I Left My Heart in Madinah

4 AM – Rawdah, Masjid An Nabbawi, Madinah Munawwarah, Saudi Arabia.

As I handed the Lebanese brother to my left a coconut-flake covered date, he looked me in the eye and said, “Fi Jannah, Insha Allah.” In Heaven, Lord Willing. I don’t know what heaven looks like, but if that’s not the closest I’ve gotten to it on Earth, I don’t know what is.

I just spent two weeks in Saudi Arabia and now I’m back in America. The transition is proving to be jarring, to say the least. It started in Abu Dhabi, when CBP took a little too long to look over my travel documents, when a second agent was called to make sure everything was okay. This was a warning – remember where you are headed, and remember that you will forever be a target of suspicion in a country that wants nothing to do with you or anyone like you. This was a warning – forget the joy and peace you felt for the last two weeks, worshipping your God in the land where your Faith was brought to humanity, sharing the same footsteps as your Beloved Prophet (Peace and Blessins of Allah Be Upon Him). This was my reality check – wipe that smile off your face. God forgives but America doesn’t forget.

It’s facetious to say that I hate America. I don’t have a problem with America, but I recognize that America is incapable of accepting me. That’s because America is built on a foundation of ideas that are antithetical to those in which I believe. America believes in mass consumption, in waste, in savagery, in clinging to every piece of land one can find and taking it by force. I believe in conservation, in piety, in peace, in worshipping my Lord and Creator, in living every day as if it is my last, and trying to become a better person with each footstep.

To each his own path, sure. But when your path impedes on my ability to worship in peace, it’s hard for me to call this place home. And I know America wants me gone, either out of its territory or off the face of the earth. And I don’t have a problem with that, because I believe in a higher power. I fear God, not American terrorism. I fear to die with regret still left on my conscious. And what bigger regret is there than to not have taken an opportunity to live a life of harmony and peace when it presented itself?

When I was in Saudi, my main question was how can I live here? How can I work here, or study here? How can I leave a depressing life in America that will, no matter how much money or awards or accomplishments it showers me in, never, ever suffice the sanctity of my soul as much as two rak’at of prayer in the Harram will? A few years ago, I was headed for another run at life in America from the comfort of a 4-year trip to Africa.

On the airplane, I cried. Earlier that day, in front of my Qur’An teacher, I cried. He asked me what was wrong. I told him that I was afraid America would make me something I didn’t recognize. I was afraid that if I stayed in that country of immoral behavior, lawlessness and an abject indifference towards the existence of God, I would become a mirror for my surroundings; my soul would be corrupted. I was afraid that my faith would be stripped from me one small compromise at a time. I was afraid that I’d be too weak to resist temptation, and my natural inclination to please people would lead me toward making regrettable decisions. He smiled and gently caressed the top of my head. “Fear not, my son. God will provide a way,” he said.

I tried to find comfort in his words, but I knew myself. I knew my past, I knew my constitution, I knew the nature of the country which I’d struggled to call home for so many years. I’ve been in America for about a year and a half since that day in Nairobi and nearly everything I feared would happen has come to pass. And I realize that Allah burdens a soul with only as much as it is able to handle. And I believe in the perfection of Allah’s plan. I know that my destiny is greater than my ability to understand it. I know that I really only have one job on this earth – to worship Allah SWT alone and without partner, to give thanks to Him for every blessing, to try and become a better person, a better Muslim, every day.

When I was in Madinah, it was the best sleep I ever got in my life. Time is blessed there – three hours of shut-eye feels like twelve. One bite of food there feels like a full meal. And the happiness, the light which embraces your soul, entwines with every fiber of your being, there’s nothing like it on this earth. The people of Madinah are happy, easy going, pious. How could they not be? Do you not know that giants once walked those same streets? That the foundation of Islam, the greatest gift to mankind from our Lord, was built on those streets? Can you imagine what it feels like to pray two rak’at at Masjid Quba, the first masjid built by our Beloved Prophet, Peace and Blessings of Allah Be Upon Him?

I don’t have to imagine because I’ve felt it. I’ve seen it. My forehead has made contact with the holiest lands on the face of this earth and I can never be the same after that. The concept of Ihsan in Islam means to attempt perfecting your worship, to worship Allah as if you are standing before Allah on the Day of Judgement and you can see Him in front of you.

In Madinah, I felt a level of peace and mercy that I didn’t know was possible. In Madinah, the birds fly inches from your face and never worry that you’ll lash out at them. In Madinah, I played with a wild cat outside of Masjid An Nabbawi for nearly 15 minutes at 3 in the morning. I’ve never felt such compassion from animals before. It just goes to show you what humanity, if we lived as Allah intended for us to live, could be like.

In Madinah I found the meaning of peace within, and with Madinah I fell in love, and in Madinah a part of my heart will forever remain. And I pray that Allah allows me the honor of returning to that blessed city. And I pray that He honors you with the same and more.