Literature and Reflection
My journey toward Islam began during a period of deep introspection. On the eve of my 18th birthday, I found myself immersed in Wole Soyinka’s You Must Set Forth at Dawn. Soyinka’s vivid account of a man praying near the pyramids in Egypt struck me profoundly. In that moment, I felt an indescribable peace—a connection to something eternal. It was as if the ancient world was reaching across time, calling me to explore spirituality and the shared experiences of humanity that unite us all.
At the same time, I was engrossed in Ahmadou Kourouma’s Allah is Not Obliged, where I found parallels between the small soldier’s trials and my own questions about life. The verses of the Qur’an echoed similar sentiments of resilience and faith. One particular verse from Surah Al-Anfal resonated deeply: “O you who believe! When you meet a force, be firm, and call upon Allah in remembrance much, so that you may succeed.” (8:45). It was as if the words were speaking directly to my soul, urging me to seek strength and clarity through faith.
A Lens Through Death
Death became a recurring theme that guided my spiritual exploration. Tombstones fascinated me—the stories of entire lives condensed into brief inscriptions. Growing up, our family’s house in the village sat opposite an Anglican church cemetery. Those silent graves held a quiet mystery that I could not ignore.
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Years later, on a camping trip to Itasin Forest in Ogun State, I encountered tombstones in an old Catholic church. They seemed to whisper tales of lives that had come and gone, each one unique yet bound by mortality. Moving to Belfast in September 2024 deepened this connection. I discovered a cemetery where I could reflect, read inscriptions, and walk among the trees in sacred silence. Here, practical traditions like the placement of salt containers at entrances fascinated me—meant to mask odours and believed to guide the departed toward peace in the afterlife.
I explored death rituals across cultures, from the pyramids of ancient Egypt to the Toraja people of Sulawesi. These traditions taught me that while death separates us, it also reveals how deeply connected we are. In Nigeria, I often observed families go into debt for “befitting burials”—lavish ceremonies that seemed to lose sight of the deceased’s memory.
By contrast, the Islamic practice of burial within 72 hours struck me as both dignified and practical. It allows families to honour their loved ones without falling into financial ruin, focusing instead on celebrating a life well-lived.
Guidance and Mentors
My spiritual awakening gained direction during my time at Federal Government College, Odogbolu. Hakeem Lawal, the son of the school’s Imam, became an unexpected mentor. Through him, I began to learn about Islam’s principles, its miracles, and even the beauty of the Arabic language. His gifts of Sallah ram meat were more than acts of friendship; they were quiet invitations to understand his faith more deeply.
Another powerful influence was Malcolm X. His transformation from a troubled past to becoming an advocate for justice through Islam captivated me. Reading about his pilgrimage to Mecca—where he discovered a community that transcended race and borders—helped me appreciate the transformative power of faith.
Tradition and Daily Practice
One aspect of Islam that struck me was its emphasis on discipline and personal growth. The five daily prayers, the act of ablution, and memorising verses in Arabic are more than rituals; they are practices that build consistency, focus, and self-improvement.
These routines foster valuable life skills. Early rising, personal hygiene, and reflection became lessons I could apply to academics, work, and personal development. I often heard the phrase, “Islam is a perfect system.” The more I read the Qur’an, the more I understood why. Its guidance on wealth, marriage, agriculture, and community life presented a holistic approach to human existence—one that felt complete and timeless.
My Conversion
In June 2024, my path toward Islam reached its destination in an unexpected but beautiful way. At Yankari Game Reserve, a place I had always considered a personal sanctuary, I encountered a group of worshippers at the warm spring. A simple invitation led me to the central mosque, where I joined Friday prayers for the first time. The experience was transformative. Surrounded by the faithful, I felt a profound sense of peace and belonging. That day, I took my Shahada (declaration of faith), performed the ritual purification, and began learning under Chief Imam Mallam Naziru Zakari Muhammad.
Today, standing alongside my brothers at the Belfast Islamic Centre, listening to the muezzin’s call to prayer, I feel an overwhelming sense of gratitude. My journey—which began with Wole Soyinka’s words in Akure and led me across cultures, traditions, and cemeteries—has brought me home to Islam. I have found peace, purpose, and a connection to something far greater than myself.
My conversion was not a single moment but a series of reflections and discoveries that aligned like stars in the night sky. And now, as I walk this path, I carry with me a sense of joy, serenity, and fulfillment that I once thought was unreachable.
Source: BellaNaija