Bismillahir Rahmaanir Raheem

About a week ago, as I scrolled through my Whatsapp feed, I found a display picture that caused some introspection for my illusive mind, maybe for a a few days.
Then, so it happened, some time later, I received a post that inspired me, even if it was just for a short while. Co-incidentally, just before the weekend, an e-mail appeared in my inbox, as a clear reminder of what I should have been aspiring for since the beginning of Ramadaan. I read it and thought about it, and then forgot about it, just like the other words that I had previously been taken aback by, as I was caught in the moment.

They say technology is this era is the hugest Fitnah of the time… Just as magic was in the time of Musaa (AS) and Haroon (AS). And of course, no one can deny that technology…

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Beyond the Blue Bird: Zaynah

Bismillahir Rahmaanir Raheem

As you tread the path of life, unavoidably, your outlook on life gets altered. You sometimes get acquainted with the lull of life, and sometimes, you come face-to-face with reality. Most importantly, though, you learn a few things about yourself… About the limits you can go to, before it comes crashing down.

And, of course,  through the ups and downs, peaks and troughs, you begin to notice that not all injuries can be seen from the outside.

You come to realise that not all wounds are superficial.

Most run deeper than we can see, beneath the surface, somewhere beyond the place that’s visible with the naked eye.

The thing is, with those type of injuries, no matter how hard we work at it, some wounds might never fully heal. You might have to change your whole life… Adjust to a whole new way of living…

What matters though, is to accept that things may start to change. That life would be different and might never be the same again. And the more we’re willing to give up what we know and accept what things have become, we’ll understand that we can finally reach that place that we’ve been striving to all this time. A place where we can be a little more at peace… A little more content with Divine decree. A place where we truly belong.

“It’s where I need to be right now,” Waseem was saying now, as he stepped out to leave, and I completely understood what he was saying.

“I know,” My voice said, looking into his determined eyes and remembering that fervour that I had once had.

I was like that too. Anything for the sake of Deen. And I wanted to be easy, and just be selfless, but my heart was on a completely different wavelength.

Don’t be that wife, I was telling myself. Don’t be the type of woman who can’t even let go… Who can’t even make a simple sacrifice.

“You keep this,” he said, taking out his phone and handing it to me. “I won’t need it.”

I looked at him, already panicking. How will I contact him? What if I needed him?

Stop it, I berated myself.

I was being ridiculous. I mean, I had literally just met someone, a young woman who I admired so much, who had let go of so much and for so long, just for the sake of her and her husband’s passion for Deen. And I couldn’t even say goodbye for two weeks.


I was acting so… Needy. I hated it.

I nodded slowly, but my initial reaction was too obvious for him to miss.

“Zaynah,” he said softly, and I knew I would give in. My heart just dissolved into something beyond putty as he came towards me, his arms already outstretched.

I could already feel the tears welling up, and his arms grasped me tightly as I breathed him in, trying to capture that moment, so that it could last me for the next two weeks or so.

My tough girl act didn’t work in these kind of situations. He let go and leaned back while he looked at me, now smiling his usual mysterious smile. He was probably thrilled that I was actually showing some human emotion.

“Love you,” he said, planting a kiss on my cheek as he let go.

I grinned back , through glistening tears, as he turned to leave, my eyes not daring to leave him as he got into the car and sped off, already feeling the very palpable hole in my gut. I was stuck in my world of emotional anxiety, wondering when I would see his face again, when a voice from behind me broke my thoughts.

“Is he gone?”

I didn’t reply.

Wasn’t it obvious?

I hated it when people asked questions that were almost rhetorical. And right now, beside the fact that I wasn’t in the best of moods, I just didn’t feel like speaking to Nabeela again. Not yet.

“Zay, really?!” She was saying. “You’re still angry at me? Come on!”

I ignored her and walked to the kitchen, going to make Abbi’s morning tea. I wasn’t even sure why Nabeela was awake at this hour.

“I’m sorry, okay?” She said, sitting down on a wooden stool, cuffing her chin in her hands. “I was just telling you what I heard. I didn’t mean to cause any problems.”

That was probably a lie. In my opinion, Nabeela and her friends probably had nothing better to do than investigate silly stories that were being spread in the community. The accusation that Waseem was with one of the her friends 45th cousins, last weekend at some house, was the latest rumour that had reached me through Nabeela. And it wasn’t the first time I had heard that sort of junk.

Besides all of that, I needed to start preparing myself for Ramadhaan that was just about two weeks away. I didn’t want to get caught up in all the unnecessary talks and stories that I knew had little basis. I needed to shift my focus to more important things, and Nabeela needed to do the same. I realised how important it was to watch the way we spoke.

Often, people just spoke for the sake of it… Or because there was some juicy story to relate. We needed to learn to control the weapon in our mouths that caused the most destruction.

“Let’s just forget about it, okay?” I said finally, looking at her morbid expression. She nodded and lightened up instantly.

I was still shocked about her telling me outright that she thought Waseem was ‘messing around’. It wasn’t really her place to say, and you just can’t make accusations like that.

And although I was pretty sure that Waseem wouldn’t hurt me like that, if the opportunity was there, it just made me feel a tiny bit insecure. And that’s what made letting go of him just a little more of a test.

I brushed away the negative feelings, determined to get through these two weeks with no silly thoughts playing on my mind.

The Ramadhaan atmosphere was a much needed diversion from the lull that had become my life. I had lost focus.. And I had lost my drive. I need to start to put some real effort into what I needed to achieve, and start preparing myself spiritually for the blessed month.

As I sat with my list of goals and aspirations, I realised why Waseem had left his phone behind. He had said that Maulana had advised them to do so, for obvious reasons.

Technology was the first distraction that I needed to get rid off, and I made that my first intention. I would divorce any form of technology in this month. If I felt a need to take a ‘break’ from ibaadat, the ideal thing would be to read a beneficial kitaab or rather, just go to sleep.

As I looked over my list, determined to make Qur’an my first priority in the blessed month, I wished that I could actually do justice to my goals. They say if our hearts were clean we wouldn’t ever tire of reading Allah’s beautiful words, and I really wanted to make the most of this Ramadaan, and not just starve my body for the sake of it. I wanted to actually nourish my soul in the process.

There was so much more to Ramadaan that just fasting during the days. We forget that Allah does not need anyone’s fast if it only means us staying away from food.

Allah does not need the fast of one who does not abandon false speech or acting according to his false speech [Bukhari and others]]

And by just fasting, and then continuing to abuse my mouth and push sins to the limit, I will be gaining nothing. But when it came to the purpose of the month, we had to realise why it was given to us.

La’allakum Tataqoon.

To attain taqwa. So that we may begin to know Allah. To feel Him. To truly gain the awareness that we are supposed to feel, regarding our Rabb, Lord of the Worlds.

And Allah Ta’ala says in the Qur’an [in meaning]:

O you who believe, fasting is prescribed for you as it was prescribed for those before you so perchance you may attain Taqwa.”

And the ‘prescription’, like a doctor will order, is meant to heal and improve. Such as the days of fasting will be for me, to heal my soul, and I started gaining the momentum that I felt was so important.  The excitement and atmosphere in the community itself could be felt.

It was just… Different. Even the roads seemed that much calmer, even though the hustle and bustle was a little more serious as everyone prepared for Ramadaan. And it was amazing how everyone, even the people who I so judgementally called ‘part-time Muslims’, made this month their month, like they were claiming it completely, as if it was going to be the great opportunity to do some rejuvination. This Ramadaan was meant just for them. A chance to make their own reformation… Maybe to even change their life and direction.

And I too, needed to work on so much. I patched things up with Nabeela, realising that squabbling was so silly. I spoke to my mother-in-law, because I knew it would do me good, and put all my ill feelings about people somewhere where I was certain I couldn’t retrieve them.

It was time for the grand opening… The main event. Ramadaan was already a few days away and my heart was literally thudding in anticipation as I made sure everything in the house was prepared for the month. I was sure that Waseem was due to be back soon (I hoped), and I looked forward to our Ramadaan more than ever, because it would be the first together.

I sniffed the air as the Adhaan sounded at Maghrib on that last day, convinced that it was going to be the night that the moon would be sighted. I was certain that the air was already feeling different as I pushed opened the window a little more, glimpsing the winter sunset at it’s best, as a single blue bird flew across the colourful horizon.

I was struck with awe as I witnessed the obvious beauty.

Sweet Ramadaan. I could already feel it. When all the Masaajid came alive. When charity was in abundance. When people vied with each other to perform the most ibaadat.

But, most importantly, the birthday of the Qur’an. The one celebration that we can really give recognition to, because this birthday is no ordinary one. It requires utmost preparation. It awaits premium recitation. The taraweehs and Qiyaam-al-Layl are buzzing as the men aspire to complete multiple Juz in just a few Raka’a. Really, it was amazing, and even in our new house and neighbourhood, I could feel the weight of  love of Duniyaa slowly lifting off.

Ramadaan was on the doorstep, and as I realised it, I couldn’t help but think about loved ones who won’t be seeing this one.

I thought of Mummy, and other family members, and it seemed like the season of losses was coming to it’s close. As Ramadaan was drawing in, I knew that all who were lost will be remembered.

Spouses will recall sweet moments spent making Suhoor and Du’aa together, and children will wish their parent was there just this one more Ramadaan, so they could nag them about all the extra things they needed to achieve. Brothers will long for their sisters, and sisters will yearn for their brothers. Sweet memories of Ramadaans previously spent will be etched in their memories, as they remembered every detail of what they would be missing as the days would progress… And of course, they would move on.

Because life did go on, and though memories of them talking and laughing will be so clear, now, the reality was that they were now lifeless, shrouded in white, also already moved on.

My mind was occupied with these thoughts as I went around the house closing curtains after Salaah, and I could feel the anticipation as everyone prepared for Taraweeh that night. The appetite of Ibaadat was like a fever, and I couldn’t help myself from wanting to just do as much as I could, knowing that the rewards were greater in this blessed month. And as I finally almost fell off to sleep whilst trying to complete yet another para of Qur’an, I crawled into bed, too tired and forgetting to set my alarm, as habitual practise, for the next morning.

I woke up with a shock as Nabeela hovered over me with a panicked look the next morning, repeating to me like I was some invalid that there were only 15 minutes left till Sehri expired. Fifteen minutes!

I jumped up, wondering how Abbi had overslept. It was always his habit to wake up extra early. Especially since it was the first fast and since he was always awake, he took it upon himself to rise the whole household. I was just glad that Nabeela was here for the first few fasts this year, because an extra person was just a comfort to have around.

I hurriedly switched on the stove and kettle, and then rushed off to Abbi’s room to wake him. The whole thing was just so out of character for Abbi, but I didn’t even process the signs. I didn’t even acknowledge the obvious.

I entered the room, and not seeing Abbi in bed, immediately glanced towards the end of the room. Abbi’s Musallah was out and I just guessed that he was making the most of the last third of the night, which was so Mubarak.

Maybe he had woken up late too… Or maybe he had got side-tracked… Or maybe… Maybe he had just lost track of time.

I went forward, watching him lean against the cold white wall behind his Musalla.

“Abbi,” I said softly, stepping forward and watching him carefully, my hands already beginning to tremble.

It was only then, that reality hit me. Instead of seeing his fingers moving on the familiar wooden Tasbeeh that was just near his hand, his fingers were stagnant. The rhythmic heaving of his chest was not even remotely visible as he sat, almost upright, his shoulder propped against two pillows placed in the corner. In a daze, I immediately looked up at his face, noticing his eyes tightly shut as his head leaned to one side, as if he was asleep.

Fear gripped my very soul as I leant down, almost breaking down at that very moment. I shouted for Nabeela, completely aware of everything that had already happened.

I didn’t cry. I didn’t even go into a panic. Through Allah’s grace, shock didn’t take over. I merely leant down to confirm the truth, so I knew it was real.

My hands were damp as I bent down to verify. And yes… Though his hands were still warm, the pulse was gone. Like it had just stopped… All of a sudden. And as I watched his expression, I felt as if his soul was just eased out of his body, so peaceful was his entire lifeless presence.

Not all wounds are superficial. Most wounds run deeper than we can see, beneath the surface, somewhere beyond the place that’s visible with the naked eye. And some, just take us completely by surprise.

The cards were laid on the table, and death was trumps.

The biggest reality, to nullify every other worldly factor that had creeped into our unmindful existence. It’s always difficult, but it hits you hardest when it’s someone who is so beloved to you… Someone so close. Like the punch in the stomach… Blurring your vision for a short time, and then bringing us back to focus on reality. The reality after this life…

That death didn’t look at your wealth, status or your dependants. Death didn’t look at your beauty, expectant daughters or wives, or wait for you to meet your grandchild. Death didn’t even care about whether you had prepared for it’s coming or not.

I looked at Abbi’s face one last time. He had barely hit his late forties…. He had only a few strands of grey in his beard.  Death, in it’s ferocity, didn’t even look at your age.

And yes, it breaks homes, and yes, it destroys souls. It is awful and painful, yet only a reality that we have to face. As if it was ripped out, your heart will never be the same again. And my heart broke a little more, knowing that this Ramadaan will be the hardest I will ever face without my parents, but also, the most real that I’d ever felt.

Because the realisation then hit me: This was only meant as a reminder… To remind us that indeed, each and every one of us belong to our Creator only.

Allah sends us these sudden reminders that jolts us… That get us to see the bigger picture…

That my loved one, yours, or whoever else’s, are merely loans to us, who will have to be returned.

For those who have passed on, they souls have returned, because Allah Almighty has called them back home.

In turn, we remember, for us who are still alive, that we too should return, as Ramadaan comes, with our bodies and hearts. We return to Him, and turn to Him for our solace, peace and comfort, because it is never too late to do so. We never know when our time will be up, and when Allah will, as HE feels fit, will take back what belongs to Him.

We return to Him… Rujoo’ Illalah… In both life and in death.

Author’s Note: Assalamualaikum dear readers. Ramadaan kareem to one and all.

This is the last post before Ramadaan, and InshaAllah, I will only post again after Ramadaan. It just takes too much of precious time, and in this month, let us make extra effort to engage in extra Ibaadat. Let us try and leave our phones aside, and do some kitaab reading or Dhikrullah. Let us also try to revive our Sunnahs once again. Let us try and research all the Sunnah Du’aas this month and practise them. Let’s make it a challenge to try and read as many Sunnah Du’aas a day so it can become habitual. Eating, sleeping, toilet, drinking water, and even dressing up. Everything can become an Ibaadat if we make Niyyah, InshaAllah. I will try and post some Du’aas in Ramadaan, InshaAllah.

Also, as a reminder: I received this a few weeks ago with regard to a death in the community, and wanted to share.

Every year before Ramadaan, Allah sends us these sudden reminders that jolts us out of our slumber. It’s so important for us to take lesson. We just go on with our day to day lives and we forget the bigger picture and that is to become close to Allah and to prepare for meeting Him and the everlasting life of the hereafter. We feel like we will live long… We will see our children grow up.. We will live to see our grandchildren…
We feel as though we still have time and we will change… But does that day come? We have to make a concerted effort to change our lives and make deen the focus of our own lives and the lives of our children… Life is indeed too short for silly quarrels and killing ourselves for material gain.
Allah tested this family enormously and they have glad tidings as Allah promises glad tidings for those who have sabr. Allah promises a palace in Jannah for passing this type of test.
Mothers and sisters…
Let’s soul search.. Let’s check our own lives for reformation and let’s use this eye opener as the day when we ourselves changed our direction in life towards Allah’s pleasure and obedience…’

May Allah give is the tawfeeq. Please… Always in need of Du’aas.



Tweet: @ajourneyjournal


Bismillahir Rahmaair Raheem

Waseem: A little time in the path...

“Come on,” Dad was saying, putting on his ‘you’re being ridiculous’ look, and of course, completely undermining my beliefs.

It was days after the episode at the ‘house of everyone’s dreams’, and my father had called me back for a chat. If I knew he was going to bug me about this I probably wouldn’t have come. Wrong is wrong. No matter who and no matter what.

You see, the whole thing was going nowhere. Apparently, the chics I had seen were offended because I couldn’t greet. It was strange how people automatically thought that everything was okay because there was a past. Did they even know I was married or did my father conveniently forget to mention that very important fact?

I instantly thought of Zaynah. I went to see her that same evening, feeling like a traitor for just being there.

“I don’t know those girls,” I said calmly. “I’m a stranger. I can’t just start chatting them up. And if they thought otherwise, it needs to be known that I’m not available.”

“We’re moderate people,” my father started, and I knew where all this was going already. “We don’t do these extreme things that all these… Other people do. We wear clothes. Our women are not locked up in the house. We socialise. We have fun. Islam is not meant to be so rigid.”

I wanted to laugh. I had heard the lines so many times before, and this time, it was weird because I was on the other side of the fence. Hugging girls was ‘moderate’. Okay.

Except now the ‘moderate people’ line didn’t work for me anymore because I now realised that Islam itself, is moderation. It was merely the perception of the West and it’s influence that made us think otherwise. So anyone who had the audacity to say that a Deeni person was being extreme, just on account of obeying the commandments of Allah in their day-to-day lives, is clearly off-track.

The sad thing was, for the most part, we consider a Muslim to be “moderate”, when he acts “Christian.” With this definition, a significant number of Muslims appear moderate due to lack of Deen. And even those who have some knowledge, keep on justifying reasons not to obey the commands of Allah when it suits them.

Of course, the main features of Islam is that it is a balanced religion. People often say that whenever the Prophet (SAW) had to choose between two options especially for his followers, he always chose the easier, unless it was explicitly forbidden. But that’s what we forget. That if it is forbidden, how can it ever be right?

What I couldn’t understand about people was that we claimed to love Allah…

But when a heart loves Allah… Why does it still refuse to obey Him?

Islam is not a buffet where we pick
and choose what suits us. With us, we are constantly in obedience of our Nafs.

Fudayl Ibn Iyad Rahimullah was asked “What do you find the strangest of all things?”

He said: “The heart that knows Allāh, yet still disobeys Him.”

Dad’s expression changed to one of indifference as he flipped through some folders, pulling out a piece of paper.

“These are the title deeds,” he said, ignoring my comment and handing them to me.

I shook my head, not wanting any hand-outs. I didn’t want his property because I knew it would come with his conditions. I just didn’t want a share of the world that he was trying to offer me. Something had changed in me a while back… Something had made me renounce the world and all it’s treasures.

I didn’t need any of it, I convinced myself. I had better than gold or any priceless gem.

She was my refuge and my safety… She kept me grounded, and left me short of nothing. With her around, what else did I need?

Zaynah had given me hope that beyond this futile world there was a tomorrow where I really wanted to be… A place where I yearned to go with all my heart, and reside forever with the same love that we are promised will continue in Jannah.. Why would I sabotage it?

And since I had never yearned for any of what Dad was offering, I didn’t understand why he trying so hard anyway. What exactly did he want frome me?

I was surprised that he said nothing that day about my ‘ingratitude’, even when I went to see my Mum and Ziyaad.

I hadn’t seen my mother in a while, and I felt myself missing her a lot recently. Issues in the household were such that we had just stop bothering to try and change things. I could see that she was losing hope andit pained me to see it.

“When are you bringing home my daughter?” She asked softly, after I greeted her.

I wasn’t sure what to say. I needed to figure out this whole plan with Dad first, before I made any moves. As much as I mentioned my wife, he still didn’t seem to process the fact that I had one. That’s why I still hadn’t taken Zaynah to meet him.

What if I brought Zaynah home and the whole thing was just awkward?

Rather not, I thought to myself, as I moved on to more current issues.

“Don’t be a doos,” Ziyaad said, after Dad had left and I told them about the house. “Take the pozie and then sell it. And then give me all the money.”

He had the whole thing planned out in his mind, and I wanted to laugh at his ridiculous hopes. There was no way I was taking the house… No matter what my father thought.

“It’s like one of those Palaces in Jannah, bru,” Ziyaad continued with a faraway look in his eyes. “And yohh, boss… It even had it’s own hoors!”

His eyes were wide with delight and I honestly almost smacked him.

“It’s a damn house,” I said, annoyed at his outburst. He was getting too caught up.

“Boss, don’t judge,” he said, noting my expression and grinning. “How will we ever aspire for Jannah if we don’t get acquainted with the luxuries of this world? It’s like a sneak preview!”

I shook my head at him, almost chuckling. Ziyaad was right in a way, but he took it to another level. His sneak previews became like a series marathon. It was crazy.

“I don’t know why he bought it,” I said, still thinking about it as I picked him up to go to Mo’s place that day. “How would I even explain it all to Zaynah? And why is he pushing it on me?”

Ziyaad said nothing as we turned into the driveway, and though I thought that it was strange for my lil bro, I didn’t read much into it until I saw his withdrawn look as I parked off. His mood seemed to have suddenly altered.

Zaynah was already here from the afternoon, spending time with Aasiya, and I was really looking forward to seeing her, especially today. It was one of those days when I just needed a little encouragement and support from the person who meant the most to me. But, as much as I needed it, I couldn’t just ignore my younger brother’s obvious whims.

“Bru, what’s going on?” I asked, pushing the button to switch off the car and looking at him. His hair wasn’t as styled up as it usually was, and his whole presentation was taking the knock. Even his perfume didn’t seem as strong as usual.

If Zee losing his passion to look awesome then something was definitely not right.

He had been acting a little strange for the past few days, and I knew that something was bugging him. I just didn’t know what it was.

“The thing is, Waseem… Dad needs to prove that he at least has one worthy son,” he said blandly, still not looking up. “Mo and him don’t talk, and I caused it… So you’re his only hope.”

I was confused. Ziyaad was always the man. He never messed up, and he had never caught the slack for anything.  How can I be the only hope?

“What d’you mean?” I asked, taken aback.

“You don’t wanna know,” he said coolly, getting off the car. “Just know that you were right when you told me to be careful about that chic.”

I vaguely remembered telling him to watch it a few months back. I knew that he was moving and pretty serious with the a girl… And I knew how those things went down. Well, basically,  when you got caught up in Haraam, there was no drawing lines. Shaytaan made sure of it.

“She told her father?” I asked, incredulously. “Did you mess her around? I hope you didn’t leave her on the lurch like an idiot.”

If that was the case, I knew what they would probably do to Ziyaad if they had to get hold of him. People around here were trigger happy… They had no conscience.

Maybe that was why he had been so scarce… Keeping himself on a low profile.

I was waiting for an explanation, but I expected anything but what he said next. His next words stunned me, giving me goosebumps for a moment, as I processed them.

“She got pregnant,” he said.

I gaped at him, freezing in my tracks. Whaaaaat?! 


Honestly, that was like the most problematic thing. Not because it involved a baby… But because it just gave people a license to talk. And a license to act stupid.

“I wanted to make it right,” he said softly, not meeting my eye. “But she’s marrying that other Dude Dad knows and Dad won’t-”

“You have to make Nikah,” I insisted, not wanting to hear anything else.

I couldn’t stand this. It wasn’t because of what Ziyaad did. I could have been in the same situation.

I was appalled because Dad was refusing to let him do the right thing. He was completely undermining Shari’ah. He had to let him marry her, no matter what business deals it may mess up.

“Maybe we should talk to Mo about this,” I said, voicing my thoughts. “See what he can do. Does he know?”

Zee shook his head numbly, and I honestly just wanted to hug the guy. I felt really bad for him. I wanted to tell him it would all be okay. For now, I wasn’t sure… But in the end, it always is.

I followed him into the house, determined to get to the bottom of this and try and do something to ease his burden, but being so caught up with Ziyaad got me missing even the most obvious details that were there.

The extra car in the driveway didn’t even faze me until I got inside, and realised that there was a bit of a function going on.

Things had been difficult before when we were all forced to sit together. And now that my wife was around, I was even more wary.

I didn’t need to worry though… Because as I saw who this whole event was in honour of, I realised that we were safe.

To my surprise, and of course, utter joy, Molvi Umar stood up, and maybe it was wishful thinking, but I was almost certain that his eyes lit up as he spotted me, and I went forward to greet him. He embraced me fiercely, and I realised that I had actually really missed the guy that had kept me grounded from the beginning. Without his presence, though I had stayed on-track, I was getting a bit too comfortable with this world especially in my marriage.

Being preoccupied with the ‘honeymoon’ stage sometimes can be a diversion from reality. I didn’t see Zaynah all the time, and it made me want to spend every free moment with her. And though of course, it was necessary, I needed to break the routine and give more time for the Deen. I needed to try to shift my focus, especially since Ramadhaan was less than a month away. The anticipation and aspirations made me want to achieve the utmost in the month of Mercy.

“We were waiting for you,” he said, nodding at Mo. “I was just discussing some Jamaat plans…”

He lowered his voice, though still smiling, he continued.

“I think I might be scaring your bru.”

He grinned at Muhammed and I chuckled, knowing that Muhammed was completely averse to Jamaat.

Mo generally went with the flow, as long as it was easy-going. He did what he felt was ‘necessary’, but only for himself. I looked at him proudly though, thinking how much his new beard suited him. Sometimes, slowly does it.

“Where to, Molvi?” I asked, interested.

“We can talk about it,” he said vaguely. “But will your vrou mind? I think my wife is probably already telling her to keep you far away from me.”

So, Molvi had brought his wife to see his sister. It was awesome that they were all getting acquainted and I was really happy for them.

He was still grinning, and I smiled back. Molvi was a passionate guy. Whatever he did was with a force, and he always went all out.

As for my wife, I knew she wouldn’t mind if I had to leave her for the sake of Deen… And although I knew that I had many things to sort out at home, everything would continue without me. I took a look at Mo, knowing I could rely on him on whatever we needed. Life would go on, whether I was around or not.

It was an opportunity I couldn’t refuse. Now that Ramadhaan was coming up, I found myself feeling more inclined to touching base with things that kept me on track… To revitalise the parts of me that had become so dead and focussed on this temporary world… To rekindle that flame that I felt had died somewhere along the way, when I thought I had come too far to keep on trying…

And although we could never do enough, it was an occasion to give a little time as some kind of remuniration for everything that had gone right in my life so far.

Allah had been so merciful to me, so how could I continue to cook up excuses when there was an opportunity to spend a little time in His path?

Of course, all that was holding me back could never amount to what I knew awaited me, since I was told once that a little time spent in the path of Allah was better than the world and all it contained.

“I’ll speak to her,” I said to him, but I already knew that she could never refuse.

“You better go home and pack then, bru,” he said seriously. “I’m booking your flight… We’re leaving tomorrow.”