My Memoirs part 11: Nairobi, Mombasa and Mungano Madrasah.

Memoirs (11)

It was our first flight to a land unknown, to a people unfamiliar with, and to a destiny already ordained by Allah. Approaching Nairobi, the city in the sun as described by its residents, the landscape under us from beneath a descending aircraft besides the airport appeared to be amazing with lush green fields where wildlife could be detected easily.

We were received by an English immigration officer who became curious once he saw our passports without any visas stamped upon them. Because there had been no Kenyan embassy in Jeddah, we carried with us a paper confirming our delegation to a religious Madrasa by the Kingdom of Saudi Arabia. He allowed us to contact our host in Nairobi, Hasan Jaizan by name to stand as our guarantor. He has to provide a certain amount of money to secure our safe entry into Kenya. Speedily he drove back to his father’s place of business Hadramaut Hotel, and swiftly he returned with a bundle of shillings notes for the satisfaction of the officer. We safely made our way to his father’s residence in Eastleigh. Hasan and his father Salim Jaizan were among those noble and compassionate souls I have come across in my life.

We were allocated to a small room in an ‘L’ shape on a one floor building. The courtyard facing our door had a number of bedrooms on the right ending besides a bathroom, a lavatory and a kitchen. Such a house could accommodate more than one family. That house was enough for him, his married son and a number of other children.

Kenya had many early Arab immigrants, mostly from Yemen and Hadramaut and mainly on the coastal belt with Mombasa in the centre. Nairobi and areas further west enjoyed pockets of Arab presence. Salim Jaizan was one of them.

One month later we moved to a similar house with two rooms at our disposal and by sharing all other amenities with the landlord, an emigrant from Punjab, Pakistan. It was not a pleasant experience for a person like me who had never previously witnessed such a shared accommodation. Soon we had to leave it to a welcoming friend’s small back room where we  had our first taste of living in an African town. Windows in each and every house used to be totally sealed by a net of iron bars. Doors could only be opened towards the interior in order to allow the air to pass and the daylight to enter.

This was a temporary residence offered to us by our friend Bashir Ahmad until we could find a suitable place for us. That was our first night in a single-bed room. There was not enough room for our extra clothes except to remain hanging on a railing fixed between two walls just under the ceiling.

We had left the window open from inside not realizing that the net with iron bar had a big hole at the top because of a missing bar. Tired and fatigued, we had a sound sleep at night, only to discover at Fajr time that all our clothes had disappeared. A skillful thief must have dragged them one after the other, by a rod with a small hook at its end.

The area was known as Pangani, mostly populated by Asians as a remnant of the colonial days when the best and posh parts of Nairobi were populated by the whites, then areas like Eastleigh and Pangani  by Asians and some neglected areas with mud houses by the africans. Among which was the place of my job, Mungano Riyadaha Madrasa Islamia in Pumwani , better known as Majengo.

Eventually we found a two room separate accommodation in the first floor of a detached house owned by another immigrant from Punjab. And before I continue elaborating on my wanderings from one house to the other, let me speak about another bitter experience of my life, right at the start of my career as an activist in the field of Da’wa.

A fresh arrival of a ‘Maulavi’ from Madinah had been a welcoming news for the Asian community in that part of Nairobi. Two trustees from a mosque in Eastleigh approach me and invited me to lead Jum’a prayer in their mosque.

Welcoming this invitation, I attended the first Jum’a of my life as an Imam. Later I came to know that Sheikh Abdulrahman Tarapuri was their regular imam. Once the prayer was over, the chairman thanked me for my sermon and asked me to wear a turban and hold a staff in my hand at the time of the delivery of the Khutba. Very humbly I said to him thatI I had no issue in holding a staff but I will rather stick to my cap as I had never practised tying a turban around my head.

Let me clarify this issue before I proceed further, is it Sunnah for the Khateeb to hold a staff and wear a turban?

As for the staff, the Prophet ﷺ used to hold the staff in his right hand while delivering the sermon until a wooden pulpit with three steps was made for him. So he abandoned this practice. He used to wear a black turban a lot but he had led the prayer with a cap on his head without wrapping a turban around it. So it is treated as a ‘Adah’ (custom) rather than a sunnah to be followed necessarily.

A second time, I delivered my sermon with a staff in my hand. Before the third Jum’a I was approached by someone to attend a gathering at a home which was held on a third day after the death of someone in that area. This practise is known amongst punjabi muslims as ‘Teeja’ (the thirdly) when the relatives and friends of a deceased person assemble at his house, each person holds a Juz (one part amongst the 30 parts of the Quran) and finishes reading it from the beginning, till the end.

Then comes the turn of the ‘Maulavi’ to transfer the reward of that recitation to the deceased person. The assembly enjoys a feast as well. For me, it was a first sight of this innovative practice. I did not mind reading the Quran with readers in a big circle, but I was shocked and bewildered by the sight of a number of food items which were brought in plates, only to be placed in front of me.

I was shocked and bewildered as I did not know why the food is just offered to me leaving all aside. Was it all for me to consume? “No. It can’t be.” I said to myself.

“They want me to bless this food along with carrying out the ritual of transferring the reward of the recitation to the deceased.” I thought at the end.

Being aware of the situation, I pointed to them to remove the food and then made a short speech quoting this saying of the Prophet ﷺ “When a son of Adam dies, all his actions come to an end except for three: a continuous charity (after his death), knowledge which is beneficial and a pious son who keeps on supplicating for him,”

These are the things which had been initiated by him in his life-time and they are the ones which are going to benefit him after his death. As for the actions of other people like daily prayers, recitation of the Quran, they cannot benefit him simply because he did not initiate them.

The Quran is very clear about this, does it not say:

وَأَن لَّيۡسَ لِلۡإِنسَـٰنِ إِلَّا مَا سَعَىٰ

“And the man does not have except that what he did by himself.”

(Surah An-Najm 53:39)

Only in two cases of an act of worship can a living soul be deputised from a dead one and award him as mentioned by the Prophet ﷺ himself

(i) Someone who has vowed to fast and then died before fasting the prescribed days.

(ii)Someone who was able to do Hajj but delayed it until he became severely ill or too old to do it.

In addition to that, an act of Sadaqa or financial help on behalf of a dead person will benefit him as well because the beneficiaries would always be there to supplicate for that person who became a source for their help at the time of their needs (in this life)..

That was the jist of my speech that day and let me reiterate that this is the understanding of Imam Shaf’i on this is issue which I still hold and propagate. If the opposite opinion is to be accepted a door would be open to the non-praying rich person to simply employ a host of the people to pray on their behalf after they pass away. And what an easy way to ‘enter’ Paradise (!)

I came back to my house only to know later that people in Nairobi have been informed by phone that the new Maulavi was none but a Wahhabi. Soon I was approached by one of them inviting me to attend a meeting at the house of one of my neighbours in Pangani, a contractor by profession. I was there in time to face a host of them who wanted to know about my faith. My reply to being a Muslim adherent to the Book and the Sunnah did not convince them a lot. So they came back to ask specific questions.

“What do you say about Isma’il Shaheed of India?”

“He was a great Imam.” I answered, “A great scholar who joined the Jihad movement with Syyed Ahmad Shaheed of Braili, India.”

“But he insulted the Prophet ﷺ as he wrote such and such things in his books.” They said.

I knew what they meant, his writings in ‘Sirat-e-Mustaqeem’ and ‘Taqwiat-ul-Iman’ had been grossly misinterpreted because he wrote vehemently against Bid’a (innovative practices) prevalent in the nineteenth century which were of course, not liked by the followers of Bid’a.

When they kept on slandering him with their venomous words, I could not resist saying to them in a stern tone:

“Are you speaking ill of a person who shed his blood in 1831 at Balakot (Northern Pakistan) fighting the Sikhs? How dare you slander him while you people are not equal to the dust stuck to his shoes as he was a martyr in the way of Allah!”

As soon as I finished my remarks, they shouted:

“Now we know who you are! So do not come anymore to our mosque for Jum’a.”

So that was the beginning of my encounter with the people of ignorance, deviation and innovation. It lasted for the rest of my stay in Nairobi for the coming nine years which, in the end prompted me to move away from Kenya.

As one gate was shut in my face but a greater or more wider was opened straight away. The chairman of the Jami’ Masjid (the main and the oldest mosque in the city) asked me to address the gathering on Fridays before the ceremonial sermon given by Sheikh Mawlid Jashu, the Swahili Imam.

Soon I found the gates of Landhi mosque opened for me to deliver the Friday sermon itself. The invitation came from the two elderly brothers, Ismail and Yaqub, who use to manage the Mosque’s affairs. I became their regular Khateeb for the rest of my stay in Nairobi until my departure in 1976.

Mungano Madrasa Riyada Islamia:

This was the name of the Madrasa to which I had been posted as a teacher by Dar-ul-Ifta of Saudi Arabia. And before I had a visit of this site of preliminary teaching of Arabic and Islam, I was welcomed by an Asian businessman who was the head of the trust looking after the institution. He took me to the side of the site of his glass factory.

I was in the back seat of the car while his young English wife was sitting next to him in the passenger seat with an English attire: a shirt and a mini-skirt.

Though after being introduced to his old mother, we had developed a very cordial relationship with his family, especially his younger brother. Our visits confined to his mother’s house. I do not recall any more of a personal affiliation with him and his wife.

The Madrasa was located in one of the most deprived areas of the African population known as Majengo. Its real name ‘Pumwani’ was hardly heard or quoted. The whole locality consisted of Mud houses for dwelling. The only buildings with brick-work were that of the Mosque and the Madrasa, a hall for public meetings and the post office.

There was an ‘L’ shaped building accommodating an office and three classrooms behind the Mosque itself. I was introduced to Muallim Saeed Uthman, the secretary and another African elderly person, the Chair of the Madrasa committee. It seems that the Mosque management, the Imam and those in-charge of its affairs had anything to do with the Madrasa. I myself remained a stranger to them throughout my stay in Nairobi.

In my first visit, I found a lady teaching children. There was Syyed Shariff, of Arab origin, Hadhramaut of Southern Arabia and Muallim Solaiman of Swahili origin.

I had to pick the older boys and start teaching them Arabic from the beginning. The classes used to last only two hours in the evening, just after the state schools came to a close. For me it was not enough. I had to find ways to expand the classes in order to accommodate the elder students who could read books in Tafsir, Hadith and Fiqh as well. Would it not be a good idea to pay a visit to Mombasa, the famous coastal town and the hub for Swahili Muslims? Moreover, it would be a good opportunity to meet my colleague Ibrahim Khalil who had also been posted at Madrasa-tul-Falah, an old seat of knowledge. With this idea we set for that city which was around 300 miles away from the capital.

A Journey to Mombasa:

A coach in the morning and another in the evening; this is how they used to run by a wealthy Asian businessman. We took the morning coach. As soon as we leave Nairobi, the single highway to Mombasa passes through a non-ending jungle, with grassy meadows, green fields, thorny bushes and sparsely scattered trees.

Your sight can glimpse from time to time at deers and gazelles, giraffes and antelopes, all grazing and moving. The road goes by the outer fence of Nairobi Safari Park which covers a large area full of wildlife. Even if you leave the Safari Park behind you, the wildlife would seldom leave you. A small settlement of a tiny African population was seen at Athi river, the only sizeable concentration of people until you reach Mombasa.

Around the middle of the whole distance, we passed by the entrance of the largest Safari Park in Africa: Tsavo National Park. At one point, the driver had to stop the engine and bring the coach to a halt whilst still on the highway. There was a huge elephant right in the middle of the road. No way he could be disturbed by the noise of a running engine. You have to wait, even for hours until he leaves the road voluntarily. We were fortunate enough to see it leaving in less than an hour.

Among the other memorable sites we passed by was a Sikh shrine at Makindo where travelers could get free entertainment, Dal Roti and water.

Miles before approaching Mombasa, you could see on your left, besides the only railway line connecting Kampala through Nairobi, all the way to Mombasa, a tomb of an Asian saint. They say you must stop here, even for a short moment to pay homage to the holy shrine; otherwise you might be facing trouble in your journey. In or around eight hours we entered Mombasa through Nayali bridge which joins the island with the mainland with its narrow alleys and the famous Jesus fort which was a remnant of Portuguese colonialism that started in 1593, ended in 1689 when the Sultan of Oman took over.

Ibrahim Khalil was there to receive us and take us to his small house which abounded with the fresh ocean air. It was a pleasant experience to have a stroll in the small alleys surrounded by houses which allowed a sight of the scenic view of the sea from place to place until you ended up to Fort Jesus.

I visited Madrasa-tul-Falah which was still in its preliminary stage. My next attraction was a number of bookshops which printed and sold Arabic/Swahili text books for the pupils of the Madrasa. Two small books were very common:

1. Mubadi-ul-Fiqh by Umar Abdul Jabbar, a Makkan compiler of the issues of Fiqh according to Shafi’i school of thought. It was in the form of questions and answers, easy to teach and easy to learn. The book was serialised according to the primary school grades.
2. Khulasatu Nur-al-Yaqin by Al-Amir Al-San’ani in the subject of the Seerah of the Prophet Muhammad ﷺ

Mombasa may be a variation from the Arabic word Munbaththa (spread far and wide), was a small island, 15 kilometres long and 13 kilometres wide, and was linked with the mainland by two bridges, one in the East leading to the coastal highway heading towards Malindi, all the way to Darus Salam, Tanzania; the other in the south which we had crossed recently.

It had a mixed population of Indian, Arabs and Swahilis. Swahili came as an Arab/African breed which developed the lingua franca of all East African countries: Kenya, Tanzania, Uganda, Rwanda and Burundi. Linguistically it goes back to the Arabic word ‘Sahil’ i.e. the coast.

That was my first visit to Mombasa. More to come, especially the one when I stayed there for a week to learn Swahili grammatically with an American Muslim who had already mastered the language because he was married to a Swahili woman.

Our return journey was by the night coach which left the bus stand by Maghrib, traveled all through the night and dropped us at our doorstep at Fajr time. This was how they used to operate in those days. The driver would help each passenger to bring him closer to his house.

A Note on Nairobi

There had been no town by this name before 1907. In the middle of the nineteenth century, the English had occupied the East African countries. This colonial rule, wherever they went, was distinguished by a fantastic railway network and postal facilities. In their endeavour to link the port of Mombasa with Kampala in Uganda; a place 700 miles away, they had to bring Indian labour, about 30,000 strong workers, mostly Sikhs, in 1860 to cut off the jungle en-route to Kampala, Once the work was carried out, the majority of them went back. Around 7000 decided to settle locally. In around 1897, more labour was brought in to lay the railway line.

A central place in the Masa’ee land was chosen to be a depot for the material with a resting place for the workers. Nairobi, a Masa’ee name for the river, was given to the place. Being at an altitude of 1000 metres, Nairobi enjoyed a moderate weather against the scorching heat of the equatorial areas, Mombasa included.

By 1907 it had emerged as a town amidst a jungle flourishing with wild beasts and animals. The railway workers who started their pioneer work of laying the railway lines from Mombasa, faced a terrible threat at Tsavo where two man-eating lions played havoc by dragging the poor labourers from their camps besides the lines. The work almost came to a standstill because of daily intrusions into the camp. Many efforts were made to either capture or kill them. Hunters like Jim Corbett had given interesting descriptions of their encounters with the man-eaters.

In 1898. Colonel Peterson was eventually successful in shooting them down and bring the sad saga to a close. But before that, 135 labourers, 35 Indian amongst them were to be lost to the appetite of these two ferocious beasts.

After a successful movement ,known as Mao Mao led by Jomo Kenyatta, Kenya became independent on the 12th of August, 1963.

When I came to Nairobi in 1967, it was a very neat and clean city, known as little London as well. Following the British pattern of life, there were still some posh areas like Muthega, populated mostly by Europeans; next in line were localities like Pungani and Eastleigh, flourishing with Indians and Pakistanis; and then those like Pumwani; Majengo crammed with Africans.

I had to confine myself to Pungani throughout my nine year stay in the ‘City of the Sun’.

Part 13: 1968-1969 

We had to move to a third residence: a two room flat in the upper floor, owned by an old man of Pakistani origin. He was known with a very curious nickname in the community: Gurway in Ki-Swahili meaning a swine. I don’t know why he was given such a name but to us he was kind and helpful. My second child, Wohaib, was born in this flat and we received help and assistance from his wife. There I acquired my first car: a second-hand Peugeot 105. If I had retained that car, it would have been a part of a vintage collection. To start it in the morning, you had to apply a crank handle from outside the engine, then revolve it until the engine bursted on roaring.

My good friend, a barrister by profession, comes to my mind whenever I happen to visualise the impression of this car. He was a good jolly character; he used to talk a lot and boast to have known the whole Quran by heart. Once he happened to join a Tablighi Jamaat group who kept on moving from one mosque to the other. Overwhelmed and bewildered by his constant talk of his knowledge of the Quran, they let him lead them in Maghrib prayer. The man recited in the first Rak’a Surah Al-Fatiha followed by Surah Wannas, the last short Surah of the Quran, then he moved to the position of Ruku (bowing) and Sujud (prostration). He must have thought while he was in his Sajda, what to read in the second Rak’a as he had already read the last Surah of the Quran in the first Rak’a. It had been an embarrassing situation for him; a man who had been portraying himself as a Hafiz of the Quran. The only exit left for him to slip away stealthily from the mosque while the group behind him was still in the state of prostration. Allah knows better how long they waited for him to raise his head by saying ‘Allah-o-Akbar’. They must have realised that to have the knowledge of the Quran is totally different from committing it to memory.

One morning he came to me in a hurry. “Can I borrow your car as I have an urgent appointment to reach somewhere?”. I was hesitant but I had no excuse to deny him. I handed over the car key to him; assisted him to start the engine and with a roar of engine, he left the compound of the big house. A few seconds later, we discovered the car stranded in the street outside the house. The poor fellow had applied the gear with such a force that it had come out of the hook and halted the car right in the middle of the road. Thank God, he had left the key in the ignition point and we were able to push it back home.

I had narrated about my journey with the two Sheikhs from al Riyadh in the previous post. Now I remember another journey which I took with Sheikh Muhammad bin Ibrahim Al-Qa’ood to a small town, Kitui by name through a very difficult mountainous terrain. It was a visit to the place of our Somali delegate Muhammad Hadi who was very keen to see us. We stayed in his mosque for a short while and after addressing the local Muslim community we took the way back to Nairobi. The road was no more than an unpaved passage through the hills and cliffs. A sharp slip at any point could have plunged the car deep into the valley. At one point, Sheikh, sitting next to me on the passenger seat, jumped from his seat to hold the steering wheel in his hands while I was struggling with the driving at my best. Thank God that we arrived safely to our destination.

Mungano Madrasa Ryada Islamia

I turned one of the rooms into a residence for about eight young students who occupied four bunk beds. The deserted small kitchen came to life with an African dish known as Ugali. There were many students, mainly Somali, the denizen of NFD (North frontier district) bordering Somalia, who were keen to join the Madrasa, I discovered that a residential plot was available as an endowment for the Madrasa at Eastleigh, a locality at a walking distance from Pumwani or Majengo.

It took me a year or more to collect enough funds to build a two-storey building with eight rooms. Eventually, the building accommodated around fifty students, with a similar arrangement as that of the Madrasa room. To collect funds was a hard job but to deal with the African contractors was harder. I remember how the poor fellow was once chased by his workers to whom he failed to pay in time. He appeared in front of an angry mob who were shouting at him. Of course, I had to calm them down by coming to the aid of the helpless contractor.

Now the teaching was organised in the morning hours. I was there with Sir Kamaluddin of Sudan and Muhammad Musallam of the East coast. The students were classified as that of a primary level of an Arabic Dar-ul-uloom. The syllabus contained small books in Aqeedah, Hadith, Fiqh, Seerah and Arabic language. I used to print the lessons and test papers on a stencil machine. It was a unique experience of writing with a sharp ended pen on some special blue sheets which were later dressed up on a roller dipped in a special ink. I had to always struggle with the machine which by an excessive amount of ink would destroy a lot of papers before producing a legible reading material. For that small Madrassa I was a teacher, a Head-master, a registrar, a printer and over and above all, a care taker for the benefit of all the boarding students.

For me, the Madrasa was everything. I was there in morning hours till Zuhur. Then I had to come back for the evening Madrasa for local children at Asr time till Maghrib. In between I had my lunch at home and a short siesta before heading once again to the Madrasa.

It was a great joy for me to discover a vast number of books stalked in shelves of the library in the first floor of an annexe to the Gami Mosque in the heart of the city. I took the task of cataloguing the books in my odd visits to the mosque. I discovered many volumes of the weekly magazine of ‘Ahl-e-Hadith’ edited and published by the great Indian scholar Maulana Sanaullah of Amristar. The magazine started its publication in 1903 and remained in circulation till Pakistan came into being in 1947. Its pages stood as a witness to Maulana’s written encounters with the self-appointed prophet of India, Mirza Ghulam Ahmad of Qadian. There were many dialogues, arguments and cross-arguments between the two which ended with the famous public announcement of Mirza of Qadian in which he pleaded to Allah Al-Mighty to let him die during the lifetime of Maulana Amrastari if he was to be a liar and fabricator in his claim of prophethood. That was miraculously proved when he died of cholera on 26^thMay 1908 while Maulana survived him by 40 years. He died in 1948 in Sargodha after migrating to Pakistan.

I was curious to know how the copies of this humble paper reached to Nairobi in those remote years. I was told that it was due to an Ahl-e-Hadith Imam, Maulana Abdul Momin who must have subscribed to this magazine while he served the mosque as an Imam or teacher. One day I happily welcomed Shaik Abdullah Al-Farisi, the Grand Qazi of Mombasa who was famous because of his vast knowledge, his contribution to the institution of Islamic judiciary and mostly for his great work of translating the meanings of the Quran to Ki-Swahili, the lingua franca of east Africa. He was delighted to visit the library and go through some of the books of this great valuable collection.

Mr. Habib Adam, a famous businessman from the Memon community and the chair of the mosque trustees was there to facilitate my work at the library. I found him courteous, helpful and an amazing person. He had been a sincere supporter to the work of my two colleagues at Machakus, Syyed Fatahuddin Tangal and Muhammad Ibrahim Malabari. I was a bit disappointed, when I presented to him a set of books printed by my stencil machine, to be a part of a unified syllabus for madrassa education. He received them in a cool manner. I realised my mistake. It should have come through Machakus and not from me directly. May Allah accept his services towards the Islamic cause in general, and in particular his services to the mosque.

Let me mention here that we, the delegates from Dar-ul Ifta in Kenya and Uganda, had agreed to compose a unified curriculum for the Arabic Madrasa. What I had prepared was a manifestation of our agreed deliberations. The course covered six years of primary and two years of middle levels. Ironically, my stay in Nairobi did not last more than nine years; a period that cover these two levels only.

Pangani and Landhi Mosques

Just across the road from my fourth residence, a flat in the first floor of a complex of flats owned by Mehdi Khan of Chakwal, was the famous Pangani Mosque. A small and Indian style built building which served the local community for their daily prayers. For Juma prayers, the people would go either to Eastleigh or the central mosque in the city. I was blessed to start a weekly Arabic class after Isha prayer which was set to be held at 8 p.m. throughout the year. Nairobi, being situated very near to the equator, enjoyed the equatorial weather on one hand and a 12 hours day light and 12 hours night fall. If there was a fluctuation of time, it did not go more than half an hour. So, if the sun set at 6:30, still we were at ease to pray Isha at 8 p.m. It was Pir Habib of Chakwal, a tall heavy-built personality who in one of his visits raised the issue of the timing of Isha. According to him, the white twilight was still on the horizon at 8 p.m. Thus, Isha should be held at a bit later time. Our African Muslims, mostly known as Swahili were known to be raised in following Shaf’i Mad- hab which allowed the performance of isha as soon as red twilight disappeared. Accordingly, we were within the allowed time to offer our prayers.

My weekly Arabic circle was attended by a number of the local residents including a non-Muslim English gentleman who used to take a long journey to reach this area. I had many memories of the event in this mosque and I would keep on narrating what I remembered in these memoirs. After my bitter experience in the Eastleigh Mosque in the beginning, I was allowed to deliver a pre-khutba speech in the central mosque for a few weeks. Later I was approached by Sheikh Mohammad Ismail and Shaikh Muhammad Yaqub, the two brothers from Landhi Mosque to start delivering khutba in their mosque on the other end of the city. The mosque was known as railways Landhi mosque which was started by the dwellers of the railway workers in a tin shed many many years ago. Then it moved to its present site. Like Pangani mosque, it was marked with an Indian style. Its entrance was decorated by Sikh builders. The main building had a dome and a big courtyard as well. Unlike Pangani, it enjoyed a big surrounding area which served as a car park. Both brothers, Sheikh Yaqub, the younger one, in particular used to come all the way from South C, to carry out the activities in the mosque. Maulana Abdul Momin had served there for a long time. This is how they were familiar with Ahle-e-Hadith traditions and were happy to welcome me as a Khateeb of Friday prayer. I developed a close friendship with them. I found them honest and sincere and for first time in my life, I was made aware by Sheikh Yaqub how old postal stamps were preserved in an album. His collection of stamps was colourful and astonishing. I made up my mind to learn Ki-Sawahili to enable me to address the gathering on Fridays in their language.

For this purpose, I had to travel to Mombasa and stay there for a week. My teacher was a young man from Germany, Khalid by name, who after embracing Islam happened to visit East Africa and marry a Swahili woman. He stayed in Mombasa for quite a good time and was able to learn and master the language through many knowledgeable sources including his wife, a native of this country. I was able to cover the whole book, a book of Ki-Swahili grammar with him. I needed more practice and to widen the scope of my vocabulary for which I had plenty of time in the coming months. Soon I was able to address in Ki-Swahili even for a short time during my Friday Khutba.

It is interesting to note that Ki-Swahili is itself an Arabic word (from Sahil: the coast) and it has a vast number of Arabic words rendered into its own structure. For example, note the following Arabic words and how they have been turned into Ki-Swahili by adding a ‘u’ in the end.

Kitab – Kitabu

Qalam – Kalamu

Muallim – Muallimu

Hurriyya (freedom) – Huru

Among the numbers three are Arabic in their origin. This is how they are pronounced:

• Moja      2. Pili         3. Tatu       4. Inne       5. Tano

6. Sitta       7. Sabaa     8.  Nane     9. Tisaa    10. Kumi

How Swahili culture is inspired by Arabic is well portrayed by their sense of time. If you ask a Swahili ‘what is the time now?’ he would see his watch and then say to you for example ‘Saa Sitta’ while his watch is displaying 12 noon. It is because they still follow the old Arabic practice of the timing. Their new day starts by the fall of night: the precise time of the setting of the sun which happened to be normally 12 p.m. (Kuminapili in Ki-Swahili) which is 6 p.m. according to GMT. So, the 12 noon will turn into 6 o’clock (Saa- Sitta) with Swahilis. The old books in Ki-Swahili are still found in Arabic script. East Africa, being an occupied territory could not resist adopting the Roman script for its mothers’ tongue.

Before I end this episode, let me have a few more lines about Pangani Mosque. I was honoured to be a member of the Mosque committee. We were looking for a permanent Imam. The man selected for this job was a young imam, Izhar Ahmad Qasimi by name, who was finally chosen for this job and who came all the way from Deoband (India) to join this post in Pangani. Could I have imagined at that time that around forty years later I myself and my wife Umm-e-Wohaib would be invited by his son Rashid Ahmad Qasimi to present some religious programmes on his newly established T.V. channel known as ‘Iqra’ in London?

This is what unseen (Ghaib) which is always known to Allah. It is hidden in a folded scroll which keeps on unfolding its secrets by the passage of time, some in this life, others in the life Hereafter.