If the Prophet (Salallahu Alayhi Wasallam) had been sent to any country other than Arabia, the message of the last Prophet (Salallahu Alayhi Wasallam) would have encountered complications due to the past and the previous history of victories and defeats and possessions of or possessions by the chosen country.  There was also the risk of his message losing power and grace and a part thereof might have attributed to ancient traditions of the chosen country.  The magnificent task of redressing civilization, character, and spiritual values could not have been accomplished and all his endeavors would be lost in the ancient customs and traditions of the country concerned.

Since the Arabian character, civilization, and society were far from progress and development, it was obvious that it was this universal that made them highly civilized, morally disciplined, and a graceful nation, and the teachers and leaders of the world.  The spiritual power of the Prophet (Salallahu Alayhi Wasallam) was tremendous that ever nation in every period during his time and after him benefited from him.  Moreover, the Qur’aan is the culmination of all the teachings imparted by all the Prophets and guides.

That does make a lot of sense.  Given the fact that some try to weakly attribute that the Quran is just a book that ripped off from the Bible and Torah, imagine how much more fun they would have had attributing everything to the ancient culture!  After all Islam changed a people from idol worship by the Ka’bah to maintaining utmost humility and praying to the one true God by the Ka’bah, from killing their daughters to treasuring their daughters, and from a basically very dark age to ruling over half the Earth!

Idolatry was openly practiced all over Arabia.  Four hundred years before the advent of Muhammad (Salallahu Alayhi Wasallam) in the era of King Shapur of Persia, ‘Amr bin Luhai bin Harithah bin Imra’-ul-Qais, the King of Hijaaz was the first to install the idol named Hubal at the top of the Ka’bah and placed two idols Isaf and Nailah as the well of Zamzam and persuaded the people to worship them.  The ‘Amr bin Luhai totally rejected the concept of the Day of Judgment.

We happened to have just been watching a program on India last night, and they had showed a place where there were some Hindu gods lined up.  Not the prettiest sight I’ve seen.  It makes me wonder how less pleasant it must have been to witness hundreds of idols around the Ka’bah..

Although, thinking about shirk, it reminds me of how some ulama say we should not give money to the beggers in the Masjid al Haram, because they should be begging of Allah and not His creation.  They go further to say that what they are doing is shirk, and it makes me realize how easily one can fall into this evil trap.  Scary.

As I was reading through today, I found out about early Arabs, pre Islam and even before Ibraheem (Alayhi Salaam).  It’s interesting to learn about things from that far back…  According to historians, the progeny of Shem ibn Nuuh (Alayhi Salaam) inhabinated the land of Arabia and most of historians divided the progeny into three categories namely Arab Ba’idah, Arab Musta’ribah, Arab ‘Aribah.  Arab Ba’idah refers to those who were the earliest inhabitants and have perished leaving behind no trace and the ‘Aad and Thamud amongst others were part of this category.  Regarding the latter two, ‘Aribah are the descendents of Qahtaan and Musta’ribah are the descendents of Isma’eel, (Alayhi Salaam) and are still found in Arabia.

They (‘Arab Musta’ribah) came to Arabia from the outside, therefor they are called ‘Arab Musta’ribah, or the mixed Arabs.  Ibrahim’s (Alayhi Salaam) mother was ‘Ajami or Persian.  When Ibrahim (Alayhi Salaam) left Ismail (Alayhi Salaam) in Makkah along with his mother Hajira, they learned Arabic from the Qahtani tribe Jurhum, which was already settled in Makkah, and later Arabi became the mother tongue of the progeny of Ismail (Alayhi Salaam).  Ismail’s (Alayhi Salaam) mother passed away when he was one 15 years.  After the demise of his mother, Ismail (Alayhi Salaam) made up his mind to leave Makkah and to settle in Syria.  But the people of the Jurhum tribe in unison requested him to change his mind.  He was then married to Amarah bint Saeed bin Usamah belonging to the Amaliqah family.  After a short time, Ibrahim (Alayhi Salaam) came and Ismail (Alayhi Salaam) divorced his wife according to the instructions of his father, and then married Syedah bint Mudad bint ‘Amr of the Jurhum tribe.

I don’t think I recall knowing that Ismaeel’s (Alayhi Salaam) mother passed away when he was only 15.  It just hit me though, that many of the anbiya (Alayhi Salaam) lost their parents while they were still young.  I can’t imagine my life without my parents, and it scares me whenever I think about.  I’ve been so spoiled and take them for granted, while we all know how patient and caring the anbiya (Alayhi Salaam) were with their parents, even when their parents refused to accept the true message as in the case of Ibraheem (Alayhi Salaam).

I had purchased this three volume History of Islam books sometime ago, since I was and am eager to learn about Islamic history.  It is the only type of history which I can read over and over again and never be bored by, and getting hold of these detailed books in English was like striking gold!  The author, Sheikh Akbar Shah Najeebabadi, starts off the first volume by mentioning the importance of history and the identity crisis which Muslims faced back when he wrote the book, and if it applied to his time of several decades back, I can only imagine how many more times over it applies to our generation.

Among the nations of the world, Muslims are the only nation which is replete with splendid deeds and marvelous performance.  And, above all, it has such tested and trusted knowledge and information about the deeds of its elders and heroes which are irrefutable and beound all doubts.  The Muslims need not be introduced to the Iliad and the Odyssey of Homer, nor they are in need of Mahabharat and Ramayan, for they in their real history have all kinds of more splendid and amazing models than those of Illiad and the Odyssesy, and Mahabharat and Ramayan contain.

How pitiable and amazing it is that at a time when there is tough competition among nations of the world to excel one another, the Muslims despite having the most glorious history, appear to be detached and careless as regards their history.  The class which may be said to be more wakeful and vigilant among the Muslims, also quotes in its lectures, speeches, writings, articles, magazines, newspapers and books any eminent person Europe or the Christian world wherever it needs to cite examples of high morals or amazing performance, since it is unaware of such personalities among the Muslims.

Who can deny this fact that the educated class among the Muslims quote in their speeches and writings names of Hannibal, Shakespeare, Bacon, Newton, etc., more frequently than those those of Khaalid ibn Waleed, Hassaan bin Thabit (Radiallahu Anhum), Salahuddin Ayyubi, Firdausi, Tusi, Ibn Rushd (Averroes), and Bu Ali Sina (Avicenna) [Rahimahullah]?

It truly is sad that as some become more “progessive” they find the rich history and ways of the Muslims as something just for the 7th century, when in fact the achievements of the Muslims continued for many centuries after the 7th century and helped the whole world.  More focus is placed on learning about and emulating the ways of regular people who mean nothing and have little impact on society, like most of the celebrities out there.

InshaAllah I’ll post more extracts from this book daily.

No, your name is not really Mrs. Churchill, and it’s terrible of me to call you that, considering that you are Irish. But you had the brattiest children I have ever had the misfortune to encounter. Your kids scarred me for life as a 16 year old, and I was so traumatized that I was convinced that if kids hate me, then I hate them too. And not only were your kids brats, you had the audacity to laugh and brush it all aside.

It took me years to get over the scars, lady…but the thing that put me on the path to recovery? When my mom told you how adorable your infant boy was; she said, and I quote, “He looks just like Winston Churchill! He’s going to grow up to be an amazing man!” You had no idea whether to take that as an insult or a compliment…you went red in the face…and for some odd reason, we never saw you again! I would just like to take this opportunity to express the hope that your Churchill is doing great!!!

You know what bugs me? You have a tendency to “ask” for information, but never reciprocate. For God’s sake, you expect me to tell you my hopes and dreams, when I don’t even know your kid’s name? What kind of weirdness is this? This is not called friendship, it’s just silly nosiness. Believe it or not, I do know the difference between friendship and this nameless thing you do; odd acquaintance-ship I guess is a good name for it. I expected more from a lifetime friend, and I am happy to realize that I have moved on. I hope you let it all go, gracefully, because I really have nothing more to say to you and those like you.

I will miss the crazy times we all had together. Life must go on, and how awesome is it when it goes on with beautiful memories?! I can’t think of a single time when you hurt me, and I only remember the moments when your optimism and innocence surprised me. I wish you nothing but the best, and, inshaAllah, life will never rob you of your amazingly optimistic spirit. Take care, my friend, be well, and be the best that you have always been!

PS: I hope you have at least 24 healthy and Allah-fearing kids, who can fill in the gaps between A and Z

A final memory of SA.

My grandparents lived in an area that was all-white. It was always a matter of time before they would get kicked out, but somehow, that day never did come. My grandmother had sisters who had been forced to sell their homes for pittances when the Group Areas Act came into being, but somehow, by the sheer grace of Allah, it didn’t happen to my grandparents. Maybe it was because hers was a rural community, and enforcement was not as tight? Who knows, but it certainly was not due to the kindness of the neighboring farmers, because they all waited for the day when her farm would be put up for sale.

I used to spend many vacations there, and never had any friends, just my grandparents and aunts and uncles, and a huge backyard to lose myself in. One day, at the gate, was this little girl, white, blond, and in beautifully ragged clothing (the ragged that comes when you have climbed one treetoo many ), staring at me, smiling. I said hello, she responded, I let her come in, and we became the best of friends. Her parents knew she was at our place, but they only took her home at dusk-time, everyday. I remember saying “Antoinette this” and “Antoinette that” and my parents never knew who I was talking about. One day, they came to pick me up from my grandparents house, and Antoinette was there. Their shock when they realized Antoinette was a little white girl is still indescribable. After a couple of years, we came to the States, and by the time we went back home for a visit a few years later, Antoinette and her family had moved away.

Another story from my memories of SA.

One day, I was waiting for my dad to come and pick me up from school. School was on the edge of the downtown of a huge city, to which we traveled every day from the suburbs half hour away. This was the school my parents liked for us, although there were a couple Indian schools we could have gone to nearby. After school, I would wait by the gates, usually a mere couple minutes before my dad showed up from his office on the other side of town. This day was different. I waited, and waited, and waited. By this time, the street was empty, there was hardly anyone around, save for the school security guy, who was watching me from the other side of the gate.

Along this empty street comes a girl my age, in a brown and white uniform, her blond hair in two neat braids on either side of her head, and her white socks pulled up to her knees. As she drew abreast of me, I did what all polite children do all over the world: I said “Good afternoon” with a smile. She turned her head, looked through me, and kept on walking with not a word or a flicker of expression. My jaw dropped, and my head swiveled to follow her journey to the end of the street, which is when my father arrived, asking, “What so interesting that you are looking at?” I turned in shock and told him, “That girl! She is so rude! I said good afternoon, and she didn’t even smile back!”

My dad told me, “She’s white. Since when do we talk to white people, if they haven’t said anything first?” That was the first time I realized that yeah, my parents only speak to “them” when spoken to. It was my first real realization of The Other.

A story from my memories of SA.

There are some people in the world who you will only meet once in your life; you may never exchange a single word with them; but you will know exactly how to behave with them, and the memory of them will live with you forever. Such were the people of South Africa’s apartheid period.

One weekend, we were at one of South Africa’s gorgeous beaches. It was a cold, crisp day, but we enjoyed the beach under any weather conditions; so, to the beach we went. There we were, chilling out (literally!), watching my big brother swim in the ocean, my baby brother play in the sand, with me skipping happily along the shore admiring my big bro’s braveness for actually going in, and running back to my lil bro every now and then to “help” him out. There is a season during which these poisonous things called blue bottles would wash up on the beach; we were in that season. We were being very careful to look out for them, and then comes this blond. She was in a black one-piece bathing suit, and she was the palest white you can ever imagine.

Well, when a white person comes along, non-whites clear out, even if the beach is zoned for non-whites, because there is guaranteed to be trouble if you don’t. My parents don’t like trouble, so they got my big bro out of the ocean, my younger bro and me out of the sand, and we all headed of quickly for the car. Older bro was dripping wet, didn’t have time to dry off, and was probably a little confused; then, he screams out in shock, looks down, and realizes that his foot just tried to make friends with the enemy, the blue bottle. He was laying there, half dazed, and who had time for that? The blond was backed by a few guys, now making their way over! Why did they need to be here on our beach when theirs was more flat, less rocky, and just as quiet? And why did we have to leave, when there was so much empty space on this deserted beach? Well, no time for all that…So, we lifted/dragged my bro to the car, rushed to a pharmacy, and the poor dude was in a bit of pain for a few days. And it was all because of some blond we would never know, and who never said a word, hostile or other-wise. Yet, her penchant for trouble was clearer than the sky that day.