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 accomodate 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 accomodation. 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 realising 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 practise. 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 practises) 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 accomodate 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 travellers 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:
- 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.
- 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, travelled 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’.
