to walk around a building to find the men’s section. She did not have to walk down a second-floor balcony reserved for women or seek permission to speak to ʿUmar ibn al-Khaṭṭāb . She did not have to write a letter to his secretary to request a meeting with him. In only one of the exegetical reports I have come across, that of  Ibn ʿAṭiyya in his commentary, al-Muḥarrar al-Wajīz fī Tafsīr al-Kītāb al-ʿAzīz, he writes that the woman approached ʿUmar from “behind the people” (min warāʾ al-nās)5. One of the narrations in Ibn Kathīr’s commentary notes that she was standing in the rows of women, which nonetheless indicates she was close enough to be heard (فقالت امرأة من صفة النساء)6.

Whether the woman approached him from behind the men or not, the transmitted reports unquestionably affirm the woman’s ease of access to ʿUmar ibn al-Khaṭṭāb . This accessibility is even more remarkable when we consider that ʿUmar (God be pleased with him) was not only functioning in his capacity as an imam, but as head of state, the caliph of the Muslim empire. The anonymous woman’s ability to offer a dissent to his policy reflected an egalitarian cultural ethos that valued women’s voice and perspective. 

These observations give rise to the following questions: How many Muslim women today would have access to a religious leader if she disagreed with a statement or policy he issued? Could this exact scenario be replicated in our own mosques today in North America? How many women would be rebuked, shunned or herded away if they wanted to be publicly heard in a mosque? Furthermore, do the structures and designs of our mosques today facilitate women’s access to the space where policies are being enacted? Or rather, do our mosques exclude women from spaces where policies are being enacted, even when those policies impact them directly? 

Second, and quite significantly, the reports cited in the exegetical literature affirm that the woman’s understanding of this ayah was correct. Although we don’t know her name, we know that her skilled legal reasoning changed a policy that may have impacted women for centuries thereafter. If God states in His Holy Book that upon divorce, men cannot take back a penny of what they’ve gifted their wives in the form of mahr, even if it was a heap of gold, this indicates that women could ask for heaps of gold, which would be deemed excessive in that historical context. In al-Qurṭubī’s commentary on this verse, he notes that scholars have agreed that there is no limit to the amount a man could gift his wife as a marital gift (mahr), but they disagree on the minimum amount7. Therefore, this woman’s advocacy and ʿUmar’s subsequent repeal of his policy have shaped legal scholars’ understanding of this issue for centuries thereafter.  

Third, ʿUmar’s response to this woman offers many lessons in effective leadership. First, he took the time to listen to her. Although he was a busy man and of great status, he didn’t see it “beneath him” to hear out this woman’s argument. Second, he displayed great intellectual humility by submitting that she was correct and that he made a mistake. Third, he immediately corrected his mistake, validating her judgment to subsequent scholars who analyzed this incident. He didn’t make excuses about how it would make him look or claim “it’s too late now.” He simply walked back up the minbar and rescinded his policy. According to a narration in Ibn Kathīr’s commentary on Q. 4:20, ʿUmar states, “I had forbidden you from increasing women’s marital dowers beyond 400 dirhams. However, whoever desires, let him give from his wealth whatever he likes.8” The narrations underscore ʿUmar’s remarkable intellectual humility, as he allegedly states, “God forgive me; everyone is of greater understanding [afqahu] than ʿUmar.” In another narration, he states, “A woman was correct, and ʿUmar was mistaken.9”

Fourth, the different transmitted narrations about this historic incident reveal the female companions’ deep level of trust in divine justice and their direct spiritual connection to God. Like the female companion whose advocacy forms the backdrop of Sūrat al-Mujādila (Khawla bint Thaʿlaba ), this female companion demonstrates a deep spiritual connection to God and her faith in divine justice. In one of the narrations in Ibn Kathīr’s tafsīr, after ʿUmar declares, “Do not increase the dowries of women, even if she is the daughter of a nobleman,” the tall Qurayshī woman says to ʿUmar , “That is not for you [to limit] (mā dhāka laka).10” 

Her statement, “that is not for you [to limit],” reflects more than meets the eye. Like other female companions during the prophetic period, this seventh-century Qurayshī woman felt a deep, personal connection to God and recognized Muslim women’s rights as divinely ordained. She and other female companions, based on other historical reports, did not view the male companions as the arbiters of their faith or deliverer of their rights. They understood that their rights came directly from God. 

The woman’s statement, “That is not for you [to limit]” reflects a recognition that the marital dower (ṣadāq) is ultimately a legal right that God Himself bestows upon women. The bride has full autonomy to determine what her ṣadāq should be, and the woman is the sole recipient of this gift. This anonymous Qurayshī woman’s ability to recognize God as the ultimate arbiter of women’s rights reflects her deep intellectual insight. Centuries later, legal-minded scholars arrived at a similar conclusion. For example, in his commentary on Q. 4:4, al-Qurṭubī notes writes, “Al-Ṣadāq [marital gift] is a gift from God to women.11” Similarly, the thirteenth-century exegete al-Rāzī, a logician and philosopher known for his philological tafsīr, deduces a similar understanding as the Qurayshī woman – that God is the one who has gifted women the ṣadāq. In his commentary on Q. 4:4, al-Rāzī asks, “From whom is the mahr a gift [ʿaṭiya]?” He notes that there are two possibilities. It is either a gift from the husband or a gift from God. In support of the second possibility, he writes, “Others have stated that God gave both men and women the shared benefits of marriage, such as sexual enjoyment and procreation, yet God ordained this gift from the husband to the wife, so it is a gift from God [to women] from the outset.12” 

This seventh-century Muslim woman’s response to ʿUmar , “that is not for you [to limit],” would come across to many Muslims today as offensive or insulting. Can we imagine, for a moment, a woman telling a religious leader in our Muslim community today that a specific matter was beyond his authority to determine? Instead of viewing this statement as insulting or offensive, we should view it as an affirmation of this woman’s tawḥīd, her belief in one God with whom there are no other sovereigns. This is perhaps the most important quality that we need to revive in our own communities today. The recognition that our loyalty belongs to God first and foremost, and that human beings can never stand as intermediaries in our relationship with God. Accordingly, when humans fail to deliver justice, whether they are religious leaders or not, this should not shake our faith but invigorate our search and advocacy for divine justice.  

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1    https://legacy.quran.com/4/202     Ibn Kathīr, Tafsīr al-Qurʾan al-ʿAẓīm, 1:580.3     Ibn ʿAṭiyya, al-Muḥarrar al-Wajīz fī Tafsīr al-Kītāb al-ʿAzīz, 2:29, aal- Qurṭubī, al-Jāmiʿ li-Aḥkām al-Qurʾan, 6:163; Ibn ʿĀshūr, al-Taḥrīr wa’l-Tanwīr, 2:288. Ibn ʿĀshūr states, “This exaggerative term indicates that giving a large amount (qinṭār) is legally permissible (mubāḥ sharʿan) because God does not give as an example something that the Sharīʿa condemns, such as the forbidden” (2:288). 4    Ibn ʿĀshūr, al-Taḥrīr wa’l-Tanwīr, 2:288-9.5    Ibn ʿAṭiyya, al-Muḥarrar al-Wajīz fī Tafsīr al-Kītāb al-ʿAzīz, 2:29.6    Ibn Kathīr, Tafsīr al-Qurʾan al-ʿAẓīm, 1:580.7    al-Qurṭubī, al-Jāmiʿ li-Aḥkām al-Qurʾan, 6:166-7. 8    Ibn Kathīr, Tafsīr al-Qurʾan al-ʿAẓīm, 1:580. He states, “إني كنت نهيتكم أن تزيدوا النساء في صداقهن على أربعمائة درهم، فمن شاء أن يعطي من ماله ما أحب.”9    Ibn Kathīr, Tafsīr al-Qurʾan al-ʿAẓīm, 1:580.10    Ibid.11    Al-Qurṭubī, Al-Jāmiʿ, 6:44.12    Al-Rāzī, Mafātīḥ al-Ghayb, 5:148.

The post The Woman Who Corrected Umar: Mahr, Tafseer, and Advocacy appeared first on MuslimMatters.org.

From the moment that the first ayah of the Qur’an was revealed – “Iqra!” – reading has been a foundational part of the Islamic tradition. The Qur’an was the first book established by the Muslim community, heralding the beginning of a long, rich literary tradition. The early Abbasid era marked a true love affair between Muslims and books, which in turn led to the establishment of public and private libraries across the Muslim world (pg 8-9, on the love of books in the Islamic tradition). The Great Library of Baghdad, housed in Bayt al-Hikmah, was one of the world’s largest public libraries and its destruction by the Mongols remains the source of much grief. That was then – but what about now?

Libraries continue to play a deeply important role in society. Reading remains a signifier of emotional intelligence as well as intellectual knowledge. Unfortunately, we find that many Muslims discount the value of reading, especially fiction, without understanding that even fiction exists in our historic tradition. Not all fiction is “haram”! At the same time, Muslim parents, especially in the West, often bemoan that their children are always on screens, or consuming unIslamic content. Admittedly, the cost of books has gone up (along with groceries, gas, and everything else!)… So where are we supposed to get halal Muslim books from without bankrupting ourselves? 

Cue the concept of a local Muslim library. Imagine a resource where books by Muslims, for Muslims, can be found in one place, free of cost for patrons! While this sounds amazing, someone has to actually put one together. AlHamdulillah, more and more Muslim communities are taking on the responsibility of establishing libraries in our communal spaces. As one of those who took on this project in my own community, I’ll be sharing an outline of what you need to know before you go about creating a Muslim library of your very own.

Intention/ Purpose

What kind of library do you want to establish? This might sound like a silly question, but the truth is that there’s a world of difference between an Islamic library and what I call a “Muslamic” library. Islamic libraries are focused on Islamic content; that is, Islamic knowledge across various genres, maintaining a strict adherence to solely what is Islamically correct. This has incredible value of its own, and is a fantastic resource for parents wanting to share knowledge with their children, with laypeople seeking to increase their own knowledge of Islam, and for students of knowledge or scholars who need access to Islamic texts that may be difficult or unaffordable to purchase on their own.

A “Muslamic” library, on the other hand, will contain fiction, including novels that involve Muslim characters, but – as fiction often does – include stories, events, and characters which reference or engage in things that aren’t strictly “halal.” That doesn’t mean those novels are encouraging haram things, but that they present actions or situations in the context of a character’s development, or simply referencing things that do happen in real life. This can also include genres such as fantasy, which aren’t teaching about Islamic beliefs around the ghayb, but are flights of imagination and whimsy. And yes, we’ve already talked about whether Harry Potter is haram! Muslamic libraries have the benefit of presenting diverse characters and situations that readers can experience through storytelling, providing emotional depth and insight. As for determining what’s “halal enough” to include in a Muslamic library, this will be covered in the section on how to select books for your library.

As you consider what kind of library you want to build, think about who your target audience is. Is it children or adults? Students at a serious madrasah, or just kids who yearn for stories where they can see themselves reflected? Parents who need stories to tell their kids at bedtime, or Muslim homeschoolers and educators? Students of knowledge and scholars, or the average Muslim? The answers to these questions will help you refine the process of building your library and determine what your priorities should be in terms of choosing the right kinds of books to include. 

Location and Pitching the Project

Do you have a location for your library? Where will you start this project? Will it be a religious space, like a masjid or Islamic center, or be part of a Muslim school, or will it exist in an entirely separate third space? Do you have authority within the space, or do you need to seek the approval of a masjid/ organization board? Who has final say over the books chosen?

All of these factors will impact how your library is set up, and the extent of flexibility you will have in curating the library, as well as accessibility to the library itself. Often, you will have to pitch the idea of the library to multiple organizations/ masaajid, as not everyone is interested in the idea of a public library (or the potential liabilities involved). Ensure that you have a thoughtful, detailed pitch to present! Demonstrate that you’ve thought this through, have done your research, and have an action plan for implementation and maintenance. 

Selecting Books

Great, you have a place to set up shop! Now, how are you going to choose the books to include in your library? The first point to remember is who your target audience is – that will immediately narrow down the types of books that you’ll be acquiring to start the library. For an Islamic library, are you a subject matter expert? If not, ensure that you have at least one or two people who are, as this will require filtering out work that is passed off as “Islamic” but may in fact be deeply problematic. Along these lines, what are the affiliations of the location your library will be located in? If it’s a masjid, do they have strict rules around the types of content that they will host? For example, if it’s a Salafi masjid, will they allow works by non-Salafi scholars? Books on tasawwuf? Books on fiqh based on specific madhaahib? On the flip side, is it a masjid that is completely anti-Salafi, or stringently adhering to one madh’hab? Your book selection will be thus constrained by the organization that you’re dependent on for location.

If you’ve got more flexibility around choosing books, especially if you’re able to have a “Muslamic” library instead, you still need to think about how you’ll be selecting books and determining what’s acceptable and what’s not. Not every book written by someone with a “Muslim” name is okay! There are many books (including kids’ books!) out there that explicitly promote haram relationships, belittle the Shari’ah, have internalized Islamophobia, or other problematic elements. On the other hand, there are many books that will mention these things without promoting them, but as part of the context/ setting/ plot/ character development, with characters who will then change for the better. There are also books which may not exactly promote the haraam, but simply incorporate them as part of the story without passing a value judgement on them.

You will need to consider different genres, age groups (e.g. toddler books, picture books, early reader, middle grade, young adult etc.), your own community’s culture and approach to literature, and what to do if a library patron complains! However, you don’t need to start from scratch – one very valuable resource to turn to are Muslim book reviewers, who do the hard work of going through lots of different books and sharing their reviews of craft and halal-ness. Specific accounts (and websites) that are dedicated to this purpose include The Islamic School Librarian, MuslimKidsBookNook, and my own book reviewing account, as well as Goodreads.com, where you can see reviews from readers around the world. There are also many others involved in the “Muslim bookstagram” space online, so it’s worth doing your research to ensure that you’re getting a full picture of each book selected. And yes… you will need a lot of time for this part!

Funding/ Getting books

You’ve gotten approval, you’ve even decided your criteria for selecting books… Now how are you going to actually get the books you want? Most libraries have a combination of streams: donations (in the form of people donating books – which you’ll need to check for appropriateness and physical state – or money given specifically for the library); an allowance provided by the masjid/ Islamic organization to purchase books and other associated library expenses (bookshelves, software etc.); paying out of pocket by yourself (this gets VERY expensive, very fast!); and the final option – applying for grants! Depending on the country/ city/ locale you live in, there may be government or non-profit grants offered towards “arts and culture” programming. It’s absolutely worth applying for these! AlHamdulillah, my own Islamic center’s library received a local arts and culture grant that paid for our library software as well as a fair bit set aside for books. Regular funding is extremely important in order to continue buying new books, as well as replacing lost or damaged books (which happens a lot). 

As you think about how you’ll pay for books, you’ll also need to create a budget based on the funding that you have available. How many books do you want to start with in order to launch the library? Do you have a monthly allowance that you can use to purchase a certain number of books each month? Or can you splurge and buy a hundred books right off the bat? A budget will be important in order to keep track of ongoing expenses as well, and being able to determine how much you’ll need on a monthly or annual basis to maintain the library.

When purchasing books, be creative and look for various options. You don’t have to buy everything new, or from Amazon! Websites such as BookOutlet, BookDepot, ThriftBooks, and AbeBooks are all valuable resources for purchasing heavily discounted books. Don’t disregard your local thrift store, library sales, or used bookstores either – you’ll be surprised at what kinds of Muslamic books you can find there. You may also find it valuable to create a relationship with a local Muslim bookstore and get discounts. 

Systems and Maintenance

You’re almost there! What else do you need to know for setting up your local Muslim library? This is where things get boring but important: the nitty gritty details. How is your library going to operate? When will the library be accessible to the public? What days/ times will the library be open? Who is going to physically be present to oversee the library’s operations? How will you keep track of the books? There’s a lot of questions, and only you will be able to answer most of them.

One of the most commonly asked questions that I can help answer is about library systems. You will need a way of keeping track of the books, and the most efficient way to do that is through a library software of some type. 

The Handy Library app is suitable for personal libraries or fairly small ones, and allows you to scan the barcodes on physical books to add them to your account’s database. For a one-time fee, you can add an unlimited number of books to your account, and keep track of people borrowing the book (which is information that you’ll have to input yourself). 

ResourceMate is a more expensive, but much more expansive library software program that connects to multiple other library databases around the world. You also have the option of purchasing custom barcodes and library cards for your library, which means that you can then operate like any other public library! There are many other options that you can research online as well and determine which is most suitable for your particular library, budget, and other constraints. 

Whatever software or system you choose, however, somebody will need to be responsible for maintaining the library itself. This means that there will need to be at least one designated person willing to show up in person, input each book into inventory, ensure that patrons are registered, keep track of books being borrowed, follow up on late returns (and contend with damaged and lost books!), and of course… dealing with library patron complaints (which are inevitable). 

All of this means that you’ll need to develop a library policy as well. What information is required for someone to register as a patron of the library? How will you be able to communicate with them for book returns? How will you hold them accountable for late fees or replacing lost and damaged items? Do parents need to sign an agreement that they, and only they, are responsible for the types of books their kids borrow? 

Building Upwards

Libraries aren’t just physical locations filled with books… they’re also a place of community and growth. Libraries often serve multiple purposes, especially in terms of providing community programming around literacy, life skills, and more. Don’t let your library remain stagnant – once you’re able to establish the library itself, consider how else you can utilize this space and community to benefit your community. Host Muslim authors for meet-and-greets, set up a book fair, organize monthly storytimes, and encourage kids to write their very own stories and share them with the community in the form of spoken word or open mic events. The potential is endless! And if you still have questions, consider booking a library consult with the MBR team!

A Final Word

The one piece of advice I want to leave you with is the importance of sincerity and of commitment. Always ensure that your intention is truly for the Sake of Allah, no matter what drama you have to deal with or challenges come your way. Don’t let people sour you off from work done for Allah’s Sake! Commitment goes hand-in-hand with sincerity. Don’t start a project just to lose interest and walk away from it; this creates a lack of trust in the community around being able to have long-lasting, meaningful projects. Of course, if life circumstances are such that you have no choice but to abandon the library, then so be it – but make sure you take the necessary steps to find a replacement who will take this project very seriously. Great projects don’t last without effort and commitment, and a library should ideally play a very special role in every Muslim community.

And… that’s it! 

Congratulations, you’ve done it! You’ve established a Muslim library of your very own! May Allah grant you barakah and tawfeeq in your efforts, and count it as a sadaqah jaariyah for all involved.

What questions do you still have about setting up a community library? What did I miss? What experiences do you have to share about your own library? What success stories can we learn from?

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The post How to Build a (Muslamic) Library appeared first on MuslimMatters.org.

A promising new life with Five Star brings friendship and the beginnings of prosperity, but the job exacts a bloody price.

Read Part 1 | Part 2 | Part 3 | Part 4 | Part 5 | Part 6 | Part 7 | Part 8 | Part 9 | Part 10 | Part 11 | Part 12 | Part 13 | Part 14 | Part 15

* * *

Books and Lessons

Seeing Zihan Ma shook me and almost made me question the path I was now on – but not quite. Still, it reminded me of all he had taught me: medicine, calligraphy, and deen. I knew in my heart that these things were treasures I should not lose. So I bought an old acupuncture text. The diagrams fascinated me. Sometimes I copied the meridian charts repeatedly onto scrap paper while trying to remember Zihan Ma’s lessons.

Other nights I practiced calligraphy by lantern light. My handwriting remained clumsy, but slowly improved.

In a secondhand Islamic bookstore near the grand masjid, run by an ancient scholar with a bent back and a beard that hung to his waist, I spent a considerable amount of money to buy two books I had seen on Zihan Ma’s bookshelf: the Forty Hadith by Imam Nawawi, and Tianfang Dianli (Laws and Rituals of Islam) by Liu Zhi. Some nights I would sit in the masjid from Maghreb to Ishaa, reading one of these books.

Three days after Zihan Ma visited me, a courier arrived at my room shortly before noon.

He wore the dark blue sash of Five Stars and carried himself with the stiff posture of a minor functionary who enjoyed the importance of his duties a bit too much.

“Darius Lee?” he asked.

I nodded.

“You are invited to lunch with Shah Suliman at the Golden Lotus Pavilion. Immediately.” He handed me a folded note bearing Suliman’s seal and departed without another word.

I stared at the note for some time after he left, wondering what Suliman might want with me. Had I done something wrong? Was I to be reprimanded? Was I in danger?

Respectable

The Golden Lotus Pavilion was one of the most expensive restaurants in Deep Harbor. I had never set foot inside it, though I had passed it many times, and seen the nobles and merchants entering and dining on the upper balcony, which overlooked the river.

I washed quickly, combed my hair and put on my best clothing, which consisted of dark trousers, a wool tunic, and my least worn cloak. I strapped my dao to my back – I never went anywhere without it. For footwear I had only the kung fu shoes and my regular traveling boots. Moving quickly, I cleaned the road dust from the boots with a damp cloth, rubbed a mixture of tallow and beeswax into the leather, then hurriedly buffed them with an old rag until they gleamed. I still looked like a caravan guard, but a respectable one.

Of course, “respectable” might mean something very different to the people who ate at the Golden Lotus. But my father had taught me never to think of myself as beneath anyone else. In their hearts and souls, not to mention when squatting on the chamber pot, the rich were no different than the poor, and were often worse in character.

Two men in embroidered jackets stepped forward the instant I reached the entrance stairs. One was as tall and wide as a door, while the other was fairly ordinary looking.

“This establishment is private,” the big one said.

“I’m meeting Shah Suliman.”

He looked me up and down openly. “And I’m having an affair with the Emperor’s daughter.”

“You’d better keep that to yourself.”

He clucked his tongue. “Get lost.”

“I’m serious,” I insisted. “Suliman sent for me.”

“Then he should have come to collect you personally. Enough.” He put a huge hand on my shoulder.

Anger rose inside me. I worked for Five Stars, I bled for them. Not to mention, I was a member of the Shah family, though no one but Suliman seemed to know that. For the first time I felt a sense of resentment that Suliman was honored, while I was treated like streetside trash because I wore travel boots and a worn cloak. Why should that be?

“Get your hand off of me,” I said flatly. “Unless you want to lose it. It won’t be the first arm I’ve taken.” I touched a hand to the hilt of my dao. “You might have heard of me. They call me Bridge Boy.”

Internally I cringed. I never thought I would use that stupid nickname to my advantage. But I could not leave Suliman thinking I had failed to show up for this meeting.

The big man flinched and yanked his hand back as if he’d touched fire. He reached for the baton he carried at his hip. But the other one stayed his hand. “I’ll go check it out,” he said.

Routine Questions

A few minutes later, during which time me and door-wide stared each other down, Suliman came down personally,

“I’m so sorry, Darius,” he said. “These men -” he snarled the world – “had instructions to let you through.”

“This kid is your lunch companion?” the big man said incredulously.

Suliman’s face went hard. “Know your place,” he said flatly. He turned to me. “Let’s go upstairs.”

My eyes moved from one person to the next. “I lost my appetite.”

Suliman nodded. “I understand. How about if we walk and talk?”

We walked back toward the canal district, and when Suliman gestured toward a cramped working-class noodle shop, I nodded. Inside, steam clouded the windows. Laborers crowded shoulder to shoulder at rough wooden tables while harried but nimble servers carried bowls back and forth with astonishing speed.

Suliman seemed comfortable. We ordered beef noodles, pickled vegetables and tea.

He asked me a series of fairly ordinary questions:

How were the routes?

Which guards worked well together?

Had Karim trained us well?

Did I prefer horseback escort or wagon duty?

I answered cautiously.

Finally he set down his chopsticks and said, “You’ve done well so far.”

“Thank you.”

“The reports on you are excellent.”

“You get reports on everyone?”

“Reports are written on everyone. I don’t read them all personally.”

“But you read mine.”

“We have investigated you thoroughly.”

Father’s Footsteps

I sat back, digesting this. “What do you mean?”

“My men followed your father’s footsteps. They went to the town where he raised you. They even saw your mother’s grave. We have confirmed that you are Shah Nur’s son.”

I crossed my arms and pursed my lips. “I don’t need anyone to confirm what I already know. And I don’t care what you or anyone else thinks.”

“Are you sure?”

I ignored that, as curiosity had overcome me. “Your men saw her grave? How does it look? And the farm? And Lady Two?”

“Your father’s farm has been incorporated into a larger company farm owned by a wealthy businessman. Your father’s house is gone, but the grave is well tended. I don’t know who Lady Two is.”

I wondered if the “wealthy businessman” was the Mayor. A strange hollow feeling opened inside my chest. I was happy that whoever had bought the farm had enough respect to maintain my mother’s grave. But I hadn’t thought of her much lately, and I felt my heart stutter with guilt. She was the only person in my life who had ever truly loved me, and I was forgetting her. I needed to go back there, to sit by her side and talk to her.

“I hear,” Suliman said, “that Zihan Ma came to see you. What did he want?”

I stiffened. “You know about that?”

“I know many things.”

I took a bite of food. “Not that it’s any of your business, but he wanted me to return to live with him.”

“Are you considering it?”

I frowned. “No. Not really.”

He stirred his tea slowly. “Perhaps you should.”

“Why?”

He met my eyes, and I sensed genuine unease beneath his calm demeanor.

“It may be better for you in the long run.”

“Why?”

“Well.” He stood, leaving a large sum of money on the table – a lot more than was needed in this establishment. “May Allah protect us all.”

“You’re leaving? What did you want to talk to me about?”

“Everything we just talked about. You’re doing well. Consider Zihan Ma’s request.”

With that, he left me sitting there with more questions than answers. I pocketed the wad of money and finished my food.

Scut Work

Five Star began sending me on longer routes, which paid better. Sometimes I was accompanied by one or two of the other rookies I’d trained with, and occasionally by all. Because we were rookies, we were given the scut work.

Veteran guards rode at the front and rear of the caravan where the danger was greatest and the prestige highest. We rookies spent our days doing everything else.

We tended the horses, cleaned tack, inspected hooves for stones and cracks, hauled water, unloaded wagons, set up camp, dug latrines, and stood the least desirable watches. If a merchant wanted help erecting a tent, we were summoned. If a wheel broke, we repaired it. If a horse threw a shoe, we chased it down and held it while the farrier worked.

Worst of all, whenever wealthy merchants needed to relieve themselves along the road, a guard was expected to accompany them into the bushes to ensure they were not attacked by bandits, wolves, or overly curious travelers.

I spent many hours standing awkwardly among trees while pretending not to notice what was happening a few paces away.

“It is an honorable profession,” Ahmed informed me solemnly one evening.

I threw a pebble at him.

Even so, I found myself enjoying caravan life.

The roads carried us through mountains, forests, villages, farms and bustling market towns. Every journey revealed something new. Sometimes Longwei pointed out distant kingdoms or trading routes. Sometimes Ahmed told stories from the war. Sometimes Meilin complained so loudly and continuously that everyone else rode faster simply to escape her.

Unexpectedly Cheerful

I found myself unexpectedly cheerful whenever Deng Weili was in my caravan. I told myself it was only because she was such a good shot, so having her around made us all safer.

Once she found me studying the acupuncture text after we’d made camp for the night.

“You study medicine?” she asked skeptically.

“A little.”

“And hurt people professionally?”

“I don’t think of it that way.”

She shook her head slowly. “You are a strange person, Darius Lee.”

There came a time when I started wondering about her. Where was she from? Where were her parents? What else did she like besides archery? What did she think about during the long days on the road?

I didn’t know why I wanted to know these things.

Ambush

The longer routes brought greater danger.

One autumn afternoon we were escorting a shipment of medicines and dyed textiles through a wooded valley north of Deep Harbor. The road wound between steep hills thick with pine trees, and as we entered the narrow pass, a feeling of unease settled over me. The place felt wrong somehow. There were no farmers working nearby fields, no travelers moving in either direction, and not even the sound of birds. The only noises were the creaking of wagon wheels, the clatter of harnesses, and the occasional snort of a horse.

Ahmed seemed to sense it too. He guided his horse alongside mine and scanned the ridgelines.

“Too quiet,” he muttered.

I nodded. I was about to ride forward and speak with one of the veteran guards when the attack came.

Arrows burst from the trees without warning. One struck the side of a wagon with a heavy thump. Another buried itself in the neck of a horse, causing the animal to rear and scream. Merchants shouted in panic as guards scrambled into position. Before the echoes of the first volley had faded, armed men came rushing down the slopes carrying spears, axes and crude swords.

Training took over before conscious thought could catch up.

The veteran guards moved immediately, forming a defensive line around the merchants and wagons. Ahmed was already shouting orders. Kuangren had an arrow nocked and flying before I had even drawn my dao. Somewhere behind us, Meilin charged forward with a double-headed sword she sometimes carried, screaming insults so colorful that several merchants later adopted them into their foul-language repertoires.

I remember glimpses more than a coherent battle: Deng Weili standing atop a wagon, loosing arrows with terrifying speed and accuracy; Longwei dragging a wounded merchant to safety; frightened horses straining against their reins; the smell of dust, sweat and blood mixing in the autumn air.

Then one of the attackers came for me.

He was older than I expected, perhaps forty years old, with a graying beard and the gaunt appearance of a man who had not eaten properly in months. He carried a wood axe and wore patched clothing that hung loosely from his frame. For a brief instant he looked less like a bandit than a desperate farmer.

Then he jabbed at my chest with the axe. It was a halfhearted attack, as if he were testing the strength of a river’s current

Wielding my dao, I knocked the weapon aside and slapped him in the face with the flat of the blade. I don’t know why I did that. Five Star policy was to kill bandits. Yet in the moment I chose to simply stun him. He staggered backward, shaking his head, but instead of retreating he tightened his grip and attacked again.

This time I struck his weapon arm hard with the spine of the blade, and heard his arm break. Remarkably, he did not drop the weapon. He groaned in pain and transferred the axe to his other hand.

“What’s the matter with you?” I shouted. “Don’t make me kill you! Just run away.”

Fear flashed across his features, then shame, only to be replaced with grim desperation.

“No choice,” he said.

He took a step forward and I knew that either he would die or I would.

As he swung the axe at my neck with all his strength, I stepped inside the radius of the swing, seized his weapon arm with my left hand, and drove my dao all the way through his torso. His eyes widened in shock and bewilderment, and his face went white. He stumbled backward and fell, taking my dao with him, pulling it free from my hand. That had never happened to me. I leaped forward, put my foot on the man’s thin chest, and with two hands pulled the dao free from his dead body.

A Little Too Well

I stood there with my dao hanging at my side, dripping blood, as the battle raged around me. What was the matter with this stupid old father? Why was he even here? I bent over him and shouted, “Why did you do that?”

My shout attracted another of the bandits, who came at me.

I went a little crazy then. I fell into River Flow, and moved from one bandit to the next, cutting, slashing and thrusting. I felt no fear. It was an exercise, a training session beneath the stars. When there were no more opponents I moved in a circle, dao ready, my eyes sliding over everything like those of a man who sees either nothing or everything. Men stood in a wide circle around me, but they were Five Star guards.

“Darius!” one of them shouted. “Snap out of it!”

It was Ahmed. I let River Flow go and stood up straight. There was a trail of dead bodies behind me. I looked from one to the next. I had killed six men.

“Darius,” Ahmed said again. “Sheath your weapon.”

I gave the dao a flick to clear the blood, took a rag from my pocket and gave it a quick wipe, and sheathed it.

The circle around me dissolved. The surviving bandits had fled into the hills, leaving their dead and wounded behind. The merchants celebrated their survival. The guards congratulated one another. Someone clapped me on the shoulder and called me a hero.

I did not weep or vomit. I felt empty. I sat beside a wagon, and Ahmed handed me a waterskin. His expression was solemn, not celebratory.

“You did the job,” he said quietly. “Maybe a little too well, but it’s what they pay us for.”

That night, I tossed and turned, and shouted in my sleep.

Cat Toy

The next day the caravan passed through a market town, and we guards were allowed to go shopping in shifts. I went to the market with Weili. She bought bootlaces, a silken cord for her hair, a comb made from buffalo horn, and tea.

I bought warm gloves, a sesame sweet, and a small bag of spiced nuts. When we passed a vendor who sold cat combs and toys, I found it funny. Would people really spend money on such things? I picked up a toy that consisted of a thin stick with a string and a little toy bird on the end. The bird had real feathers, and I dangled it, making it dance. With a smile, I wondered what Far Away would think of it. Would he turn up his nose, or go crazy for it? And Haaris, he would probably laugh his head off.

Suddenly my hands began to shake. I put the toy down and turned away, and before I could take a step, I burst into tears. I walked to a corner where the marketplace wall met the wall of a vendor’s stall, and slid down with my back against the wall. I covered my face with my arms as I shook and moaned. An arm went around my shoulders and Weili said, “It’s okay. Tomorrow’s a new day. Take it one day at a time.”

“What do you know about it?” I finally managed to ask.

She gave my shoulder a squeeze. “Too much.”

My life took a turn then. I found myself praying less. Ahmed would call us for salat and sometimes I’d join, but often I’d make an excuse. I tucked the Islamic books away under my bed back in Deep Harbor and stopped reading them.

I didn’t want to be this way. I looked back at the naive, eager young man who had spent his time reading Islamic books, and wanted to be that man again. Truly I did. But the blood that had flowed from the edge of my sword told the truth about me.

I was promoted from scut work to proper guard duty, up front with the veterans. I was the youngest one there. But no one questioned my age when robbers came screaming from the hills with blades in their hands, and I was in the front lines, fighting like a man who didn’t care if he lived or died. No one told me to choose between healing and violence when my sword saved those around me from murder.

The merchants respected me because I was useful. The guards respected me because I fought well and never boasted. Even Kuangren, who disliked nearly everyone, stopped mocking me after I pulled him off his horse during an ambush moments before a spear would have taken him through the chest.

At Ishaa time I listened to Ahmed reciting the Quran and he led the Muslims in salat. Tomorrow’s a new day, I would think to myself. I repeated the thought like a mantra as I fell into night after night of troubled sleep.

* * *

Come back next week for Part 17 – The Old Man

Reader comments and constructive criticism are important to me, so please comment!

 

See the Story Index for Wael Abdelgawad’s other stories on this website.

Wael Abdelgawad’s novels – including Pieces of a Dream, The Repeaters and Zaid Karim Private Investigator – are available in ebook and print form on his author page at Amazon.com.

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The post Far Away [Part 16] – Five Star Trading Company appeared first on MuslimMatters.org.

What if certain famous moments from the seerah have been misunderstood? A closer reading reveals a Prophet ﷺ of greater dignity and compassion than we sometimes give him credit for.

When Popular Retellings Go Wrong

Many Muslims first encounter the Seerah (the biography of the Prophet Muhammad ﷺ) through khutbahs, lectures, short reminders, and simplified retellings. These stories are often told with sincere intentions. Speakers want to make the Seerah vivid, emotional, and memorable. Over time, however, subtle embellishments can accumulate. Tone gets added where the narrations themselves are silent, and sometimes it’s the wrong tone. Motivations are assumed where they don’t exist in the text. Personalities become exaggerated and flattened at the same time. The Prophet ﷺ and his Companions slowly begin to resemble sermon archetypes rather than real human beings.

But Prophets are people too, and so were the Sahabah, and their actions were often more nuanced, compassionate, and reasoned than we give them credit for.

This is most certainly not to accuse scholars or speakers of dishonesty. Most are simply retelling the stories as they themselves inherited them. One popular lecture might say that the Prophet ﷺ was angry at a particular moment, and that gets repeated until it becomes an assumed part of the story. Yet when we return carefully to the original narrations, we often discover something richer, subtler, and more profoundly human than the popular retelling.

The real Seerah does not become less beautiful when stripped of exaggeration. It becomes more believable. More textured. More emotionally intelligent. The Prophet ﷺ does not need theatrical embellishment to inspire awe.

Let’s look at four case studies from the Seerah that illustrate how misinterpretation of emotion or motivations risks flattening the character of the Prophet ﷺand those around him:

1. Khabbab ibn al-Aratt and the “Angry Rebuke.”

Khabbab ibn al-Aratt was among the early Muslims who were tortured in Makkah. He was a slave, employed as a swordsmith. His “owners” pressed red-hot steel bars to his back until his flesh melted and ran. Later, hot iron was applied to his head. His screams could be heard throughout the neighborhood.

He was a teenager. Some say 16 or so, alone with no family.

Yet even with that, he found time to learn and teach the Quran, as evidenced by the famous story in which Umar ibn Al-Khattab was on his way to kill the Prophet ﷺ, and was informed that his own sister was Muslim. He stormed to her house, and learned that indeed she was Muslim – and, after quieting down and opening his mind, met the young man who had been teaching the Quran to his sister and her husband. This was none other than Khabbab. SubhanAllah! This young man had the courage and heart of a thousand men.

Yet the torture began to get to him, until he and others of the Sahabah came to the Prophet ﷺ to beg for relief.

In an authentic narration recorded in Sahih al-Bukhari, Khabbab himself relates:

We complained to the Messenger of Allah ﷺ while he was reclining in the shade of the Ka’bah, resting on a cloak of his. We said, “Will you not seek help for us? Will you not supplicate to Allah for us?”

He said:

“Among those who came before you, a man would be seized, and a pit dug for him in the ground. He would be placed in it, then a saw would be brought and placed upon his head, and he would be cut into two pieces, yet that would not turn him away from his religion. Iron combs would rake through his flesh and bones, yet that would not turn him away from his religion.

By Allah, Allah will complete this matter until a rider travels from Sana’a to Hadramawt, fearing none but Allah and the wolf for his sheep. But you are being hasty.”

Today, this incident is often retold as though the Prophet ﷺ became angry with Khabbab. I have heard this many times: “The Prophet became angry and stood.” Or, “The Prophet became angry and raised his voice.” One frequently hears dramatic descriptions of him sitting upright in irritation, sharply rebuking the Companions for their impatience, or sternly scolding Khabbab despite his suffering.

Astaghfirullah. La hawla wa la quwwata illa billah. Consider the character of the Messenger of Allah ﷺ. He was a deeply compassionate man – a mercy to the worlds. He was moved and touched by the plight of his Companions and used to make dua for them. Does it seem believable that he would become angry with a young, powerless man, a boy, who is being tortured in a way that would break 99.99% of human beings?

Step Back and Read More Carefully

Go back to the narration. It does not state that the Prophet ﷺ became angry. Nor does it say that his face changed color. It does not describe a harsh tone, nor any severe rebuke. Those details are supplied later by storytellers and speakers, perhaps unintentionally, in order to heighten the emotional intensity of the moment.

When we step back and read the narration carefully, another interpretation emerges, one more consistent with the Prophet’s known character: he was comforting and strengthening his followers.

If you think of it in these terms, it falls into place. Imagine, perhaps, the Prophet ﷺ taking Khabbab’s hand gently, and saying, essentially:

I get it. You are suffering badly. Take comfort in the fact that you are not the first. Worse was done to those before you, and they remained steadfast. But don’t worry, I assure you that Islam will prevail. There will come a time when we control all of this peninsula, and safety will reign. You will not have to endure this forever.

And when he said, “You are being hasty,” this is a gentle correction born from compassion and perspective. There is a difference between correcting someone and becoming angry.

I’m not saying it happened exactly that way. Rather, I’m offering a more plausible way to interpret the mood of the moment.

Read the narration again now. The emotional movement points toward reassurance rather than rebuke. The Prophet ﷺ does not belittle Khabbab’s pain. He does not tell him to stop complaining. He does not accuse him of weak faith. Instead, he gives him historical perspective, spiritual meaning, and hope.

Sometimes, without realizing it, speakers import harshness into the Seerah where the texts themselves are measured and dignified. The Prophet was a compassionate man who loved his followers. Let’s keep that in mind in our readings.

2. The Dumping of Refuse on the Prophet’s Back

Among the most painful incidents of the Makkan period is the famous narration in which the Prophet ﷺ was praying near the Ka’bah when some of the Quraysh decided to humiliate him publicly.

In the authentic narration recorded in Sahih al-Bukhari, Abdullah ibn Mas’ud relates that while the Prophet ﷺ was in prostration in front of the Ka’bah, Uqbah ibn Abi Mu’ayt – responding to a challenge by Abu Jahl – brought the entrails and filth of a slaughtered camel and dumped it on the Prophet’s back and shoulders while the Quraysh laughed among themselves.

Ibn Mas’ud watched the scene unfold, but he – as a person of low social status, without any tribal support in Makkah – was powerless to intervene. Someone went to fetch the Prophet’s daughter Fatimah , who was roughly ten years old at the time. She came rushing to remove the filth from her father.

At that point, the Prophet ﷺ stood and supplicated against seven of the leading men of Quraysh who had participated in the abuse, naming them one by one, which instilled great fear in them. (Ibn Mas’ud comments that he later witnessed every one of those men killed at the battle of Badr).

This incident is often retold today with additional dramatic details. One frequently hears that the refuse was so heavy that the Prophet ﷺ was physically unable to rise from prostration, trapped helplessly beneath the weight until Fatimah arrived to rescue him.

Yes? Have you heard this? “The refuse was so heavy that he could not stand up.”

What? Says who? The narration itself does not say this. It says only that the Prophet ﷺ remained in prostration until Fatimah came and removed the filth.

The Prophet ﷺ was not physically frail. The Seerah repeatedly describes his strength, endurance, and resilience. He wrestled the famous strongman Rukanah and defeated him. During the digging of the trench at Khandaq, he worked alongside the companions with his own hands under brutal conditions of hunger and exhaustion. When Salman al-Farisi sought to purchase his freedom, the Prophet ﷺ personally participated in planting the palm trees required for his emancipation. This was not a man unaccustomed to physical hardship or exertion.

Are these speakers saying that Uqbah was strong enough to carry the entrails, and ten-year-old Fatimah was strong enough to remove it, but the Prophet ﷺ was not strong enough to shrug it off if he wished?

Then why didn’t he do so?

What Actually Makes Sense

A more natural explanation emerges directly from the character of the Prophet ﷺ: he chose to remain calmly in prayer despite the abuse, rather than abruptly reacting to the humiliation his enemies intended to provoke. He was a dignified man, not shaken by insult or mockery. In prayer, his connection with Allah was absolute. Do you really think he would have broken his prayer and jumped up, outraged?

When we understand that he chose to remain in prayer, the moment takes on a completely different emotional tone. Instead of a scene of helpless panic, it becomes a scene of extraordinary composure. The Quraysh attempt to degrade him publicly, yet he remains focused upon his worship until the prayer is complete, or until his young daughter arrives, pushing her way through the onlookers, upset but undaunted; at which point he stands to show her the proper way to respond to such insults: by invoking Allah . He thereby complements her strength with his own, as is fitting, considering that Aishah bint Abi Bakr later said:

“I have not seen anyone more closely resemble the disposition, mannerism, and characteristics of the Messenger of Allah, peace and blessings be upon him, than his daughter Fatimah, may Allah honor her countenance. If she entered his home, the Prophet would stand for her, take her by the hand, kiss her, and seat her in his place. If the Prophet entered her home, she would stand for him, take him by the hand, kiss him, and seat him in her place.” – Sunan Abī Dāwūd 5217, Sahih by Al-Albani

I did not witness these events any more than the modern speakers I have criticized. My interpretation is just that: another interpretation. Yet it is one that – I would argue – is more consistent with the character and dignity of the Prophet ﷺ. If we understand him as having chosen to remain in prayer, the suffering he experienced is still real. The humiliation is real. But the Prophet ﷺ does not appear as humiliated by the cruelty of Quraysh. Even in moments of public abuse, he is a man of immense self-control and inner strength, as befitting the final Prophet and Messenger ﷺ to humanity.

 

[Come back next week for Part 2 – The Old Woman Who Could Not Enter Jannah]

* * *

 

Reader comments and constructive criticism are important to me, so please comment!

See the Story Index for Wael Abdelgawad’s other stories on this website.

Wael Abdelgawad’s novels – including Pieces of a Dream, The Repeaters and Zaid Karim Private Investigator – are available in ebook and print form on his author page at Amazon.com.

 

Related:

Reconstructing Our Understanding of the Sīrah

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The post Prophets Are People: Rethinking Misinterpreted Events From The Seerah [Part 1 of 2] appeared first on MuslimMatters.org.

As Darius embraces the dangerous freedom of caravan life, success and adventure cannot erase the ache of the home and family he left behind.

Read Part 1 | Part 2 | Part 3 | Part 4 | Part 5 | Part 6 | Part 7 | Part 8 | Part 9 | Part 10 | Part 11 | Part 12 | Part 13 | Part 14

* * *

Training to Exhaustion

I arrived before dawn at the Five Stars western compound, expecting a few drills and lectures before being handed a uniform and sent onto the roads. After all, I’d already won a fighting tournament, right?

First we were all de-loused, then given physicals. Upon learning of my cracked tooth, the screener gave me a note and sent me to a dentist two streets over, who applied a resin to seal my tooth. Then I returned to training.

It did not consist of easy drills and lectures. Instead, Sergeant Karim nearly killed us.

There were twenty-three candidates on the first day. To my surprise, five of these were women, including Deng Weili, the young woman who’d won the archery competition. Five Star apparently cared far more about ability than background..

“I don’t care if you squat to pee or not,” Sergeant Karim declared on the first day. “I don’t give a crap if you come from merchant or warrior families, or if you crawled out from under a rock. I don’t care if you are Muslim, Buddhist, Confucianist or if you pray to your own left foot. I don’t even care if you are a Korean lunatic, Tibetan navel-gazer or Uighur yak driver. All I care about is whether you can perform. The second I see weakness in you, the instant you say, ‘I cannot do it,’ you’re gone.”

Sifu Lu was not among the trainees. He apparently fought in the tournament only for status; he had a thriving school and I supposed he did not need the caravan guard job.

By the end of the second week, only eleven remained, myself and Deng Weili included. Sergeant Karim believed in exhausting men and women until their true character emerged.

“If you cannot function while tired,” he barked repeatedly, “then you cannot function at all.”

Weili made me nervous. She was nineteen years old, with intelligent dark eyes and an expression that often suggested she was privately amused by everyone around her. She wore her hair tied neatly braided and moved with quiet confidence whether holding a bow, climbing a wagon or cleaning horse tack. When she was around, I felt like I could not put my feet right.

There was another woman survivor as well. Her name was Meilin, which meant beautiful and delicate, which was funny because she was in her thirties, ruddy faced and a bit chubby, yet as muscular as an ox. I didn’t know if she grew up in a wushu school or what, but she could do cartwheels and flips, and could wield a variety of weapons with skill, including the three-sectioned staff and the broadsword. Yet she looked like a farm woman. Watching her was like encountering a young piglet, thinking how cute it was, and seeing it transform into a tiger before your eyes.

Fortunately, there was little time for male-female interactions, or any socialization at all. We recruits rose before dawn each morning. Out of the eleven, seven were Muslim, and were given the opportunity to pray Fajr. Then we ran the warehouse perimeter carrying sandbags on our shoulders. After prayer came conditioning drills: climbing ropes, hauling crates, lifting wagon wheels, carrying injured men on stretchers and pushing overloaded carts through mud pits behind the stables.

The Real Instruction

After breakfast the real instruction began.

Environmental awareness was Karim’s obsession.

“A caravan guard who notices danger after the attack begins is already dead.”

So he trained us to observe constantly:

• disturbed mud beside roads
• unnatural silence in forests
• travelers who avoided eye contact
• broken branches
• missing birdsong
• fresh horse dung
• suspicious movement on ridgelines
• hidden weapons beneath cloaks

Several times daily he deliberately tested us. One moment we might be marching normally; the next he would suddenly bark:

“How many blue doors did we pass?”

“Which horse is limping?”

“What was the innkeeper’s daughter carrying?”

“Who was watching us from the alley?”

Or we’d be marching through the forest, and a volley of dull arrows would come flying from an unseen location – once from archers perched high in the surrounding trees. These arrows could still bruise and cut, and in once case broke a man’s arm. He was not eliminated from the program, but was put on leave, and would have to repeat the training from the beginning when he recovered. So we were down to ten.

Wrong answers to questions earned punishment – usually running. There was always more running.

We learned hand signals for silence, danger, retreat, ambush and changing formation. Karim expected us to communicate almost wordlessly while moving.

“The roads are noisy,” he said. “People panic. Horses scream. Rain falls. Learn to use your eyes and hands.”

Group combat proved even harder. Individually many of the trainees were competent fighters. Together we were a disaster. Men collided with one another, blocked each other’s strikes or line of sight, broke formation and forgot their assignments entirely.

Karim beat us across the shoulders with a bamboo rod whenever we drifted out of position.

“You are guards,” he roared. “Not opera performers!”

The exception was a man in his thirties named Ahmed. He was slight of build, but with muscles as hard as stones sliding beneath his skin. He was a rare veteran of the war against the invaders, highly experienced in all battlefield tactics and maneuvers. Very little in the training program was new to him, and I was surprised they even put him through it. He was also a faithful Muslim, and would rally the rest of us to pray together every day. I made it a point to stay near him in training, watch him and learn from him.

Another vital lesson was that the merchants and cargo always came first. This was the prime responsibility of a Five Stars guard.

“If a guard dies protecting the wagons, that is acceptable,” Karim shouted. “If the wagons burn because a guard chased glory, he has failed.”

We practiced defensive wagon circles, escort formations and retreat drills. We learned how to shield the caravan merchants during attacks and how to prioritize wounded horses versus damaged cargo.

Horse Care and a Bad Companion

Horse care itself consumed astonishing amounts of time.

I had cared for and occasionally ridden the donkeys on the farm, but had never ridden a horse in my life. Suddenly I had to learn horse feeding schedules, hoof cleaning, recognizing sickness, repairing tack, calming frightened animals, and spotting exhaustion before collapse.

“An abused horse remembers,” Karim warned us. “And a dead horse can delay the entire caravan.”

I learned why Ahmed, our unofficial Imam, had been forced to go through this program: he had no experience with horses. He’d been an infantry soldier, and never even brushed or shoed a horse. It was odd to see this battle-hardened veteran shying away from a rearing horse. I showed him how to approach an animal gently, and speak to it softly to win its trust.

These concepts did not sit well with one of the recruits, a sallow-faced, mean young man named Kuangren, whose name meant madman. I supposed that was a street nickname that he was proud of. He was the son of a noble, skinny and bad tempered, and he always whipped the horses too hard.

“They’re stupid beasts,” he would complain. “You have to show them who’s boss.”

In spite of Sergeant Karim‘s earlier lecture about absolute egalitarianism, Kuangren often seemed to get a pass. Sure, the Sarge often shouted at him, but he never put his hands on the sullen young man. It was said that Kuangren had been excommunicated from his rich family for excessive drinking, gambling and consorting with prostitutes. He was arrogant and did not work well with others. I had to admit that he was good with a bow and a sword. Still, I found it baffling that he hadn’t been cut.

Afternoons were devoted to languages, customs and etiquette. That surprised me, as I had expected lessons in fighting, not lectures on understanding cultures. But Karim insisted: “A stupid guard starts wars. A smart one smooths over conflict.”

We learned basic greetings from neighboring regions, local taboos, negotiation etiquette and religious customs.

“In some places,” Karim explained, “showing the sole of your foot is an insult. Elsewhere refusing tea is offensive. Somewhere else touching a man’s wife, even bumping into her by accident in the marketplace, might get your throat cut. Learn the difference.”

One trainee laughed during the lecture.

Karim expelled him from the program. “Go live ignorant,” he said.

Nine of us were left. Then a boy, the youngest of us at only 14, loosed an arrow by mistake and shot another recruit in the leg. The boy was fired, and the other one was given leave.

Yet another young man became violently ill after eating or drinking something bad. He continued to waste away until he was sent to a Five Star medical clinic.

Good At Everything

Deng Weili, the archer girl, was somehow even more intimidating up close than she had been on the tournament field. She was good at everything, and Karim clearly respected her, which meant the rest of us suffered for it.

“Observe Deng!” he barked repeatedly. “She notices things before you idiots step in them!”

The other trainees grumbled openly about this. Not me though, I admired the girl.

Unfortunately, whenever Weili spoke directly to me, my brain stopped functioning. Once she asked me to hand her a water bucket and I nearly dropped it onto my own foot. Another time she caught me staring at her archery practice and raised one eyebrow.

“You trying to put the evil eye on me?”

“I was only observing your form,” I replied.

“And what conclusions did you reach?”

“That you rarely miss.”

She smirked slightly. “You are more right than you know, Bridge Boy.”

I had no idea how to answer that, beyond to say, “Don’t call me Bridge Boy.”

She walked away shaking her head while several trainees laughed openly at me.

At night we slept in long warehouse barracks smelling of sweat, leather and horse blankets. Men snored and shouted in their sleep. Bruises covered my body constantly. My hands blistered. Twice I considered quitting, but each time I remembered sleeping beneath the bridge. Besides, if the women could make it, so could I.

Occasionally Shah Suliman visited the compound to confer privately with Karim. The two would stand overlooking the training yard discussing routes, supply reports and candidates while Karim gestured toward us with visible irritation. Suliman never approached me directly, but more than once I noticed him watching me thoughtfully while I trained.

Six of us graduated: myself, Ahmed, Meilin the chubby farm fighter, the nasty youth Kuangren, Deng Weili, and a tall, muscular man named Longwei, who was thought stupid because he spoke slowly, but who – if you took the time to converse with him – was well travelled and thoughtful.

Caravan Work

Within a month the six of us were traveling with caravans as armed guards. At first we were assigned only to local routes between Deep Harbor and the surrounding provinces, where the roads were dangerous but still reasonably well patrolled.

Sergeant Karim rarely traveled with us himself, but his presence lingered constantly in our minds. Any time someone failed to notice a suspicious rider, a wobbly axle, or a poorly secured crate, one of the others would mutter in Karim’s growling voice, “Use your eyes, idiot,” and everyone would laugh nervously.

Our group settled into familiar roles surprisingly quickly.

Ahmed naturally became the steady center of us all. When arguments broke out over routes or guard rotations, he calmed them. As it happened, all of us new guards were Muslims except for Kuangren and Meilin. There was a scattering of Muslims among the veteran guards as well. When prayer time came, Ahmed called us together for salat quietly no matter how exhausted we were. Longwei called the adhaan in his slow, steady style, and we each put down a blanket, no matter where we were.

Ahmed had seen enough real warfare that ordinary danger did not excite him much. Once, after we fought off robbers along a forest road, I found him sitting calmly beside a wagon afterward, patiently sewing a tear in his sleeve while everyone else still argued excitedly about the fight.

Meilin was perhaps the strangest among us. Around campfires she complained constantly about sore feet, bad food and cold weather, sounding every bit the weary farmwife she resembled. Then robbers would appear and suddenly she became terrifying. More than once I saw bandits recoil in genuine alarm after she shattered a spear shaft with her three-sectioned staff while charging straight into them screaming curses.

Longwei spoke so slowly that strangers often assumed him dim-witted. In truth he had a strong mind. He could identify accents from distant provinces, predict weather changes and accurately estimate the value of cargo. During long rides he told fascinating stories about foreign ports and mountain kingdoms he had visited in his youth.

Kuangren remained unpleasant. He drank too much whenever we entered towns, gambled recklessly and treated locals badly. Yet he fought with real courage when attacks came. I could not deny that. During one ambush he took an arrow through the shoulder and still managed to shoot his attacker from horseback before collapsing. Afterwards, while Ahmed stitched the wound, Kuangren cursed continuously and accused us all of incompetence.

Deng Weili, meanwhile, continued making my life difficult merely by existing.

She rode with impossible confidence and could loose arrows accurately even from horseback at full gallop. Merchants adored her because she was polite and intelligent. The rest of us respected her because she never panicked under pressure. During one tense crossing through flooded roads, she spotted hidden movement in the reeds nearly a full minute before anyone else, giving us enough warning to prepare for the attempted ambush.

“You see?” she told me afterward while checking her bowstring. “That’s why Karim likes me more than you.”

“I think he just likes the turn of your ankles.” This was a cruel thing to say, and completely untrue, but it popped out of my mouth unbidden.

Weili glared at me for a moment, opened her mouth as if to berate me, then her face softened into a sly smile. “Oh, does he? That’s what he likes?” She walked away, leaving me standing red-faced.

Caravan work might seem glamorous to some, but it was hard work. Harder than working the docks, even. We escorted merchants, medicines, textiles and food shipments through increasingly dangerous roads. Refugees, deserters and starving men prowled the countryside. Rarely, robbers attacked openly. Other times they followed us for days waiting for weakness.

Riding a wagon for hours left me feeling like my bones were dice being rattled in a cup. There were times, passing through dangerous areas, when the caravan stopped neither for sleep nor meals, and we prayed and ate on the move. The constant need for vigilance wore on a man’s mind. I noticed Kuangren, for example, becoming increasingly irritable and paranoid. Once he shouted, “Ambush!” and let loose several quick arrows, only to find that he had killed a squirrel. Everyone laughed uproariously, and he sulked for days afterward.

An Unexpected Visit

Every time a caravan returned to Deep Harbor, we were given several days off. With the money I was now making, I rented a permanent room above a noodle shop near the western canal district. It was a tiny room with a narrow bed, cracked wash basin and boarded up window that rattled in the wind. The chatter from the noodle shop came through the walls, vendors shouted in the street outside, and roaches scurried across the floor.

It was my home. I accepted this fact. I missed my past, I missed Haaris and Far Away, but this was my life now. New adventures opened before me. Still, there was a part of me that didn’t know what I was doing anymore, or why. I was lonely. I wrote this feeling off as fear of something new, and ignored it.

I bought sturdy boots. Better clothing. A winter cloak lined with wool. I repaired and sharpened my dao regularly, oiling the blade with almost religious care. Every now and then I returned to the bridge with donations of food and warm clothing. There, with my old riverside companions, I felt comfortable and whole, for a while.

Sometimes, when we were given leave, I followed my colleagues to see what their lives were like. One by one, I learned their secrets: Kuangren immediately vanished into gambling houses and brothels. Longwei visited teahouses and storytellers, and fought in amateur wrestling competitions for money. Meilin always ate enormous meals at restaurants, then went to stay with a woman who looked like her sister. Ahmed spent much of his free time at the masjid. As for Weili, she went to an archery range where she practiced shooting for hours, then to a little rooming house on the other side of town from my own. I wondered, did she not have a family? Was she an orphan too?

Having learned these things, I realized that the knowledge meant nothing and did not ease my loneliness. I stopped following them.

I was in my little room, eating noodles purchased from the shop downstairs, when a firm knock sounded at the door.

I felt a rush of excitement. Who could it be? Maybe one of my work mates had come to visit?

I opened the door and found Zihan Ma standing before me. He looked different. There was gray in his hair that had not been there before, and new lines creased his forehead. Either I had grown or he had shrunk, for I stood the same height as him now. He wore walking boots and a medical bag slung over one shoulder.

What I noticed most, however, was that his eyes were tired.

A Grievous Error

“Uncle!” I blurted out. “How did you find me?”

He took a slow, deep breath. “I have been looking for you, Darius. For many months I have looked.”

“You have?” I remembered, some months ago, seeing him standing in front of the masjid, watching the faces of the men as they entered. “But why?”

His eyes met mine. “I judged you wrongly. I committed a grievous error. I ask Allah’s forgiveness and yours. We miss you. We want you to come home.”

This speech, short as it was, carried such weight that I took a step backward, then another, until I found myself sitting in the only chair in the room, beside a small table.

“May I enter?” Zihan Ma asked.

I waved to him to enter.

“May I sit on the bed?”

I nodded dumbly.

“What…” I paused to gather my thoughts. “So you now do not believe that I stole the bracelets and the gifts?”

“I know you did not.”

“How do you know?”

He swallowed. “Your Nai Nai sent a letter by courier, only a week after you met her that day. Those bracelets had been locked in a secure chest. She confronted her husband, and he admitted that he ordered the servant to plant them in your pack. His justification was that you were a bad seed, and it would be better for the family to get rid of you.”

I tilted my head back and looked at the wooden ceiling rafters. “So now you know I’m not a bad seed, is that it?”

“I never thought that.”

“What if… What if Nai Nai had not written that letter?”

Zihan Ma sighed. “I made a mistake, Darius. Have you never made a mistake that you regret deeply, and that you are ashamed of?”

I gave him a blank look. “Not really.”

He winced at that. “Haaris misses you. You’re his brother. And he has to do all the farm work by himself again. It’s hard for him.”

That hurt me. “That’s not fair.”

“Your Lee Ayi talks about you every day.”

I stood suddenly. “I have a new life now. I have to go forward, not backward.”

Zihan Ma stood as well, pushing on his knees with his palms. “Our home is your home,” he said. “You can return anytime, to live or to visit. You don’t even have to knock. We love you. I… Well, I love you.”

This nearly made me break into tears but I held myself rigid. Zihan Ma turned to leave.

“Uncle. How is Far Away?”

He smiled. “He runs, climbs walls, suns himself atop the house. Bao Bao can’t keep up. He even jumps onto the donkey’s back sometimes. Alhamdulillah for all His mercies upon us. The world is built upon rahmah, Darius. Mercy. Nothing else. I forgot that for one moment. I am sorry.”

When he left, and the door was firmly closed, I fell onto my bed and wept.

* * *

Come back next week for Part 16 – Five Star Trading Company

Reader comments and constructive criticism are important to me, so please comment!

 

See the Story Index for Wael Abdelgawad’s other stories on this website.

Wael Abdelgawad’s novels – including Pieces of a Dream, The Repeaters and Zaid Karim Private Investigator – are available in ebook and print form on his author page at Amazon.com.

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The post Far Away [Part 15] – Caravan Guard appeared first on MuslimMatters.org.

Eid Mubarak and Hajj Mabroor to all our readers and your families, from the MuslimMatters team!

May Allah accept our worship, our sacrifices, and increase us in remembrance of Him in these days.

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The post Eid al-Adh’ha 1447 AH appeared first on MuslimMatters.org.

Allah will look at His creation and boast of them to the angels. He will ask: What do these servants of mine want? And then, before they finish asking, He will answer their dua. This happens on the day of Arafah, and you can be among those He is talking about. If the first days slipped by unnoticed and for many of us they did, Arafah is Allah’s final and greatest offer of this season. Do not miss it.

When Allah swears an oath in His Book, it signals immense significance. In Surah al-Fajr, Allah swears by the dawn and by the ten nights. The majority of the mufassireen including Ibn Abbas, Ibn Kathir, and Ibn Taymiyyah identified these ten nights specifically as the first ten days of Dhul Hijjah, not the last ten nights of Ramadan. Ibn Hajar al-‘Asqalani in Fath al-Bari (the commentary on Sahih al-Bukhari) noted that what makes these days uniquely precious is that no other time of year brings together all the great acts of worship simultaneously: prayer, fasting, charity and Hajj converge in these ten days alone, and that convergence is what elevates them above everything else, including Ramadan.

Reflect on the Past Year

There is something else about these days that we rarely pause to acknowledge. Dhul Hijjah is the final month of the Islamic calendar. The year is closing. Before the rush of these blessed days pulls you forward, let them also turn you inward, toward an honest account of how the year was spent, which sins have accumulated, which obligations were neglected, which relationships were damaged. The best deeds in the best days of the year deserve to be paired with a sincere intention to enter the next year differently.

Many Muslims become busy with celebrations, gatherings, and preparing the feast for Eid, but the righteous predecessors viewed the end of the year very differently. They saw it as the closing of a personal record, a chapter of deeds that would never return until the Day of Judgment. Our most powerful reflection should be: Who have I become this year? Not what was earned, posted, achieved, or purchased, but what changed within the soul. Did the prayers become stronger or weaker? Did the Qur’an become more beloved or more neglected to us? Did sins quietly become habits? The scholars often said that one of the clearest signs of Allah wanting good for a person is steady growth in obedience and a heart that begins to feel uneasy with sin. Ibn al-Qayyim wrote extensively in Al-Jawab al-Kafi that sins darken the heart slowly until a person no longer feels their weight. The end of the Islamic year is therefore a crucial time to sit alone and honestly audit the state of one’s heart before Allah.

And alongside repentance, bring gratitude. How many unseen disasters did Allah shield you from this year? How many duas were quietly answered? How many times did He conceal your faults while still holding the door open? Ibn Rajab in Lataif al-Ma’arif warned that the greatest loss is reaching a sacred season without internal transformation. Gratitude softens what guilt alone cannot. Enter Arafah with both the humility of someone who knows what they’ve done, and the hope of someone who knows Who they’re standing before.

Gear up for the best day of your life

The Prophet ﷺ testified that these are the best days of this world. Ibn Abbas narrated: ‘There are no days in which righteous deeds are more beloved to Allah than these ten days’. The companions asked, ‘Not even jihad, ya Rasulullah?’ He ﷺ replied: ‘Not even jihad, except for a man who goes out risking his life and wealth and returns with nothing.'” (Bukhari)

‘Whoever cannot perform Hajj should magnify these ten days and fill them with good deeds at home, for they are more beloved to Allah than even the days of Ramadan.’ (Ibn Rajab)

Among the deeds we should prioritise are:

1. Fasting: It is Sunnah to fast the ninth day of Dhul Hijjah. Fasting is one of the best of deeds, and these are the best of days.
2. Raise your voice with dhikr: The Prophet ﷺ said: ‘There are no days greater in the sight of Allah than these ten days, so increase in them the Tahleel, the Takbeer, and the Tahmeed.” (Ahmad)

   Ibn ‘Umar and Abu Hurayrah would go out to the marketplace during these ten days reciting Takbir aloud, and the people would follow their practice.

3. Give Sadaqah: The Prophet ﷺ said: ‘Charity extinguishes sinful deeds just as water extinguishes fire.’ (Ibn Majah) And if charity extinguishes sins, then these are the days to pour the most water because sins in sacred seasons carry heavier weight, and they deprive the heart of the very forgiveness it came here to receive.

The Day of Arafah

The day the entire season builds toward is the Day of Arafah. It was the day Allah bestowed upon this Ummah its greatest gift: He perfected the religion of Islam and completed His favour upon us.

When the verse ‘This day I have perfected your religion for you” (Surah Ma’idah, verse 3) was revealed, a Jewish man said to Umar ibn al-Khattab: ‘If this verse had been revealed to us, we would have taken that day as a festival.’ Umar responded, ‘We know exactly which day it was revealed, and we honour it every year. It was Arafah and for those standing before Allah on that plain, it already carries the joy of Eid.’

The Prophet ﷺ said: There is no day in which Allah sets free more slaves from the Hellfire than the Day of Arafah (Muslim). The Prophet ﷺ told us the best supplication is the supplication of Arafah. And the best thing ever said on that day by him ﷺ and all the Prophets before him (Tirmidhi):

ا إِلَهَ إِلَّا اللهُ ، وَحْدَهُ لَا شَرِيكَ لَهُ ، لَهُ الْمُلْكُ وَلَهُ الْحَمْدُ ، وهُوَ عَلَى كُلِّ شَيْءٍ قَدِيرٌ

Abdullah ibn al-Mubarak came to Sufyan al-Thawri on the eve of Arafah and found him weeping on his knees. He asked: ‘Who is in the worst condition among this gathering?’ Sufyan replied ‘The one who thinks Allah will not forgive him’. That is the only barrier. Allah already knows your sins. He already promised forgiveness. ‘O My servants who have transgressed against their own souls, do not despair of the mercy of Allah. Indeed, Allah forgives all sins. Truly, He is the All-Forgiving, the Most Merciful.’

The Day That Makes the Year

The year is almost over. The days you were given, the ones spent well and the ones that slipped through your fingers and the ones you would rather forget are drawing close. And in His mercy, Allah did not end your year in silence. He ended it with Arafah. With a day on which He draws near, boasts of His servants to the angels, and forgives before they finish asking. You may have entered this year with intentions that never became actions, with sins that became habits, with a heart that drifted further than you meant it to. Bring all of it to this day. The repentance, the gratitude, the grief over what was lost, and the hope of what can still be written. Arafah is not a reward for those who had a good year rather It is a mercy for everyone. Do not let it pass while you are distracted. Stand before Allah wherever you are, with your hands raised and your heart honest. He is already listening. He was always listening. And today, of all the days of the year, He is closest.

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Yaser Birjas | The Days of Hajj Series | The 9th of Dhul Hijjah

The post Arafah: The Door That Opens Once a Year appeared first on MuslimMatters.org.

Remembering a Muslim American soldier who fought Nazi Germany in World War II and never came home.

An “M” for Muslim

At most army induction stations during World War II, soldiers could choose one of three religious identifications for their dog tags: Catholic, Protestant, or Jew. For Muslims entering military service, there was often no place for their faith at all.

One member of the small Muslim community in Cedar Rapids, Iowa, Hassein Sheronick, reportedly spent half a day persuading army officials to stamp a single letter on his identification tag: “M” for Muslim. Another veteran from the same congregation, Abdullah Igram, never succeeded. Years later, the *Des Moines Register* quoted him recalling what he told an officer who denied the request that: “in fighting for democracy it would seem a soldier should have the right to die identified with his own faith.”

The men making those arguments were part of a small but well-established Muslim community in Cedar Rapids whose members often operated neighborhood grocery stores across the city. In 1950, the *Des Moines Register* described how the community gathered every Friday for prayer in what it called a “small building.” The mosque, founded by immigrants and their families, still stands today.

Mother Mosque of America, in Cedar Rapids, Iowa. The first purpose-built masjid in America.

Among those worshippers was Sgt. Edward Sheronick.

Edward Sheronick’s father, Sam Sheronick, immigrated from Joub Jannine, Lebanon, and came to the United States in 1907. While it is not known exactly when he moved to Cedar Rapids, the family is remembered as among the first Muslim families to live in the city, and they were certainly established by 1930. Sam and his wife Sada Sheronick lived at 325 E Avenue NW.

Their son Edward Sheronick was born in Fayette, Iowa, on July 23, 1917, and grew up in Cedar Rapids as part of that Muslim community. Like many members of the congregation, the family was involved in the grocery business. Edward worked at Sheronick and Sons grocery on Ellis Boulevard, a neighborhood store that served local residents in the years before the Second World War.

The surviving newspaper records preserve only fragments of his life, but they offer glimpses of an ordinary young man building a future for himself in Iowa. In August 1938, local papers reported that Edward had received a Class C beer permit connected to the family grocery business. At some point he met a woman named Mary, and the two married. One imagines that, like countless young couples of the era, they expected a long life together: children, grandchildren, years spent in the same community where both families were already rooted.

History intervened.

Edward enlisted in Cedar Rapids in July 1941, months before the attack on Pearl Harbor brought the United States formally into the war. He trained at Fort Eustis, Virginia, where he rose through the ranks. In May 1942, the *Cedar Rapids Gazette* reported that he had been promoted from technical corporal to technical sergeant. The paper noted that word of the promotion had been received by his parents back home in Cedar Rapids.

In the summer of 1944, Edward was sent overseas to Europe.

The Telegram from Germany

A few months later, in December 1944, a telegram arrived at 803 Ellis Boulevard NW. Mary Sheronick was informed by the War Department that her husband, Technician Fourth Grade Edward Sheronick, had been reported missing in action in Germany since Nov. 16.

Across the United States, thousands of families received similar telegrams during the war years. Many names faded from public memory as decades passed. Edward Sheronick’s story survives today only in scattered newspaper reports, military notices, and the memories preserved by his community.

Eventually the truth became known. Edward Sheronick had been killed in Germany during the brutal fighting surrounding the Battle of the Bulge. He never returned home to Cedar Rapids.

Nearly five years later, in May 1949, his body was returned from Europe alongside the remains of 104 other Iowans killed during the war.

Funeral services for Technician Fourth Grade Edward Sheronick were held at the “Moslem temple” in Cedar Rapids. The service was conducted by Imam Hussein Karoub of Detroit, and burial followed at Cedar Memorial Cemetery.

His obituary listed the organizations to which he belonged: the Veterans of Foreign Wars, the Moslem temple, and the Rose of Fraternity lodge. It named the surviving members of his family. But like most wartime obituaries, it left many things unsaid. We do not know what Edward hoped to do after the war. We do not know what dreams he shared with Mary, or what his family endured during the years between the missing-in-action telegram and the return of his body.

Still, enough remains to remember him.

The surviving records show a Muslim family running a grocery store in Cedar Rapids before World War II. They show a local Muslim congregation sending 18 young men into military service during the war years. They show Muslim soldiers insisting that their faith be recognized even on their identification tags. And they show a funeral held in an Iowa mosque for a man killed fighting Nazi Germany.

On Memorial Day, we remember Edward Sheronick, a Muslim American from Cedar Rapids who prayed in Iowa, served overseas, fought Nazi Germany, and never came home. His story reminds us that Muslims have long been part of the American story, including its sacrifices in war.

Related:

When Azara Long Found Islam In A San Francisco Linen Shop : A Story From America’s Muslim History

The post The Muslim Soldier From Ellis Boulevard Who Never Came Home appeared first on MuslimMatters.org.

Imam Dawud provides a summary of the virtues of Dhul Hijjah, the importance of ‘Arafah, and the significance of the Udh’hiyah. This brief overview reminds us all of the necessity of observing these 10 Days of Dhul Hijjah with presence and intentionality. May Allah accept from us all!

Transcript:

I seek refuge in Allah from the accursed Satan. In the Name of Allah, the Most Gracious, the Most Merciful.

All praise is due to Allah, Lord of the worlds. To Him we turn, and to Him we submit. We send peace and blessings upon our master, our Prophet, and our beloved, Muhammad al-Amin, the Trustworthy; and upon his pure family, his blessed companions, and all those who follow them with goodness until the Day of Judgment.

O Most Merciful of the Merciful, envelop us in Your mercy. Ya Arham ar-Rahimeen, Ya Arham ar-Rahimeen.

Beloved brothers and sisters in Islam, as we experience these blessed days of Dhul Hijjah—the twelfth month of the Islamic calendar and one of the four sacred months—we should reflect upon the virtues of the tenth of Dhul Hijjah, the Day of Eid al-Adha, also known as Yawm al-Nahr, the Day of Sacrifice.

Allah says in the Qur’an:

“Indeed, We have granted you abundance. So pray to your Lord and sacrifice. Surely, those who hate you will be cut off.”

Many scholars of tafsir explain that the command to “pray and sacrifice” refers to the Eid prayer and the sacrifice offered on the Day of Adha. The order is significant: first comes the prayer, then the sacrifice, which takes place after the prayer and khutbah.

For those of us who are not performing Hajj, it is highly recommended to offer a sacrifice during Eid al-Adha or during the Days of Tashriq that follow. Just as sacrifice is required of the pilgrims, it is a strongly encouraged sunnah for those not on Hajj to participate in this sacred act as well.

The symbolism of the sacrifice goes back to our father Ibrahim عليه السلام and his son Isma‘il عليه السلام. Allah tested Ibrahim with the command to sacrifice his son, and both father and son demonstrated complete submission—taslim—to the command of Allah سبحانه وتعالى. In the end, Allah replaced Isma‘il with a ram, affirming that Ibrahim had fulfilled the vision and proven his faith.

Allah also says in the Qur’an:

“Say: Indeed, my prayer, my sacrifice, my living, and my dying are all for Allah, Lord of the worlds.”

Mujahid ibn Jabr رحمه الله تعالى, one of the great students of Sayyidina Abdullah ibn Abbas رضي الله عنهما, explained that “my sacrifice” in this verse refers specifically to the sacrifice of Eid al-Adha.

So, my brothers and sisters, those who are able should try to perform the sacrifice themselves. If that is not possible, then one may appoint a charitable organization to perform it on their behalf and distribute the meat to those in need. However, it is beautiful to revive this sunnah personally whenever possible.

Traditionally, the meat is divided into thirds: one third for ourselves and our families, one third for relatives and friends, and one third for the poor. If desired, a larger portion may be given to those in need, but it is recommended that we keep some for ourselves—to cook, share, and enjoy while thanking Allah سبحانه وتعالى for His many blessings.

It is also mentioned that the night before Eid al-Adha is among the blessed nights. In *Kitab al-Umm*, Imam al-Shafi‘i رحمه الله تعالى mentions that there are certain nights during which du‘a is especially likely to be accepted. Among them are the night before Eid al-Fitr and the night before Eid al-Adha.

Likewise, Amir al-Mu’minin ‘Ali ibn Abi Talib رضي الله عنه was known to give life to the night of Eid al-Adha through prayer, dhikr, qiyam al-layl, and heartfelt du‘a.

We should take this opportunity to follow the practice of the righteous salaf by spending the night in worship—making du‘a for ourselves, our families, our teachers and mashayikh, our loved ones and friends, and for the entire Ummah and humanity at large to be guided.

May Allah سبحانه وتعالى bless us during these days of Dhul Hijjah and grant us all a joyous and blessed Eid al-Adha.

Wa sallallahu ‘ala nabiyyina Muhammad wa ‘ala alihi wa sallam. Walhamdulillahi rabbil ‘alamin.

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The post The Best Actions for Eid al-Adh’ha [Imam Dawud Walid] appeared first on MuslimMatters.org.

At a brutal martial arts tournament, Darius struggles with the intoxicating glory and the dangerous darkness of violence.

Read Part 1 | Part 2 | Part 3 | Part 4 | Part 5 | Part 6 | Part 7 | Part 8 | Part 9 | Part 10 | Part 11 | Part 12 | Part 13

* * *

Halfway Civilized

The morning of the tournament I woke before dawn in my corner beneath the bridge, my body wrapped in two wool blankets, my back pressed against the cold stones of the ancient bridge. As always, my hand went to my back, confirming that my dao was still there. As for my belongings, everything I owned was in my travel pack, which was under the blanket with me, tucked against my belly like a cat.

Not ten paces away, a cargo ship slipped by in the darkness. Two silhouetted men stood silently in the pilot house, then were gone, passing out of my view. Lives that I would never know about. Only Allah knew them all, subhanahu. Waves lapped against the river’s stone embankment. A family of rats scurried past, seeking their morning meal, and a cat came out of the darkness as quietly as a fish, stalking the rodents. One of them would be his breakfast.

Today mattered. I did not fully understand why, only that it did.

Among the bridge dwellers was a young woman named Teardrop who watched people’s belongings for a small fee. I left my pack and blankets with her and went to Salat al-Fajr, and after that to a barber for the first time in my life. The old barber clucked disapprovingly at the state of my hair before taking shears to it. Long black strands fell around me in heaps while customers drank tea and argued about politics and grain prices. When he finished, my hair no longer hung down my back but rested near my ears, neat and light.

“You look halfway civilized,” the barber declared.

I walked to the tournament grounds. Along the way I stopped at a general store and bought a pair of black cloth shoes with padded soles that gripped the ground silently.

Archery and Comedy

The city square had been transformed overnight. Great red banners fluttered from poles surrounding a massive raised platform built of dark wood. Musicians played drums and flutes while vendors shouted over one another, selling roasted chestnuts, noodles, sweet buns and tea. Thousands of spectators crowded the square and surrounding rooftops, packed shoulder to shoulder beneath colorful awnings.

I had never seen so many people gathered in one place.

They began with the archery competition, which proved surprisingly entertaining. Targets were set at varying distances, some stationary and others swinging from ropes in the breeze. Most competitors were men, but women participated as well, drawing loud cheers whenever they struck the bullseye. One elderly archer split his own arrow cleanly in half, eliciting gasps from the audience. Another competitor attempted a flashy trick shot while spinning and accidentally loosed his arrow into a cabbage vendor’s stall, causing a riot of laughter and furious shouting.

The clear favorite, however, was a teenage girl named Deng Weili. Calm and expressionless, she struck the center of the target again and again with almost eerie precision, as though the arrows were simply returning home.

When it came to the open sparring event, there were many more competitors than I expected, most of them older than me. Many clearly belonged to established schools. Some wore matching uniforms with embroidered symbols on the chest. Others carried expensive training weapons polished to mirror brightness. Some eyed me curiously. Others ignored me entirely.

I knew I would not win. I was here for the experience, and perhaps to sharpen my skills for next time.

One man laughed openly when he saw my plain tunic and dockworker’s trousers. “Which school are you from?” he asked mockingly.

“The school of the docks,” I replied.

Shah Suliman was there as a judge, but the tournament manager was a thick-bodied, ruddy faced man they called Sergeant Karim, who looked like he could lift a young bull. I left my dao with him for safekeeping.

Bridge Boy!

The sparring contests were simple. Victory came by rendering the opponent unconscious or forcing him to submit, whether by strikes, throws or chokes. Strikes to the eyes, throat, groin and back of head were forbidden. One loss, and you were out. Because of the multitude of competitors, a participant would have to fight and win multiple rounds to win the competition. At least six, maybe more. Six fights in a single day. That was crazy.

When my turn came, I removed my boots and slipped on the cotton kung fu shoes. My first opponent was broad shouldered and aggressive. He rushed me recklessly the instant the signal drum sounded. He snarled as if he genuinely wanted to kill me, and indeed his first blow was a massive overhand punch thrown with everything he had. If it connected, it might kill me. This was street fighting, not martial arts. Luckily for me, I was skilled at both. I ducked under the punch, seized his sleeve and belt, and threw him cleanly off his feet. He struck the platform hard enough to shake the stage, and my own palm strike was an instant behind, driving into his chin and knocking him out cold. The match had lasted perhaps three heartbeats.

I stood back, thinking, “What was that about?” The man had seemed to genuinely hate me.

The crowd fell silent for a moment, then roared. I heard some chanting, “Bridge Boy!” I rolled my eyes. That was not really how I wanted to be known.

I dismounted the stage as others took their turns. This would take all day, but I didn’t mind. I watched the other matches with great interest. There were so many different styles of fighting. The one common factor was that they fought ferociously. No one ever submitted, even when being choked, or when a limb was about to break.

I turned to a man beside me, an elderly fellow munching a corn on the cob. “Why do they fight so hard?”

He eyed me incredulously. “Aren’t you a competitor? Silly boy, you don’t know what you got yourself into. Five Star guards are exempt from military service. They are fighting for their lives.”

Sifu Lu

One fighter impressed me deeply. He was older, perhaps in his thirties, with powerful shoulders and calm eyes. His braided queue hung nearly to his waist, and unlike the others he showed his opponent respect immediately, bowing deeply before the match began. When the fight began his hands and feet flashed. He had his opponent on the ground in almost no time. He was clearly a martial arts master. He cranked the opponent’s meaty arm behind his back, threatening to tear the shoulder. When the man did not submit, however, the master switched to an arm triangle choke, and rendered the man unconscious in seconds.

I understood. He hadn’t wanted to break the man’s arm, even though it would have won him the match; so he’d switched to a less damaging option. It was an expression of weakness, but at the same time a sign of great confidence and compassion. I was moved by that. But I could not force the thought to coalesce into anything more concrete.

People chanted the master’s name: “Sifu Lu! Sifu Lu!” I realized I had heard his name before, in the form of comments like, “Don’t mess with Sifu Lu’s students, they’ll wreck you.” And, “I wish I could afford to study with Sifu Lu.”

My second opponent threw a high kick to my head, slipped on a splash of blood left behind by previous fighters, and struck the back of his head on the stage, knocking himself out. The crowd laughed uproariously. After that, the tournament organizers sent cleaners up to mop the stage regularly.

My third and fourth opponents were inconsequential youths hardly older than me. They wore black sashes from a local school, indicating mastery, but I finished them quickly. One wept afterward, saying that he didn’t want to go to the army. I thought I should feel sympathy, but my heart plodded along undisturbed. No one wanted to go to the army, but my own father had volunteered and died. Such is life.

I didn’t feel good about these fights. These competitors were not at my level. The violence felt pointless.

Emotional Exhaustion

Chewing on my upper life, I watched the others. Sifu Lu defeated his opponents as quickly as I had mine, and with more finesse. With his physique, focus and powerful movement, he reminded me of a lion. Actually, he reminded me of my father. I stayed close to the stage, because people pressed forward, wanting to talk to me. Many women seemed to want simply to touch me. But the event had guards around the stage, and they held the crowd back.

The crowd chanted the names of the top fighters. Sifu Lu! Rhino! Thunderfoot! Bridge Boy!

Many fighters were carried out on stretchers. Even some winners were unable to continue to the next round. Occasionally I found myself diagnosing their injuries, and thinking of what balms I would use to treat them, and how I would splint their limbs. Whenever I caught myself doing that I clucked my tongue in annoyance.

My fifth opponent was Thunderfoot. He was in his mid twenties and flexible, and from the start he nailed me with a whiplike kick to my chest that lifted me off my feet. Rather than pouncing, he waited for me to stand. His feet darted and flew. I tried slipping into River Flow, but it eluded me. My mind was foggy, my emotions turbulent. Maybe I didn’t know for sure why I was doing this. Maybe, even with all these people cheering for me, I was lonely. A moment of emotional exhaustion hit, and I dropped my arms. I stood straight, with my hands at my sides. Thunderfoot thought I was taunting him. His eyes blazed, and he leaped into a flying kick. Idly, I caught the kicking leg under my arm and threw him down hard. He rolled to his knees and elbows, winded. I slipped an arm under his neck and lazily choked him out.

“Bridge Boy!” they chanted. I waved a hand for them to stop that nonsense, but they thought I was asking for more, and chanted louder. I shook my head and exited the stage.

 

I realized that I was desperately hungry. I had not eaten anything all day. I bought a steamed bun and a bag of popcorn, drank coconut water, and waited for my next match. The food revived me physically, but emotionally I still felt disconnected from all this.

Eight men remained. My sixth opponent was Rhino. He was short and bulging with muscle, with a neck like a chimney. He was apparently the Deep Harbor grappling champion. When he saw an opening he dove for my legs. I sidestepped, but he caught my ankle and took me down. He sat atop me and drove his shoulder into my jaw, pinning me. The pain was intense. Yet I just lay there. I did not struggle. He drove a punch into my spleen, then gave me a blow to the top of the skull that made my ears ring. Stars swam before my eyes.

“Fight, damn you!” Rhino snarled. “Useless bridge trash.”

Rage rose inside me. No one treated me this way! I had grappling skills but it was not my area of expertise. I could not play Rhino’s game. I struck both his temples simultaneously, then clapped his ears. When he reared up in shock I bridged my hips, threw him off me, and followed with a massive knee strike to his liver. He groaned and rolled into a ball. The match was over.

What Your Father Taught You

Descending from the stage, I marched to the judging table and confronted Sergeant Karim. “Give me back my dao,” I said. “I quit.”

He stood, his black eyes concerned. “Are you injured?”

I looked away. “It’s not that. I just feel that this is pointless.”

“The prize is three gold coins. People are chanting your name.”

“No, they’re chanting nonsense. My name is Darius Lee.”

“Let me talk to him,” Shah Suliman said. He took my elbow, and pulled me aside. “What’s wrong? Are you scared?”

I snorted. The only thing that had ever scared me was the prospect of losing my family, and that had come to pass. Physical violence was nothing.

He studied me. “Who taught you to fight?”

“I told you last time. My father.”

“Show us what your father taught you. Honor him. Don’t hold back.”

The words echoed in my chest like a distant drum. I nodded. “Okay.”

I mounted the stage. My seventh opponent was a lithe striker with enlarged knuckles. His punches whistled past my ears.

I fell into River Flow, and the world went silent. I was not on a stage, performing for thousands. I was back on the run-down farm, practicing in the dirt with my father. He expected my utmost effort at all times, and would punish me if I held back. He showed no mercy, and expected none.

I had wanted to follow Sifu Lu’ s example and defeat my opponents non-violently, but that seemed silly now. Street fighting techniques forgotten, I embraced my roots: Five Animals. My opponent’s punch was surely fast, but in my eyes he moved like a sloth. I ducked a wide hook, then leaped into a backward somersault, in the process kicking the man beneath the chin. He came off the ground and flew clear off the stage. People screamed. The medics carried him away.

The Final Match

I stayed close to the stage and watched Sifu Lu defeat a huge man that I recognized as a dock worker, and who apparently had a background either as a soldier or a criminal, because he threw every blow as if he wanted to murder someone. Sifu Lu took a few hits, but put the man down.

This was it then. Me versus Sifu Lu for the win.

We were given ten minutes to rest. The crowd had grown, packing more people into a space I thought was already full. The ground was slippery with fruit peels and spit. I saw money passing hands as bookies took bets. Fights broke out between those who supported me – mostly impoverished dock workers – and the uniformed, merchant-class martial artists who supported Lu.

We were called up. I was still in River Flow. In my mind, my father was gone and I was a boy alone on the farm, with Lady Two and Far Away as companions. I practiced in the dirt as Far Away watched, throwing myself into it, my movements acrobatic and operatic. My chest ached and my jaw was sore – I might have cracked a tooth – but all that was nothing.

Sifu Lu – his face bruised, and favoring one leg – must have seen something of my state of mind, because I saw him swallow hard. He bowed to me, and I bowed back. Again the roar of the crowd faded. The pain in my jaw, my aching knuckles – all that disappeared. Lu launched a blindingly fast attack. I parried, sidestepped, and ducked. He could not touch me. He paused and stood back, reassessing. I saw the fine worry lines around his eyes, and the way his tongue flicked out to taste the blood on his lip. His limbs were powerful, his chest wide.

Again I dropped my hands and stood watching, not out of apathy this time, but curiosity. It was as if I were outside myself, watching.

Sifu Lu set his jaw and surged forward aggressively, committing to a heavy strike. I slipped the blow and stepped past him. Before he could recover I seized his long braided ponytail with both hands and yanked backward and down sharply. He crashed onto his back, and I kicked him in the jaw, knocking him out.

For half a second there was stunned silence. Then the square exploded with cheers. A healer rushed onto the stage and revived Sifu Lu. The master stood slowly and glared at me. “Dirty tactic,” he said.

Instead of replying, I gave a deep bow. “Master Lu,” I said. “It was an honor. You are a great fighter and a great man.”

His anger faded. He grinned and shook his head. “Come to my school sometime.” He held up a hand to forestall my reply. “As a teacher, not a student.”

An Exception to the Rules

The competition moved on to the weapons demonstrations.

Competitors performed spear routines, staff forms, paired sword sequences and elaborate flourishes meant to impress the judges and crowd alike.

I picked up my dao from Sergeant Karim. When I unsheathed it, he frowned immediately.

“You may not use a sharpened weapon,” he declared. “Training blades only.”

He pointed toward a rack of dulled practice weapons beside the stage.

“No,” I said calmly. “I know my dao. I have trained with it for years.”

“That is irrelevant.”

Before the argument could continue, Shah Suliman said, “We will make an exception this once.”

Sergeant Karim hesitated, clearly annoyed, then stepped aside. “If he cuts himself,” he said, “he loses automatically.”

Suliman nodded.

I stepped alone onto the platform. The square quieted. I knew what many of them were thinking. “The kid can fight, but is he any good with a sword?”

River Flow had still not left me. I closed my eyes briefly and breathed once. If the live blade would be used against me, then let me show the audience the true nature of my skill. I took two steps, pivoted rapidly and struck one of the narrow wooden pillars that held the awning above the stage. With a ringing sound, the blade cut cleanly through the wood. The awning tipped to one side, threatening to fall. People cried out in surprise. I faced the audience, the sword hanging at my side. Now they knew exactly what I wielded.

With that, I began to move. The blade whistled through the air in flashing arcs so fast that the audience gasped repeatedly. I flowed from Five Animals footwork into battlefield cuts my father had taught me, into improvised combinations born from thousands of hours of solo practice on my father’s farm and on Zihan Ma’s, and finally from the handful of deadly conflicts I’d been in. The edge passed so close to my own body at times that several spectators cried out in alarm.

When I finished, the square erupted into thunderous applause unlike anything I had ever experienced. People were standing now, shouting and stamping their feet against the wooden benches.

I stood breathing hard, sweat running down my neck, staring out over the sea of faces. River Flow left me, and I felt suddenly exhausted. All I wanted to do was sleep.

Disqualified

The judges withdrew for deliberation. It took a long time.

Finally the head judge handed a scroll to Sergeant Karim and he mounted the stage.

“The results are as follows,” he announced stiffly. “In the archery competition, the winner is Deng Weili.”

I smiled, remembering her. She deserved it.

“As for the sparring competition,” Karim went on, “competitor Darius Lee violated tournament rules by pulling an opponent’s hair. Sifu Lu is the winner. In the weapons demonstration, Darius Lee broke the rules by damaging the pillar. He is disqualified from that as well. Yu Dongyue is the winner.”

For a moment the square went completely silent. Then the crowd erupted in furious boos. Someone hurled a steamed bun at the judges. Others followed with nutshells, fruit peels and cups of tea. The judges recoiled while guards hurried forward uncertainly.

“Cowards!” someone shouted.

“He beat them fair!”

“Shame!”

The judges hastily retreated into a huddle while the crowd continued jeering loudly. I stood motionless below the platform, stunned. I had been so apathetic during the competition, but suddenly I wanted this. I’d fought and bled for it. I might even lose a tooth. I wanted something more than life under a bridge. I wanted this! And they’d taken it from me.

After several tense minutes the judges emerged again, visibly rattled. Sergeant Karim conferred with them, and returned to the stage. He cleared his throat nervously.

“After further discussion,” he announced, “the disqualification applies only to the sparring competition. Darius Lee remains the winner of the weapons demonstration.”

The crowd grumbled angrily but settled. Some even applauded again.

Master Lu, Deng Weili and myself mounted the stage. Suliman Shah hung medals around our necks, and gave each of us three gold coins. Master Lu took my hand and Weili’s and raised them in the air. Turning to me, he gave me a wink. I could not help smiling in return.

Offers, Legal and Not

Afterward several men approached me. One represented a wushu school and wanted to hire me to teach. Another offered underground matches, fighting for money. A third man, heavyset and richly dressed, asked bluntly whether I was interested in “more profitable opportunities.”

I knew exactly what he meant. Crime.

“No,” I told him.

Finally Shah Suliman approached. “On behalf of Five Star Trading Company, I extend to you an offer to train as a caravan guard. If you are hired full time, a salary offer will be made.”

“Didn’t you vote to disqualify me?”

“Rules are rules. But your skill is undeniable. I would have extended the offer anyway.”

“Alright. I accept.”

He gave me a slip of paper with an address on it. “Report tomorrow morning.”

“How about a ride home? I’m beat.”

Suliman nodded. “I can arrange that.”

On the way home, I stopped the wagon driver long enough to buy an entire basket of steamed beef buns. Back under the bridge, I distributed these among the river dwellers. Many of them had attended the tournament, and we sat in a big circle around a fire as they regaled the others with tales of my prowess. Teardrop smiled at me shyly, and a big veteran who went by Dragontop kept clapping me on the shoulder.

Later, under the blankets, I nursed my cracked tooth with my tongue and thought about the new life I would begin tomorrow. I wondered what Zihan Ma, Lee Ayi, Haaris, Far Away and Bao Bao were doing at that moment. Then I wondered if I would ever stop wondering that.

* * *

Come back next week for Part 14 – Five Star Trading Company

Reader comments and constructive criticism are important to me, so please comment!

 

See the Story Index for Wael Abdelgawad’s other stories on this website.

Wael Abdelgawad’s novels – including Pieces of a Dream, The Repeaters and Zaid Karim Private Investigator – are available in ebook and print form on his author page at Amazon.com.

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Kill the Courier |Part 1 – Hiding in Plain Sight

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The post Far Away [Part 14] – The Tournament appeared first on MuslimMatters.org.

Preface

The first time I held a dying child in my arms, something in me changed forever.

She was a little girl in Syria. The same age as my own daughter.

A barrel bomb had fallen on her home. When she was brought into the hospital, there was nothing left to do. The damage was too severe. She died shortly after.

When her family came to collect her body, we carried her back to the very same house that had just been destroyed. There was nowhere else to take her. The walls were shattered. The roof was gone. Dust still hung in the air. That was her final journey.

I remember standing there with a feeling I struggle to describe—a deep, suffocating powerlessness. A feeling that came with the knowledge that someone sitting far away, pressing a button, could erase a child’s life in seconds. A child who laughed, played, and was loved. A child no different than my own.

War strips away illusion. It shows you how power really works.

And after over fifteen years in the charity sector, working in Palestine, standing in Gaza, and operating in Syria during the war, I began to see another layer of power. Not bombs. Not weapons. But money. Narratives. Aid.

Charity is not neutral. It shapes outcomes. It can create dependency or build independence. It empowers communities or it locks them into cycles. It can restore dignity or quietly undermine it.

I have seen extraordinary generosity from our Ummah. I have seen donors give their last pounds in the hope of relieving suffering. But I have also seen how parts of the system operate behind the scenes. How priorities shift. How branding overtakes strategy. How short-term relief becomes a permanent model.

And it hurt, because I knew we could do better.

I am not writing this book to destroy Muslim charities. Muslims are among the most generous people on Earth. Our culture of sadaqah and zakat is one of our greatest strengths. But strength without structure can be exploited. Systems without accountability drift. And when they drift, the consequences are not theoretical, they are measured in real lives.

We cannot continue giving the same way, without scrutiny, strategy, or demanding transparency.

This piece is not for executives or corporate boards. It is for the donor, for the fundraiser who carries the weight of an amanah, for the believer who gives sincerely and assumes that trust will be honoured.

Sadaqah and zakat are sacred trusts before Allah. They are not marketing tools. They are not revenue streams. They are instruments of justice.

I know this piece will make some uncomfortable. It may create enemies for me within the sector. But my loyalty is not to institutions.It is to the Ummah.

After holding that child, after standing in rubble, after watching aid shape futures, silence would feel like betrayal.
If this information unsettles you, sit with that feeling. How we give determines more than we realise.

Tauqir Tox Sharif

Introduction

My name is Tauqir Sharif, though most people in the charity world know me as Tox. I was born and raised in London. In my second year of university, where I expected a conventional career path, an opportunity arose to travel to Gaza. I took it, and I never returned to complete my degree. That decision changed the course of my life.

At the time, the UK Muslim charity landscape was dominated largely by two major organisations: Islamic Relief Worldwide and Muslim Aid. Most donations flowed through them, and entering the sector formally required credentials, networks, and a polished CV. I had none of that. I simply wanted to help.

In 2009, I travelled to Gaza on the Viva Palestina convoy. What I saw there reshaped me in ways I could never have imagined.

I witnessed two things that remain with me to this day. First, the resilience of a people in the most suffocating circumstances: families rebuilding beside rubble, children smiling under blockade, optimism in a place the world had written off. Second, their iman. They had so little materially, yet their faith was immeasurable. We in the West had comfort, consumerism, and resources, and still we were restless inside. They had almost nothing and yet they were anchored by faith.

On that convoy, I met Kieran Turner, the mission lead, who became a mentor. He taught me how to navigate borders, prepare cargo manifests, and move aid strategically rather than emotionally. I absorbed everything I could. Over time, I began leading convoys myself, slowly building a reputation, not within the formal charity structures, but on the ground.

In 2010, I joined the Gaza Freedom Flotilla aboard the Mavi Marmara. Nine of my comrades were killed during the raid. We were arrested and imprisoned before being released after international attention. That experience taught me a crucial truth: aid is never neutral. It exists within power, politics, and consequence.

After returning home, I balanced work between my family business and travelling to disaster zones such as Pakistan floods, earthquake regions, and more. Then in April 2012, a group of us organised and delivered one of the first aid convoys into Syria. No Muslim charities were willing to help. They were too scared. They told us what we were doing was crazy, that we should wait until the British government issued clear guidelines, or until it became safe to intervene.

We couldn’t wait. Blood was already spilling. People were suffering. Every moment counted.

At first, we went as nothing more than a community group, because no one else was stepping forward. Despite countless difficulties, we successfully delivered our first convoy: twelve ambulances, loaded with aid, into Northern Syria.

But what I saw there changed everything.

How could I leave Syria while families were still fleeing toward the borders, escaping the tyranny of Bashar Assad’s crackdown?
From inside Syria, I began calling back to the UK, arranging the next wave of ambulances. When they were finally ready, I returned home, but only for three days. This time, I brought my wife Racquell with me.

We had been married just ten months, and together we launched Live Updates from Syria —reporting from the ground, raising support, and witnessing refugee camps emerge along the border in real time.

For the first time, people could see a Muslim couple speaking directly from a war zone in English, supporting Muslims with aid. This marked a shift in the Muslim charity sector. Soon, charities from around the world contacted us, asking us to implement their projects.
Motivated purely fi sabilillah, we accepted, wearing everyone’s logos on our shirts. We didn’t care about branding; we only cared that aid reached the people who needed it most.

But reality struck hard. Many charities abandoned us when challenges arose: political shifts, changing priorities, or simply because Syria was no longer “popular.” Not only did they leave us alone, but they profited from the attention we had garnered. They used the data we were creating online—fundraising pages, social media followers, and donors—to continue fundraising themselves. At the time, we weren’t thinking about marketing strategies or donor cultivation; our focus was on implementation. That lesson was bitter, but it taught me how the sector really operates.

For over fifteen years, I have operated in conflict zones and fragile regions. I have implemented projects for charities from the UK, the United States, Malaysia, Indonesia, South Africa, and beyond. I have overseen emergency relief, infrastructure builds, education

initiatives, and long-term development projects.
I have seen sincerity. I have seen strategy. I have seen dysfunction. And I have seen how narratives are shaped to unlock donations.
I understand how funds are raised. I understand how they are allocated. I understand the pressures charities face. And I understand the discrepancy between what donors believe and what sometimes happens. project sites. After fifteen years inside this world, I believe it is time to speak openly.

Aid Is a Weapon of War

Aid can save lives but it can also be weaponised to control populations, weaken independent governance, and create dependency. Understanding this is critical for anyone giving sadaqah or zakat.

Syria: The Atma Camp Incident

In northern Syria, near the Turkish border, hundreds of thousands of families were living in tents after fleeing bombardment. Water, something most of us take for granted, became the centre of a calculated power struggle.

At the time, the area around Atma was under the control of a local Islamic group, striving to maintain order and support the refugee population. Their governance represented independent authority, based on Islamic principles, in a chaotic war zone.

The International Rescue Committee (IRC) had created a system where trucks delivered water daily to tanks outside the refugee tents. On paper, it looked like humanitarian logistics. In practice, it was insidious. The system made tens of thousands of people entirely dependent on external control. If deliveries stopped, for any reason, families went without water.

In 2013, there was an incident at Sarmada where the same Islamic group accused IRC staff of spying for foreign governments. They raided its and detained members of its team. What they did not realise, however, was that IRC held a powerful pressure point over the refugee camps. Almost immediately, the water supply system was shut down. The trucks stopped coming, and the camps in Atma were left without access to the most basic necessity of life: water.

Day One: Families rationed water they had stored, unsure if help would come.

Day Two: Thousands gathered to demand water, protests spreading through the camp.

Day Three: Desperation escalated, roads were blocked, vehicles burned, and tension boiled over.

Day Four: Only after immense pressure did water flow resume.

It became clear: water had been weaponised to punish communities under independentIslamic-led governance. This was deliberate. The

truck-based system gave external actors leverage and created dependency.

Curious to understand the organisation behind this, I investigated the IRC. Its leadershipincluded Madeleine Albright, Colin Powell, and David Miliband—high-profile political actors who embody Western strategic interests – creating the conditions for war globally while presenting dependency on western aid as a panacea to the problems.

From that moment, I knew that if we were to operate ethically in Syria, we could not rely on temporary aid models that gave outsiders such leverage.

In response, very early in the revolution, we launched our Solar Power Water Well initiative.

As a small organisation, we were remarkably successful. Our systems, powered by solar panels and independent pumps, allowed refugee camps to operate fully autonomously, free from reliance on external water deliveries.

The impact was immediate. Many organisations from outside Syria contacted us, asking to implement these systems for their projects. This initiative not only saved lives but also helped establish numerous refugee camps that remained fully independent, proving that sustainable, community-empowering solutions were possible even in the most challenging circumstances.

Somalia: The Wheat Crisis and the ICU

A similar pattern emerged in Somalia. In the early 2000s, the Islamic Courts Union (ICU) rose to power, bringing stable governance to southern Somalia after years of warlord rule. Their model was independent, popular, and based on Islamic principles, which made them a target for external actors.

The United States viewed the ICU as a political challenge. Military intervention by Ethiopia and U.S. forcibly ousted the ICU from power. But aid also played a strategic role. Western organisations supplied massive quantities of wheat into refugee camps, ostensibly to relieve hunger.

On the surface, it looked like humanitarian relief. In practice, it destroyed local markets.

Somali farmers could no longer sell their crops, and communities became dependent on externally supplied food. When aid flows shifted or stopped, populations revolted against the ruling powers, destabilising governance and consolidating control in favor of external interests.

Food became a weapon. What appeared as aid was deliberately used to weaken independent Islamic governance and create dependency.

Lessons for Donors

These two incidents — Atma in Syria and the wheat crisis in Somalia, reveal a clear pattern:

1. Aid can empower, but it can also control and destabilise.

2. Systems that focus only on primary relief (food, water, temporary aid) without infrastructure or sustainability create dependency.

3. External actors, often with political agendas, can leverage aid to punish, manipulate, or weaken independent governance, particularly Islamic authorities.

Many Muslim charities today unwittingly fall into the same trap. They focus on primary relief without investing in long-term solutions or empowering communities.

Aid can save lives. But without understanding the dynamics behind it, aid can also be a weapon. The above experiences are warning for us to give strategically, ethically, and effectively.

The Five Types of Charity

When Racquell and I first arrived in Syria, we started with something simple: we wanted to give live updates from the ground and help people directly. That was it.

The project began organically. We would meet families who had lost everything, film and put their stories online, and witness people respond immediately. Instant feedback. Instant support. Private relief work in its purest form. We would raise funds, deliver aid, and donors could see the impact with their own eyes.

At the time, it felt like charity was simple.

But very quickly, we realised that private relief was not enough.

We were witnessing the birth of an entire generation inside refugee camps. In the early days, we were part of building some of the first camps in the Atma region on the Turkish border. And what we saw there deeply disturbed us. Men were martyred fighting against the oppression of Assad, sacrificing everything for freedom and dignity, and yet their children were growing up in tents with no education, no future, and in many cases still being taught the Assad regime’s curriculum.

What was the point of fighting to remove oppression, only to lose the next generation at the same time?

That is when we decided to build Iqra Charity, named after the first word revealed in the Qur’an: “Read.” We realised that education was not secondary. It was survival. If we didn’t build schools, develop teachers and hope, an entire generation would be lost. This was the moment we began transitioning away from pure primary relief and started thinking about mid-term and long-term transformation.

But while learning how to build projects, we were also learning something far darker.

We soon discovered the world of third-party fundraising charities.

At the beginning, I had no clue there were different types of charities. I assumed a charity raised money and delivered aid. Simple.
But I learned the truth the hard way.

We were exploited. These charities built their brands off our backs.

In the early years of the war, we agreed anytime any organisation contacted us and asked us to wear their vest, put their logo on our boxes, or distribute aid under their name. Fi sabilillah.

Our thought process was simple: the aid must reach the people. The logo didn’t matter.

What we didn’t realise was that for them, the logo mattered more than the people.

The arrangement was always the same. They would give us fundraising links. We would raise the money through our supporters. They would pass us what we raised, but they would keep the Gift Aid. At the time, we thought that was a fair deal. We were naive. We didn’t understand what was really happening.

Because these charities weren’t just receiving Gift Aid. They were receiving something far more valuable: access.

Over the years, we built a core of hundreds of fundraisers who annually raised around 15,000 to 18,000 donations for Syria. We thought

those donors were part of our mission. But these charities saw them as a database.

While we were focused on implementation, they were building marketing teams, email campaigns, data strategies, and donor pipelines. And slowly, they began targeting our supporters directly.

They didn’t have to take any risks, operate inside Syria, or build infrastructure. They simply collected donations, attached themselves to our work, and benefited from the credibility we generated on the ground.

And then when things got difficult, when Syria became politically messy, when fear spread, they dumped us and moved on.

Over the years we wore the branding of many charities. Not because we were loyal to logos, but because we were trying to keep aid flowing. But many of those charities later went on to falsely claim they were “working in Syria,” when in reality they had retreated to the neighbouring countries Turkey, Jordan, and Lebanon.

They were running safer operations, safer deployments, and safer fundraising campaigns, while Syria itself was abandoned.

I finally understood that third-party fundraising charities are brokers.

They subcontract your amanah.

They are middlemen who thrive on primary relief because it is fast, marketable, and endless.

The Three Countries of Charity

To understand the charity world properly, you need to think in terms of three different countries.

1. Donor country: Where donations are raised.

2. Transit country: A neighbouring country where many charities operate safely. In Syria’s case, this would be Turkey, Jordan, or Lebanon.

3. Crisis beneficiary country: Where suffering is actually taking place, such as Syria itself.

Your donation can pass through one country…or through all three. Every extra layer means more middlemen, more cost, and more dilution of accountability.

The Five Types of Charity

Within these three spaces, five different types of charities exist. Most donors only ever see the first, fourth, and fifth. The others are usually hidden behind layers.

1. Third-Party Fundraising Charities

Let me get straight to the point. Third-party fundraising charities are brokers: the middleman. They take your donation in the donor country, then look for someone else to deliver it on the ground. This means your money passes through multiple layers before it reaches beneficiaries, increasing inefficiency and diluting accountability.

These charities never implement aid themselves. Their strength is fundraising, branding, and mobilisation, not delivery.

Key Features

Third-party fundraising charities operate as subcontractors. They raise funds, run campaigns, and then pass the money to partners in transit countries or crisis countries. They focus heavily on social media, influencers, marketing, and emergency appeals. Most staff and infrastructure are based in affluent donor countries, not in the crisis zones. They are almost always focused on primary relief because it is fast, repeatable, and easy to market.

A major red flag is when these charities offer constant deployments in bordering countries rather than the crisis country itself. In Syria’s case, many organisations spent years operating only in Jordan, Lebanon, or Turkey while claiming Syria work.

Strengths

These charities can raise large sums quickly. They have strong media teams and know how to mobilise donors during emergencies. They generate awareness and can bring attention to crises that might otherwise be ignored.

Weaknesses

The weaknesses are structural. As middlemen they create extra layers, extra cost, and reduced transparency. Accountability is diluted because the charity is not physically delivering anything themselves.

They also trap the Ummah in primary relief cycles. They distribute what is easy, not what is transformative. And because they lack a deep presence in crisis countries, their auditing systems are often weak and reliant on partner reporting.

Questions to Ask

The first question for a charity is always:

1. Who is your implementation partner, and which country are they based in?If they are candid enough to tell you, then ask:

   1b. What made you choose this partner, and what due diligence did you perform?

2. Only if they claim they implement directly should you move on:
3. How long have you been working directly inside Syria?
4. Who is your charity’s lead or manager inside the crisis country?
5. Can you show me your organisational structure on the ground?
6. Can you provide photos of your offices, warehouses, or personnel?
7. What is your flagship project?
8. What mid-term and long-term projects do you offer?
9. Can you show success stories from your work over the last ten years?

These questions expose whether you are dealing with a broker or a builder.

2. Transit Charities

Transit charities operate in neighbouring refugee countries. They often exist as an additional middle layer between fundraising and implementation. Transit charities can sometimes be necessary, but they also introduce political risk.

Key Features

They operate in safer bordering countries and often handle logistics, permissions, and cross-border transfers. They may subcontract again to implementing charities inside the crisis country.

Weaknesses

Transit charities are sometimes influenced by state agendas. A donor must understand that neighbouring governments often have interests in where aid flows.

Questions to Ask

As a donor, you will rarely have access to a transit charity directly. But if your charity tells you who their transit partner is, ask:

1. What due diligence did you perform before partnering with them?
2. Can you provide evidence of projects your partner has completed successfully?
3. Are they implementing themselves, or subcontracting again inside Syria?
4. Do you know they are not being funded in part or fully by the government that hosts them?

3. Implementing Charities

Implementing charities are the real first responders. They are based inside the crisis country, working directly with beneficiaries. They run the warehouses, employ staff, manage distributions, build projects, and take the risks that brokers never take.

Strengths

They understand the ground reality better than anyone. They know the needs, the communities, and the local dynamics. They are the ones doing the work.

Weaknesses

Their weakness is funding. Most do not have independent donor bases, so they become reliant on third-party fundraising charities. This often means they are told what projects to do, even when those projects are not what the community truly needs.

4. Sovereign Charities

Sovereign charities are more developed organisations. They operate across all three countries: donor, transit, and crisis. They raise funds, manage logistics, and implement directly, reducing dependency on middlemen.

Strengths

They have full control, stronger accountability, and the ability to plan long-term projects strategically. They are not forced into primary relief cycles.

Weaknesses

They are complex and costly to run. Their overheads can be higher, so donors must still demand transparency and scholarly oversight.

5. Reform (Islah) Charities

Reform charities are rare. They do not just deliver aid, they challenge the system itself. They embed deeply in crisis communities, build new models, focus on long-term independence, and often engage in activism and public truth-telling.

Strengths

They provide thought leadership, courage, and strategic vision. They build institutions, not handouts. These charities are risking their lives and sacrificing comfort to work directly with the people who need aid most. They deliver real impact, challenge systemic problems, and drive meaningful change. Supporting them maximises safety, accountability, and transformative impact.

Weaknesses

Because they operate on front lines, they face political risk, censorship, and danger. They are often misunderstood or attacked because reform threatens the status quo.

A Donor Principle

In my opinion, the weakest and most damaging model for the Ummah is the third-party fundraising broker structure. It is a business model built around subcontracting sacred trust.

Your goal as a donor should be to support sovereign charities or reform charities wherever possible.

The Ummah does not need more middlemen; it needs builders.

The Four Types of Charity Work

Years in the field and in a war zone taught me lessons that no textbook ever could. In the beginning, most of the work we were doing was driven by emotion and necessity. But over time, something began to trouble me. I started to realise that survival alone is not victory. And if charity remains stuck in emergency mode forever, it does not liberate people, it traps them.

The Atma incident was one of the first moments that opened my eyes. Western NGOs were operating in the camps, but almost all of their work was focused purely on primary relief. They were not building infrastructure. They were not investing in independence. They were delivering aid in a way that created dependency. And when the system was disrupted, half a million people were left without water overnight.

It made me ask a terrifying question: what kind of society are we building if people cannot survive without the daily truck?

And then I realised something even harder. We had fallen into the same loop.

The majority of the work we were doing, despite sincerity, was also creating dependency. Refugee camps were being built where an entire generation of children grew up believing that life meant waiting. Waiting for the food box. Waiting for the distribution. Waiting for the next handout.

Many families would receive a parcel once a month, sell half of it, survive on the rest, and repeat the cycle. Children were not going to school. Men could not find work. Dignity was eroding quietly. And a new dangerous culture was forming, not because the people were lazy, but because the system around them was training them into dependency.

That was the moment our thinking had to change.

It was no longer enough to ask, “Did we feed people this month?”

We had to ask, “What future are we building?”

Through this painful realisation I began to understand the different types of charity work.

1. Primary Relief Work (The Focus of Third-Party Fundraising Charities)

Primary relief is the first response to disaster. It is what keeps people alive in the early days of war and displacement. Food, water, tents, blankets, emergency cash, all necessary in the beginning.

But primary relief is also the weakest form of charity work when it becomes permanent. It is easy to repeat, easy to market, and easy to distribute endlessly without ever changing anything.

If a charity remains trapped in primary relief, then the Ummah will remain trapped in survival mode forever. This is why third-party fundraising charities love it: it produces quick feedback, strong emotions, and endless fundraising cycles.

Primary relief is necessary, but it is not a strategy.

2. Transitional Work

As the emergency stabilises, the next stage is transitional work. This is the bridge between survival and rebuilding. It is what happens when people are no longer dying tomorrow, but they are still not stable. This includes temporary schools, mobile clinics, refugee camp upgrades, semi-permanent housing, and livelihood support.

Transitional work is more strategic than relief, because it asks: how do we stop the bleeding?

How do we prevent collapse?

But it is still not enough on its own. It prevents disaster, but it does not build independence.

3. Development Work

Development work is where real change begins, where charity stops thinking like an emergency distributor and starts thinking like a nation builder.

This is when you build solar-powered water wells instead of water trucks. Permanent schools instead of temporary tents. Hospitals instead of mobile visits.

Development work is harder. It requires expertise, planning, long-term presence, and courage. But it does something relief never can: It creates independence. It gives dignity. It breaks dependency.

This is what we are lacking today. The Ummah is stuck donating in emergency mode, while our enemies plan in generations.

i. This Is for the Thinkers

Sadly, most Muslims have been conditioned into shallow charity thinking: Donate quickly. Feel good. Move on.

This section is for the thinkers, those of you who dream of liberating Al Aqsa, freeing Palestine, and restoring dignity to the Muslim lands. Those who understand that the Ummah will not rise through parcels alone.

The Qur’an uses the word Islah, not simply to fix something broken, but to restore what is right, to revive what has been lost, and to rebuild society upon truth, justice, and the pleasure of Allah.

Islah is not charity marketing. It is Ummah renewal.

ii. Long-Term Solutions

Reform work asks the deepest questions: why are Muslims always in need? Who benefits from permanent dependency? How do we build institutions, not handouts? How do we stop aid being weaponised?

This is where waqf becomes central.

A waqf is a uniquely Islamic model of long-term giving. Instead of donating something that is consumed once, you build or invest in something that continues to generate benefit for years, even generations.

Rather than endless food parcels, a waqf could be farmland, an orchard, a school, a water well, or a business whose profits support orphans, widows, students, and the poor year after year.

Waqf is charity that does not just relieve suffering temporarily, it creates permanent systems of independence. This is how Muslims historically built civilisation.

This is Islah.

iii. Tarbiyah (Building the Correct Mindset)

Reform charities also have something that most organisations completely ignore: tarbiyah.

They understand that liberation does not come from food parcels. Liberation comes from raising people who are educated, resilient, morally grounded, and capable of rebuilding their lands.

Tarbiyah is about cultivating a generation willing to sacrifice for the sake of Allah. A generation that does not live for comfort, salaries, and careers, but lives for duty, sincerity, and service of the religion.

Reform charities are trying to revive the spirit of fisabilillah, men and women who give, build, teach, and struggle, not because it is profitable, but because it is worship.

iv. Uncomfortable for the Enemies of Islam

Reform work is uncomfortable for the enemies of Islam, because it threatens the status quo. It does not just feed the poor, it challenges the machinery that keeps Muslims poor.

Oppression does not survive only through bombs and armies. It survives through dependency, through broken institutions. It survives when an Ummah is kept permanently weak, reactive, and uneducated.

A hungry man can be controlled. A refugee population that relies on monthly parcels can be managed.

But a generation that is educated, dignified, skilled, and grounded in Islam becomes impossible to dominate.

That is why reform work goes beyond food boxes. It builds schools instead of tents. It builds curricula instead of handouts. It builds minds instead of dependency.

The enemies of Islam do not fear charity that keeps Muslims alive. They fear charity that makes Muslims strong.

That is why it is rare.

And that is why it matters most.

The 100% Donation Policy vs the Admin Fees Trap

After working in Syria for several years and building up a reputation on the ground, charities from all over the world began contacting us. Many wanted us to implement projects for them inside the crisis, and one phrase kept appearing again and again:
“100% Donation Policy.”

At first, it sounded pure, Islamic. It sounded like the safest option for donors who wanted their money to reach the poor. Only once we began implementing projects did I realise something wasn’t right.

When funds would arrive, we would explain something simple: delivering aid has costs.

Warehouses, vehicles, staff salaries, security, auditing, logistics, none of this is optional, it is a necessity. Aid does not magically arrive at a refugee camp. It takes infrastructure.

Often the response was blunt: “Take it from the donations.”

We would reply, “But you claim 100% donation policy. How can costs come from donations if donors are told every penny reaches the poor?”

And that is when the truth became clear. They would say: “Yes, we are giving 100%… to you.”

In that moment, I realised the 100% donation policy was a fallacy. These broker charities were not donating directly to beneficiaries. They were donating to implementing charities like us, and the real costs of delivery were simply hidden downstream.

That is the first truth: admin costs are real and necessary. A serious charity must have systems, auditing, trained staff, logistics, and accountability. These costs are not corruption, but part of protecting the amanah.

But then comes the second danger: if costs exist, what stops a charity from taking too much? This is where ethics and scholarly oversight become essential. We realised early on that scholars must guide and regulate how amanah is administered. Unfortunately, many charities do not operate with this balance.

This brings us to the second truth: 100% donation policies are often a play on words. They may sound pure, but they often reflect third-party fundraising models that remain stuck in primary relief and avoid long-term strategic change.

And then comes the third truth: the most dangerous charities are the ones with unlimited admin and no transparency. These are organisations where overhead becomes indulgence, where salaries and influencer budgets are hidden, and where donors are discouraged from asking questions.

So where should Muslims be? Islam is balanced. We reject both extremes: the illusion of “zero cost charity” and the corruption of extravagant profiteering. The Ummah deserves charities that are professional, transparent, scholar-guided, and strategically focused on real impact.

If a charity claims 100%, ask them: do you implement directly or through partners? If directly, how do you fund auditing, offices, warehouses, and staff?

If a charity does not claim 100%, ask: what are your admin fees, who regulates them, and where is your scholarly oversight?

A Simple Reality Check

One of the easiest questions you can ask any charity is:

How many staff do you have in the donor country…and how many in the beneficiary country?

This single question exposes everything. If a charity has forty staff in London, and two in Syria, then their story does not make sense. Aid is not delivered by Instagram, but by people on the ground.

Charity Sector Prostitution

I chose this title because what I am about to describe is not a small issue of inefficiency or admin costs. It is something far deeper: the selling of what was meant to be sacred. It is the monetisation of suffering. It is the loss of sincerity. It is what happens when charity becomes an industry.

When something sacred becomes a commodity, it loses its soul. That is what I mean when I say: Charity Sector Prostitution.

When we first started out, things were different. We were not part of the established charity circuit, or backed by major organisations.

We were simply a Muslim couple, reporting directly from the ground, and asking the Ummah to help.

This was the early days. Social media was just beginning to shape the way people engaged with crises. Quickly we began to amass followers from all over the world. In those early years, something beautiful existed: people supported us fee sabeelillah. Muslims were being bombed, displaced, and slaughtered, and the Ummah responded with sincerity. Many people gave without expecting anything in return. That was real charity, with barakah.

But Syria became complicated. The conflict dragged on, and the rise of Daesh changed everything. Fear entered the Muslim community. People started to distance themselves. Charities became cautious. Support became conditional. Self- preservation became the priority. We learned something painful: many people will stand with you only when it is safe, only when it is popular, and only when it benefits them.

As the years passed, the cycles continued. When we became popular again, people returned. When attention rose, support rose. And we began to notice something darker. Whenever we gained momentum, certain influencers and public Islamic figures would want to be involved, but not always for the sake of Allah.

Two motivations became clear. The first was clout. The second was safety. For some imams, supporting a cause was no longer about truth, but about whether it was politically convenient, whether it was safe for their position, and whether it would cost them.

For influencers, something even worse began to emerge. At first it was a minority, but then statements abounded like, “Speak to my manager,” or “He can tell you the prices.” Prices. For what? For reminding the Ummah? For standing with the oppressed? For fundraising for dying children?

It was shocking. Over time, what was once rare became normal. The suffering of the Ummah became a commodity. Charity became an economy. And people began to sell themselves. That is why I use the word prostitution, because what else do you call it when sacred work is sold for a fee?

Fast forward to today, and this sickness has spread openly. It is no longer hidden or rare. It has become mainstream. It has been widely reported that Human Appeal paid Khabib Nurmagomedov £729,000 for a fundraising tour in the UK, and that Khaled Beydoun was paid over $2 million from Gaza fundraising.

Let that sink in. Khaled Beydoun raised around $7 million and took over $2 million for himself. How someone who calls himself an advocate for Palestine and can take that amount of money intended for Gaza and sleep at night is beyond beggars belief. That money was meant for widows, for children, for people under rubble.

This is what charity prostitution does. It sets a precedent in our community that nothing is done purely for Allah anymore. Everything has a price. Everything has a percentage. Everything has a personal benefit attached. And once that becomes normal, barakah disappears. Victory disappears. The Ummah remains dependent.

Perhaps the saddest part is that some of the worst offenders are veiled in Islam. They give reminders, speak about the akhirah, quote Qur’an, and appear sincere, but behind the scenes they are making large sums of money from charity campaigns. This is spiritual hypocrisy, and it is catastrophic for the Ummah.

What example is this setting for young Muslims? That the more followers you have, the more you can earn from the suffering of others. That charity is a career ladder. That serving the Ummah comes with perks, contracts, fame, and money. This is not the tradition of the Sahaba. This is not sacrifice. This is not fi sabeelillah.

Most people should understand that if you enter the charity path sincerely, your wealth may reduce, but the barakah in your life will increase. That requires tawakkul. That requires iman. Charity was never meant to be a business model.

The orphan is not content. Gaza is not a brand. Syria is not a marketing campaign. Sadaqah is sacred, and the Ummah is not a customer base.

Charity is not supposed to be an industry. The oppressed are not supposed to be commodities.

Muslims of influence are not supposed to sell themselves for a lowly price. If charity becomes prostitution, then we should not be surprised when it produces no liberation, because Allah does not place barakah in corruption.

Questions Every Donor Should Ask About Influencers and Marketing.

If the Muslim charity sector has become addicted to influencers, branding, and celebrity fundraising, then donors must begin asking the most uncomfortable but necessary questions. Because if a charity cannot survive without paying personalities to promote it, then you need to ask what is really being sold.

Here are some of the most important questions you can ask any charity today:

1. How much do you pay your influencers? Be direct. This is donor money. You have a right to know.
2. Do you have an official influencer payment policy? Is there a written framework, or is it done privately and informally behind closed doors?
3. Do you have any influencers who work with you completely for free? Are there people who genuinely believe in the cause without needing payment?
4. Who supports your projects for free, without any financial incentive? This is one of the most revealing questions. It shows whether a charity has real sincerity, or whether everything is transactional.
5. Why are you not declaring how much you are paying your influencers? If this is ethical, whyis it hidden?
6. Can you declare the salaries of your senior staff and executives? Donors deserve transparency, especially when millions are being raised in the name of the poor.
7. Can you declare the costs of your marketing teams and fundraising departments? How much of the budget is going toward delivery… and how much toward promotion?
8. Where do these marketing budgets come from? Are they taken directly from donations? Are they coming from separate funds? Are donors being clearly informed?

The Sacred Trust — Scholarly Oversight

One founding principle of Iqra was a balance between Islamic excellence and professionalism. We did not want charity work to become merely logistics and delivery. We wanted it to remain what it truly is: a spiritual amanah.

To do that, we realised very early that we needed more than good intentions. We needed knowledge. We needed fiqh. We needed to understand the sacred laws of zakat and sadaqah, because these are not simply donations, they are obligations, trusts, and rights that belong to Allah and to the poor.

And in order to learn that, we had to find scholars.

Syria was historically a hub of Islamic knowledge. Students from across the Muslim world would travel to Damascus and Aleppo to study the religion. When the revolution began, many major scholars either sided with the regime or sadly fled the country. But Syria remained a melting pot of knowledge, and among the ranks of the revolutionaries were students and scholars who had joined the struggle.

It was from amongst these people that we found a trusted group who became the scholarly board of Iqra. They taught us the fiqh of zakat and sadaqah, guided us in administering the amanah properly, and helped us establish Islamic policies that would protect both the organisation and the vulnerable people we served.

Their role was not simply to issue a fatwa and disappear. They were involved in building systems. They helped us understand how zakat should be distributed, what categories it belongs to, and how to ensure that the poor and needy were truly receiving their rights. But their influence went beyond finance.

As the organisation grew, we faced many sensitive realities on the ground. We had lone sisters whose husbands had been martyred. We had vulnerable widows. We had orphans. We had female prisoners. We had families living without protection. We needed Islamic regulation and guidance on how men and women should interact within the organisation, how safeguarding should be structured, and how dignity should be preserved in the delivery of aid.

This is where the scholars had a massive impact. They shaped not only what we delivered, but how we delivered it. They ensured that charity remained spiritual service, not simply humanitarian work.

Sadly, this is not the case for most charities today, especially third-party fundraising charities. What you will often see is that these charities have celebrity scholars who attend dinners, appear at events, and make emotional fundraising appeals. But the reality is that many of these figures have no role in auditing, governance, zakat distribution, or implementation oversight. They are not part of monitoring teams. They are not shaping policy. They are simply endorsements.

When scholarly oversight becomes branding rather than governance, the charity becomes a business, not a sacred trust. This is where corruption spreads, accountability disappears, and the amanah of the Ummah is placed in danger.

That is why scholarly oversight is not optional. It is central. Zakat is worship. Sadaqah is worship. And worship must be protected.

So what should donors ask?

You must begin asking charities serious questions, not marketing questions.

Ask them: What are your zakat and sadaqah distribution policies? What is your policy for amilin alayha — those who are paid from zakat funds? Who are your scholars? Who is your board of scholars that gives approval to your charity?

More importantly, ask: Are these scholars involved in monitoring and development, or are they simply names on a poster? What Islamic training are you giving your staff in the donor country?

What Islamic training are you giving your staff in the crisis country?

These are not small questions. These are red lines.

If a charity cannot answer them clearly, then that is a major red flag. Because without real scholarly oversight, charity drifts away from amanah and becomes an industry.

And the Ummah cannot afford that.

Ten Questions to Ask Any Charity Before You Donate

1. Do you implement projects yourself, or are you working through an implementation partner? If so, who is that partner and which country are they based in?
2. What due diligence did you perform before choosing that partner? Can you provide evidence of their past work?
3. How long have you been working directly inside the crisis country (not just in bordering refugee countries)?
4. Who is your lead or manager on the ground in the crisis country?
5. Can you show photos or evidence of your offices, warehouses, staff, or operational presence inside the crisis country?
6. What is your flagship project that goes beyond food parcels and short-term distributions?
7. What mid-term and long-term projects do you offer to reduce dependency and build independence?
8. What are your admin fees, and who regulates or oversees how much is taken from donations?
9. Who are your scholars or scholarly board, and what role do they actually play in zakat policy, governance, and monitoring (not just fundraising events)?
10. How much do you pay influencers or public figures, and why are these payments not transparently declared to donors?

A Final Amanah

If you take one thing from this guidebook, let it be this: the Ummah is in the state of decadence that we are in because something in the way we operate as an Ummah is wrong. The brokenness of the charity sector is simply proof of that.

The charity sector today is fractured and in desperate need of reform. This guide was not written to destroy it, because Muslims are among the most giving people on the planet. Our hearts are generous, and our willingness to sacrifice is real. But sincerity without strategy is not enough.

The goal of this book is for us to become smarter, more strategic, and more aware of where our amanah is going. Our enemies they are far more calculated in their giving than we are. They build institutions, they plan for generations, and that is why you see them overcoming us in so many arenas.

But here is the truth that every donor must realise:

Charities exist because you give. Their budgets, their influence, their platforms, their entire machinery survives because of the donor. And yet the donor has been trained to feel small, emotional, and passive — duped by slogans, celebrity endorsements, and powerful marketing tools. That must end.

The Ummah cannot afford to donate blindly anymore. We must do our homework. We must ask the hard questions. We must support builders, not brokers. We must stop being manipulated by branding and start being guided by truth, transparency, and long-term vision.

This is how reform begins.

We as Muslims must take our asbab. We must rebuild correctly, and deliver our zakat and sadaqah with excellence and foresight. And when we do so, Allah subhanahu wa ta’ala will grant victory.

Keep us in your du’as. I hope there is benefit in this work. Anything good in this guidebook is only from the blessings of Allah subhanahu wa ta’ala, and anything wrong is from myself.

In the coming period, I will be releasing my own charity scoring and breakdown of the major Muslim charities in Syria over the last fourteen years. I will be telling you clearly what type of charity each one is, whether they are third-party fundraising brokers, transit charities, sovereign charities, implementing organisations, or true reform charities, and I will be giving them a score out of 100. So stay tuned.

Your brother in Islam,
Tauqir “Tox” Sharif

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Related:

[Podcast] Is Your Sadaqah Paying an Influencer Instead of Going to Charity? | Mufti Abdullah Nana & Dr Shafi Lodhi

The post Know Where Your Charity Goes: A Guidebook by Tauqir Sharif for Muslim Givers this Dhul Hijjah appeared first on MuslimMatters.org.