Literature 

The night before turning 18, I was reading Wole Soyinka‘s “You Must Set Forth at Dawn” when I encountered his description of a man praying beside the pyramids in Egypt. For a moment, I felt a sense of peace, timeless history, and a desire to understand deeply the connections between spirituality, humanity, and the universal experiences that bind us.

I had been reading Ahmadou Kourouma‘s “Allah is not Obliged”, finding profound parallels between the small soldier’s life and my own journey. The Qur’an itself seemed to echo these sentiments, with verses that resonated deeply: ‘Do not back down from attack. O ye who believe! When ye meet a force, be firm and call Allah in remembrance much (and often); that ye may prosper.’ — Surah Al-Anfal, verse 45.

Death

Death became a lens through which I explored connections. Tombstones fascinated me—a life reduced to a paragraph, sometimes just three words. My fascination began with our family house in the village, situated opposite an Anglican Church’s gravesite. During a camping trip in Itasin forest, Ogun State, the Catholic church we camped in housed tombstones that seemed to whisper stories of lives lived and lost.

Since moving to Belfast on September 3, 2024, I’ve discovered a cemetery where I can walk, watch the trees, read the tombstones, and bask in sacred silence. The cemeteries here use salt containers—practical vessels strategically placed at the entrance. They remove odours that might attract animals, while local spiritual traditions believe salt helps the dead find solace in the afterlife.

My exploration of spiritual traditions deepened as I learned about death and ancestral rituals from various cultures. The practices of Egypt’s pyramids and Sulawesi’s Toraja people fascinated me. In Nigeria, I’d observed how death could fracture families, with relatives storing bodies in mortuaries while impoverishing themselves for “befitting” burials.

The Islamic practice of burial within 72 hours struck me as both practical and profound. It allowed families to celebrate a worthy life rather than get lost in elaborate mourning rituals.

Literature

My spiritual curiosity began to take root during pivotal moments of reflection. The night before turning 18, I was reading Wole Soyinka‘s “You Must Set Forth at Dawn” when I encountered his description of a man praying beside the pyramids in Egypt. For a moment, I felt a sense of peace, timeless history, and a desire to understand deeply the connections between spirituality, humanity, and the universal experiences that bind us.

I had been reading Ahmadou Kourouma‘s “Allah is not Obliged”, finding profound parallels between the small soldier’s life and my own journey. The Qur’an itself seemed to echo these sentiments, with verses that resonated deeply: ‘Do not back down from attack. O ye who believe! When ye meet a force, be firm and call Allah in remembrance much (and often); that ye may prosper.’ — Surah Al-Anfal, verse 45.

Death

Death became a lens through which I explored connections. Tombstones fascinated me—a life reduced to a paragraph, sometimes just three words. My fascination began with our family house in the village, situated opposite an Anglican Church’s gravesite. During a camping trip in Itasin forest, Ogun State, the Catholic church we camped in housed tombstones that seemed to whisper stories of lives lived and lost.

Since moving to Belfast on September 3, 2024, I’ve discovered a cemetery where I can walk, watch the trees, read the tombstones, and bask in sacred silence. The cemeteries here use salt containers—practical vessels strategically placed at the entrance. They remove odours that might attract animals, while local spiritual traditions believe salt helps the dead find solace in the afterlife.

My exploration of spiritual traditions deepened as I learned about death and ancestral rituals from various cultures. The practices of Egypt’s pyramids and Sulawesi’s Toraja people fascinated me. In Nigeria, I’d observed how death could fracture families, with relatives storing bodies in mortuaries while impoverishing themselves for “befitting” burials.

The Islamic practice of burial within 72 hours struck me as both practical and profound. It allowed families to celebrate a worthy life rather than get lost in elaborate mourning rituals.

Mentors

While attending Federal Government College, Odogbolu, my friend Hakeem Lawal, the Imam’s son, became an unexpected guide in my spiritual journey. We frequently discussed Islam, exploring its signs, the Arabic language, and the faith’s miraculous aspects. His gifts of ram meat during Sallah were more than gestures of friendship—they were invitations to understand a deeper spiritual tradition.

Malcolm X’s journey deeply inspired me. His conversion from a troubled past to becoming a powerful voice for social justice through Islam was transformative. Reading about his pilgrimage to Mecca, where he experienced a profound spiritual awakening that transcended racial boundaries, showed me the true depth of religious transformation.

Traditions and Practices

I noticed how Muslim daily practices seemed to cultivate valuable life skills. The five daily prayers, early rising, ablution, and Arabic memorisation were more than religious rituals. They were lessons in repetition, understanding arcane concepts, and maintaining personal hygiene—skills that could be applied to academics, personal development, and professional success.

“Islam is a perfect system,” became a phrase I heard often. As I read the Qur’an, with its comprehensive views on reproduction, agriculture, land use, wealth, profit sharing, and marriage, I became increasingly convinced of its holistic approach to human life.

My Conversion

When it came in June 2024, my conversion felt both sudden and inevitable. It happened at Yankari Game Reserve, a place that had always felt like my sanctuary. A chance encounter at the warm pool led to an impromptu visit to the central mosque. That Friday, surrounded by the faithful, I took my vows, had the ritual bath, and began classes with Chief Imam Mallam Naziru Zakari Muhammad.

Now, standing with my brothers at the Belfast Islamic Centre, hearing the muezzin’s call to prayer, I am amazed and grateful for my incredible journey. The path that began with a reading of an autographed copy of Wole Soyinka’s text in Akure has led me here—certain of joy, peace, and the profound happiness that comes from finding one’s spiritual home.