SUGARCOATING THE RIBA

NOTE: This article is simply about riba in general and doesn't aim at any specific banking system. Interest also happens a lot in our normal business transactions and initiatives and sometimes we (the clients) are ignorant or unaware about it.

Something interesting always comes up when Muslims start talking about riba/interest/usury-related transactions.Just like we try to 'halalisize' (if there is any word like that) many other haraam things in our lives, riba is one of them. We never call a spade a spade simply because hey! who wants to be lectured about interest? So we'd rather call it profit, call it a gift, a reward yet as much as we sugarcoat it, it doesn't change the fact that it is indeed riba.

The word "Riba", in Arabic language, literally means an "increment' or addition". In Islamic Fiqh the term riba has a special meaning. Riba is an unjustified increment in borrowing or lending money, paid in kind or in money above the amount of loan, as a condition imposed by the lender or voluntarily by the borrower. Riba defined in this way is called in Fiqhriba al-duyun (debt usury). Riba also is an unjustified increment gained by the seller or the buyer if they exchanged goods of the same kind in different quantities. This is called "riba al-fadl" or "riba-al-buyu" (trade usury).

So there are basically two types of riba:

The first and primary type is called Riba An Nasiyah or Riba Al Jahiliya. It is defined as excess, which results from predetermined interest (sood) which a lender receives over and above the principle (Ras ulMaal)
Imam Abu Bakr Hassan Razi has outlined definition of Riba An Nasiyah in the following words: "That kind of loan where specified repayment period and an amount in excess of capital is pre determined.".
One of the hadith quoted by Ali Ibn Talib (RAA) has defined Riba An Nasiyah in similar words. The Holy Prophet said:"Every loan that draws excess is Riba."

The famous Sahabi Fazala Bin Obaid has also defined Riba in similar words: "Every loan that draws profit is one of the forms of Riba.".

The second type is called: Riba Al Fadl. It is defined as excess compensation without any consideration resulting from a sale of goods.

Riba Al Fadl actually means that excess which is taken in exchange of specific homogenous commodities and encountered in their hand-to-hand purchase & sale as explained in the famous hadith: The Prophet said, "Sell gold in exchange of equivalent gold, sell silver in exchange of equivalent silver, sell dates in exchange of equivalent dates, sell wheat- in exchange of equivalent wheat, sell salt in exchange of equivalent salt, sell barley in exchange of equivalent barley, but if a person transacts in excess, it will be usury (Riba). However, sell gold for silver anyway you please on the condition it is hand-to-hand (spot) and sell barley for date anyway you please on the condition it is hand-to-hand (spot)".

It has clearly been stated in both the qur'an (several ayas) and hadith on prohibiting riba in all manner:
"That they took riba, though they were forbidden and that they devoured men’s substance wrongfully – We have prepared for those among men who reject faith a grievous punishment”
(Qur'an 4:161)

“Those who charge riba are in the same position as those controlled by the devil's influence. This is because they claim that riba is the same as commerce. However, God permits commerce, and prohibits riba. Thus, whoever heeds this commandment from his Lord, and refrains from riba, he may keep his past earnings, and his judgment rests with God. As for those who persist in riba, they incur Hell, wherein they abide forever”
(Qur'an 2:275)

“Allah condemns riba, and blesses charities. Allah dislikes every disbeliever, guilty. Lo! those who believe and do good works and establish worship and pay the poor-due, their reward is with their Lord and there shall no fear come upon them neither shall they grieve. O you who believe, you shall observe God and refrain from all kinds of riba, if you are believers. If you do not, then expect a war from God and His messenger. But if you repent, you may keep your capitals, without inflicting injustice, or incurring injustice. If the debtor is unable to pay, wait for a better time. If you give up the loan as a charity, it would be better for you, if you only knew."
(Qur'an 2:276-280)

Jabir said that Allah's Messenger (may peace be upon him) cursed the accepter of usury and its payer, and one who records it, and the two witnesses, and he said: They are all equal”
(Sahih Muslim)

“It is reported on the authority of Abu Huraira that the Messenger of Allah (may peace be upon him) observed: Avoid the seven noxious things. It was said (by the hearers): What are they, Messenger of Allah? He (the Holy Prophet) replied: Associating anything with Allah, magic, killing of one whom God has declared inviolate without a just cause, consuming the property of an orphan, and consuming of usury, turning back when the army advances, and slandering chaste women who are believers, but unwary.
(Sahih Muslim)

Now if we were to illustrate Conventional banking to Islamic banking this is how the cycle goes:

In as much as we have the interest-free Islamic banking methods, Muslims still opt for the tempting money rather than their akhera. There is a certain product usually offered in banks that is called a fixed deposit which is one of the most common accounts. With the help of a Muslim banker I got comprehend this:
There are various interest earning accounts in banks today, the most common ones are:-
• Savings account
• Call deposit account
• Fixed deposit account

Savings Account: - This one of the most common banks’ product. It is an account where you can deposit any amount of money but the withdrawals are limited for the sole purpose of making the customer save money for his own benefit. This is an interest earning account where the larger the sum of money in your account the more interest one earns but at a lower interest rate. It has no maturity date meaning you can withdraw any time you feel like it.

Call Deposit: - This is one of the not so popular type of an account offered by commercial banks (not Islamic banks). In this account, the customer enjoys instant access to his/her money and unlimited withdrawals and deposits. The call deposit client also enjoys benefits of a savings account through accrual of interest (cumulated interest of previous months). The difference between Call deposit account and savings account is that Call deposit account has a fair interest rate than a savings account. Some commercial banks offer call deposit with a maturity rate but monthly wise and not annually.

Fixed Deposit: -This is one of the most popular interest earning account offered by all types of banks. A Fixed deposit account is an account where a client deposits a certain amount of money as the principal amount with a maturity rate which is annually. The maturity period is where a client is allowed to withdraw the amount he/she had deposited initially or the whole amount in the account and close it. Here, the higher the deposit the better the interest rate and the higher the interest earnings. For Fixed deposit, you can withdraw the interest only either after 3 months, 6 months or just collect the lump sum annually.

As human beings, we often have lust for money. We seek it. We yearn for it. But then what is worse than lying to yourself that you are doing nothing wrong yet you know it is?
So here is a Muslim who has always been depositing in his fixed account which he receives interest after some months. The argument someone may bring is that, the money he deposited was used to do some kind of business which brought in profit which in turn he is given too. But then comes these three basic rules of fiqh which we need to understand:

Fiqh rules on prohibition of riba:
To emphasize interest or riba prohibition, reference should be made to three Fiqh rules:
a) A benefit gained from a loan is riba. A rule which is based on the ethics of Qard Al-Hassan (Benevolent or good loan) in Quran and on Hadith of the Prophet (p.b.u.h.) "the only reward for a loan is the thanks giving and the repayment".
b) Which means that the capital owner has to choose either a "return" on his capital by sharing with its user in profit, or a "guarantee" to repay his capital intact. A "return" and "guarantee" on capital can not be combined together in one deal.
c) Which means that the capital owner will be entitled to "Profit" only if he is ready to accept "loss" if this happened. These rules are the basis of all profit and loss sharing financing methods in Islam, and they leave no doubt that interest paid to bank depositors above their money, or interest paid by borrowers from banks for the use of banks' money is riba.
In this case, this Muslim is only getting 'profit' which is in fact riba. How? Because if the bank got a loss they don't also share the loss with the investor.

Why is Riba prohibited?
1. Usurers are generally miser, selfish and hard-hearted Shylocks, devoid of milk of human kindness, who exploit the misery of the poor and charge their pound of flesh without feeling any moral compunction for the sufferings of the borrowers.
2. Interest breeds idleness and promotes unearned income. Instead of undertaking business ventures and using their business acumen, skill, knowledge and entrepreneurship, people having money start lending it on interest and thus living like parasites.
3. Interest causes many economic evils as well. It leads to hoarding of money adversely effecting its circulation among larger sections of society. It also causes establishment of monopolies, cartels and concentration of wealth in few hands. Thus distribution of wealth in the community becomes uneven and gulf between the rich and the poor widens.
4. Interest charged on international loans has aggravated debt-servicing problem of the debtor countries. It has not only impeded the economic development of the poor nations, but has also resulted into transfer of resources from the poor to the rich nations.
5. Capital investment is withheld from those enterprises which cannot yield profit equal to the prevailing rate of interest, even though such projects may be very vital for the country and nation. The flow of all financial resources in the country turns in the direction of those enterprises which carry the prospect of a profit margin equal to or more than the current rate of interest, even though such enterprises may have little or no social value.
With the revolutions and adverse changes in our world, we as Muslims need to be very keen, aware and careful on how we invest, where we invest, where we borrow and how is our money cycle. When you are told this is just profit make sure you investigate further, what kind of 'profit' they are talking about. Let us all be steadfast and exemplary in following our deen.

May Allah guide us. Ameen.

REFERENCES:
1. http://www.islamic-banking.com/iarticles_8.aspx
2. http://www.soundvision.com/article/5-ways-to-deal-with-the-dilemma-of-riba
3. http://www.aims.education/study-online/riba-in-islamic-banking-and-finance/

ALL THE FEELS, ALL THE TIME

I still remember when I was a kid, when Palestine was really on fire. But well, when was it ever not on fire? It was during those times that the news were just about Palestine; sickening images and depressing videos. There was a world outcry. The Arab artists from different countries came together and made a video clip for them. It was around the same time when the 12 year old Muhammad Al Durrah and his dad were shot dead as shown in a very depressing video clip. It was 2000 and I was just six years old. There was the world, standing up for humanity like we should while I stood and watched. I was too young to comprehend what was happening but I just didn't like what I saw. It broke my heart...and it made me cry a lot. 

My mum once came and found me hiding at the window, behind the curtains crying. Oh I had cried a lot. I had cried like I was right there at the middle of it. I had cried like the cry baby I am...To cheer me up, my mother asked my cousin to take me for a walk. She took me to the bridge side to watch the ocean and bought me some crisps on the way. At that time, it was easy enough to forget what I had just seen and live up the sea moment. I was going to do something about it, that was my plan. I was going to grow up and make a difference. I was somehow going to make all the noise stop and bring the world to silence. I was hoping i'd be the female version of superman. But then I grew up, and reality hit me hard. There was almost nothing I was ever going to do. Not to the war torn countries, not to the fighting friends not even to my own helplessness. Back and again, i'd lock myself in the washroom and cry because two people were fighting, because someone became angry, because someone didn't eat and my mother would be there again and again with the same words, 'This is life...These things happen.' So I started writing and for as long as I remember, I wrote like a possessed woman. I never had short paragraphs or small words to say. It was always going to be long and very long endless paragraphs of pain and sorrow; too much pain too much sorrow. By the time I got to high school, I knew. I knew I wasn't going to change. I knew I couldn't stop to feel.

I hated myself for feeling way too much because it made me seem like damaged goods, a worn out material, a shattered mirror. Simply because there is no in between for me and for us. There is nothing like moderation. It was always going to be extreme love or extreme hate. Extreme kindness or extreme evil. But it also made me appreciate a lot of things beyond. It became my super power, just like writing did. I tried to fit in only to realize it was never going to happen. It was never going to be easy for people to understand. They see you laughing like a maniac for one moment and you'd be crying like a widow the next. How you'd laugh so hard at the most stupid of things and cry so much for something so petty. No, they would never get you. And so it would always end up with, 'she is so moody'. I curled up back into my cocoon because that is the only place you wouldn't be misunderstood or misinterpreted. That is the only way to survive.

When war broke in Yemen and my sisters were trapped inside, I slid away. I slid away from them and from everyone. My mother would lecture me for not keeping in touch, for not being there for my sisters when they needed me. But then how do you respond when someone talks of the bombs they are hearing right as you speak? What do you tell them when you get 3 a.m. texts of them asking for prayers? I ran. I always ran away from the reality because helplessness is way too much to handle. I ran away every time I came face to face with my emotions. I ran because facing my fears would mean dealing with my inability to do absolutely ANYTHING. I ran when people attacked me, when I was being stepped on, I changed routes to not meet the beggars, I shut away when people fought. I withdrew, stayed back, retrieved myself from my soul, escaped...and thus, I became an escapist. For the longest time I asked God, 'why was I born? What am I doing on this earth?' Simply because being lost and helpless is just too much.

But then I found out that being overly-sensitive would make sense sometimes. When you meet people like yourself and there comes that sigh of relief, 'I am not the only one.' You meet understanding people who won't call you moody because they just know how extremely you feel. You meet people who will empower you to turn that sensitivity into something enormous and courageous and brave. Yes...you meet the right people.

Every time I meet fellow cry-babies who are screaming inside because 'no one understands me', I remember that I am blessed with the ability to write. That it doesn't really matter how weak people perceive you, or how they judge what you write, or how they think of you. What only matters is that you are doing what you have to, to survive.

So here I am. Feelings for sale. Anyone? Feelings, anyone??

WHY THE FOOTBRIDGE IS SUCH A BLESSING FOR PEOPLE LIKE ME

Photo Courtesy: www.hivisasa.com

Apart from the Uhuru-Joho and #UhuruChallenge fuss, people like me consider the foot bridge to be a great blessing. And when I say people like me I mean the paranoid, the hysterical, the psychotic freaks, the ones suffering from agyrophobia (fear of streets or crossing the street); yep, the people who see a car rushing right into them, crashing all their bones when crossing a busy road.

So years back when I started uni, I was quite overwhelmed with the highway. I would always stand for moments and moments again before actually crossing the road. I would stand close by to the next person beside me and follow them right when they cross. If I am to die I wouldn't die alone right? I mean, who wants to die alone? 😃 But then we do die alone so while standing next to the person, I would go their left side or right side according to which side the cars are appearing from. If the cars are coming from the right side, I would go to the left side. If we are to be knocked down, the person is to die first. It sounds so selfish nah? So I decided I should stop being selfish and take care of my paranoid self. I decided to use the underground pathway-under the bridge 😃

Now there is something about the Buxton underground bridge. It is dark and scary. It is old and smelly. And most of all, it is not the place for me to walk into. Once I was down the stairs, I would hold my bag firmly.

Phone stashed away-check

Money hidden in a paperbag, inside a zipped smaller bag, inside a smaller smaller bag-check.

Karate move-Urgh, I should have watched the karate kid more.

Walking steps-Fast, FASTER THAN FASTEST.

But then remains one problem, what if this bridge falls on my head?!

This is precisely what happens when you watch too much of final destination 😩

Oh my God, I should have written a will. My diary should be taken by Husna, my best friend after 'the tragic incident of underground bridge collapsing'. But who will tell my mum that I love her more than I love my phone and laptop? 😟

Which is worse though? Bridge Collapsing or someone attacking you in this dark hole? Rape, murder or kidnap?

Oh my God, I don't even have a daughter to share this tiny sweet paranoic love portions with 😪 No no, enough is enough. Where is the highway route again? So I decided to go back to innocently stalking people crossing the road.

God heard my cry and sent me a blessing 😃 I had some lovely classmates who would always accompany me to the stage. Yeah, sometimes I would be grasping one of their hands because a car from the farthest end is approaching. They would wait until the childish me was inside a matatu before they left their ways. You know, just to ensure I don't get kidnapped or robbed or have my intestines scattered on the highway floor after a tragic accident. So on the days one of them or more wouldn't come to class, I would have a mini-attack.

"Where are youuu? Why haven't you come to class?!" *weeping emoji*😩

"Ah siji leo, mwalimu aboesha (I am not coming today, the teacher is boring)

*Weeping emoji, weeeeeeping emoji* "I am going home alone today" *weeping emoji again*😩

"You will be okay" *laughing emoji*

*weeping emoji is even tired of crying* 

Then comes a bully or more bullies, "You going home alone today 😃 " But then some bullies are friendly bullies, so they'd escort me and wait until I am gone. No wonder one of my friends told me I was always walking around with bodyguards 😃

Right now when I think of those moments and now with the foot bridge up I'm like, "If this highway was to be speak, it would be proud of how terrified I was of it." Not to mention that one night I almost got knocked down for real and in my pursuit to evade the car, one of my legs ended up in one of those uncovered holes. Don't even ask me how I got home that day 😃

May the credit for whoever built the bridge reach them because one of my 2017 goals (ameen) is to walk on that bridge, take a perfect selfie and caption it like, "Well well well, guess who survived the highway 😃 Oh! and the underground too!" 😃😉

MUJA THE KIND-HEARTED BOY

BY: NAIMA  BAGHOZI

Long time back in Mwapata land lived a small boy of nine years. His name was Muja but famously known as ‘Muja the kind hearted’ by everyone, big and small.

Muja lived with his father and mother who were quite old, but they brought him up to be a very good boy.

Muja was always kind to old people and even small children and not forgetting the animals. He would always help an old person cross the road or help an old woman carry her heavy load and if a small child is in distress then yes of course Muja would be right there to assist in whatever the problem is. As for the animals, he always had a very soft heart for them and did not like to see anybody hurting them.

That is why he earned the name ‘Muja, the kind hearted’ , and all people referred to him that way. As soon as he appeared anywhere, someone would be heard as saying “here comes Muja the kind hearted” and thus was loved by everyone. No one would want to harm him in anyway but would always have a kind or a soft word for Muja.

Now, Muja’s daily routine would be to wake up very early in the morning at the first call of the rooster’s “cock-a-doodle do” in order to fetch water from the well to wash himselfup and also to make sure his parents had enough for use.

Then after drinking his tea, he takes his bag and on his way to school he goes – up the lane, up and up the hill then at the top of the hill he takes a breath and looks down   at the view which awaits  him and he says to himself  “ Oh! What a beautiful village we have….”  And then jumps and trots down the hill towards his school where he knows his friends would be eagerly awaiting his arrival so they can play together  a little bit before the bell rings for assembly.

As soon as school ends for the day, Muja has no time for friends but he would rush out of school and climb up the hill and run all the way home for he knows he has got chores awaiting him. One of them being to go and fetch firewood from a nearby bush for his mother. He would always be cautious about his mother’s warning of never going deep in the bush for fear of wild animals.

The one thing that the Mwapata Land boys liked best to do was to hunt for the many beautiful little birds who were all over the place. So after school they would normally  be out with their catapults  trying their best shots with pebbles at them, for they say they are very tasty when roasted. However, everybody knew of Muja’s weakness where these little birds were concerned and wouldn’t even stop to fight in order to save them. So whenever the area boys are already at their mischief, one is normally kept on guard to look out for Muja and the moment he sees him coming, he would yell ‘run ,Muja the kind hearted’ is coming, then they would all scatter in different directions in fear that if they will be caught then anything can strike them. Oh! Yes, they would even go as far as calling the birds as “Muja’s Birds."   

                             

One day as Muja was collecting his mother’s firewood not so far from his home lane, he thought he heard his name – so he stopped picking up the wood to listen but only silence met him, he then continued to pick his firewood but it didn’t take long before he heard it again and this time it was quite clear for he had moved up a bit in his collection and this is what he heard from a tiny small clear but sad voice ;

                            “Muja,ooh! Muja

                             Please, please

                             Help me……..”

And it continued on and on as he moved towards  the voice only to find one little bird trapped  and could not free itself to fly off. It was so frightened that if it was found by one of the boys it would soon be on a fire being roasted and to be made into a nice meal. 

                                         

So Muja rushed to it and said ‘Oh! You sweet little bird, don’t be frightened, Muja is here now to set you free”…. And you know what? Muja did just that, he carefully removed it from the trap and set it free to fly away in the skies and the little bird was so grateful as it flew away saying:

                               “Ooh! Muja, Ooh! Muja                                                              

                                Thank you for saving my life.

                                Ooh! You kind hearted Muja….”

Muja found himself smiling silently and went to collect his wood to take to his mother who would be waiting for it patiently in order to start cooking their dinner.

                                                

When Muja got home, he explained everything to his parents. His mother told him “Muja, you are a fine boy” and his father said “Muja my son, you will one day make a fine man”.

These compliments made Muja’s heart fill with joy for he always appreciates his parents’ comments as they meant a lot to him.

                                             

After his mother cooked dinner, they sat down to eat and then he helped her to wash the few dishes they had  and prepared himself for bed for he knows again at the very early call of their rooster’s ‘cock-a-doodle-do’ he would have to be up once again.                  

Such was Muja’s daily life routine except for weekends when he gets the chance to at least play football which he loved very much with his friends. But of course this is after he had done all his chores first and then he would be free to play.

                                                  

Days went on and fell into nights and nights dawned into beautiful mornings as Muja’s life continued but unfortunately with the busy schedule he had, his studies seemed to suffer. This was because the only time he had for his studies was when he was in class , so he had to struggle extra hard – more than all his fellow students in order  to keep up with them. But Muja being Muja – he was determined to make it so that he may be able to have a better future than the current one he was having.

One Wednesday evening when Muja went out for his normal firewood collection, he was met with quite an incident that would make him remember this day for the rest of his life. He started picking the firewood at his usual spot on the edges of the bush, but this time his mind seemed to be quite far and didn’t realize that he had actually entered the bush which his mother always cautioned him about. In a trance like manner he continued on with his wood picking until suddenly “WHAM” right into a trap he walked and thus found himself entangled in a net and as much as he tried to free himself – it was just an impossible task. For the first time by looking around he realized that he had walked far into the bush and his heart started pounding so fast ‘doom,doom,doom’ that he could hardly hear anything else . He tried his level best to calm himself down so that he can think of his next move, so after just a few seconds which to him seemed ages he managed to calm down and could look at the surroundings properly. All he could see were trees and trees which seemed to be bending towards him and he could only hear the eerie sounds of the bush habitants whom he couldn’t see.

            

Time did seem to have stood still but he felt it must be quite late and was thinking “now my parents must really be worried!” and tears started to roll down his cheeks. He really wished for anybody to come by and help him, maybe a hunter…. Then he started screaming “help,help,help” at the very top of his  voice but only the echo of his voice seemed to answer him with the same  “help,help,help”  screams – but he did not despair nor did he give up. He would rest a bit  and call out for help at short intervals.

                                                     

It went on this way until he started shaking with fear and when he was just about to give up – you won’t believe what happened. Muja had already given up and thought he would be a meal for one or another of the wild animals but his kind heartedness was about to pay now, for he suddenly heard that lovely from a long time back voice say:

                                   “Ooh! Muja, Ooh! My kind hearted Muja,

                                     Don’t be afraid -  your friend is here

                                     To help you…….”

                                                          

And yes, looking up – guess who Muja saw? That’s right, that little bird he once saved and wondered privately how this little thing would be able to help him. In a matter of  seconds the little bird started tweeting in the bird language and from all directions – all Muja could see were wings and wings flying into the call of his friend and it communicated to them to start cutting the net with their beaks. Since they all knew the kind hearted Muja who had many a time saved them from the Mwapata land boys with their catapults – they were more than happy to help getting Muja out of the trap.

                                                        

They didn’t waste any time in doing just that and within no time Muja was freed by his bird friends and they started escorting him out of the bush right up to the main lane. That’s when Muja found out that it had already gotten dark and knew how worried his poor parents would be – his little bird friend said:

                                      “Ooh! Muja, Ooh! Kind hearted Muja,

                                        This is where we leave you for  we

                                        Have to go and sleep now…….”

                                                              

And Muja said to them:

                                       “Ooh! My lovely friends,

                                         I say thank you very much for 

                                         Saving my life, I shall never forget

                                         This for as long as I live…….”

Off they went back to the bush and Muja started running up the lane towards his home not even thinking about the firewood….and just as he was about to turn around the corner he bumped into an old man who held him steadily before he could fall and said in wonder “Is this you Muja? Is it really you my son…?” his voice full of emotion and Muja replied “father, father, oh! Am I glad to see you again” 

They hugged and started walking together towards their home where they found his mother right at the gate with such a worried look on her face. She too couldn’t believe her eyes when she saw her son and tears of joy ran down her cheeks as Muja ran towards and hugged her so hard while he too started crying not believing that he wasn’t actually eaten by the wild animals and that he was back home with his mother and father.

After resting and being given a bowl of porridge, he told the whole story to his awed parents and promised them that he will never venture again into the bush. Thus, he went to sleep with a big smile on his face knowing he was safe in his parents’ home.

                                                       THE      -     END        

P.S. The book is in print form too if you would like to get a hard copy please inbox me in my Facebook page: strokes of my pen    

EXORCISM; THE MOMBASA VERSION

Photo Courtesy: http://cdn.inquisitr.com/wp-content/uploads/2013/06/Poltergeist-Exorcism.jpg

Warning: This article is not for the faint hearts.

When I was in Uni, one of my friends who had come to Mombasa for the first time to study, confessed to me about something. He told me of how he was warned of the Mombasa ladies. That sometimes you may be lured by a very beautiful lady only to find out she is a jinn (genie) lol. Well, I couldn't agree to the statement but neither could I deny it. I very well knew how the upcountry folks tend to be scared whenever they visit Mombasa for the first time. The stories spread and so does the stereotype.

See Mombasa is by the sea which makes it natural that jinns will be more attracted to this part of the town. They love oceans and seas and that is basically their home. Nonetheless, culture and traditions of the ancestors of this area was such that, while some wanted to be as far away from the whole jinn issue, some when to the far extents of hunting them down and using them for witchcraft and personal agendas. Some were just victims while some sought them. And one other fact about Jinns is that they can be inherited in the family which led to generations after generations being innocently possessed.

Now for the scared-chicken me, fate has made it for me such that I have witnessed exorcism more than 5 times. The first time was when I was around 11 to 12 years old in primary school when one of the Muslim girls suddenly got possessed. It was an exam day so you can imagine half the excitement of postponement of my exam at the same time, fear and sympathy for the girl. The school I was in was a Christian school so the Christian teachers together with the director took their bibles and off they started the prayers. The doors to the room were closed and so were the windows so we couldn't see anything inside. For almost one hour, we could their loud prayers, some commotion inside, more volume and more volume again until that door finally opened. Before I could understand what exactly was happening, my IRE teacher summoned the few Muslims in the school asking for those who could recite qur'an. Apparently, everyone was looking at me; the 12 year old me to go do exorcism to a fellow kid. Right now, thinking about it, I realize how much danger our teacher put us into. Nonetheless, we still went. The girl's brother, my teacher and I. Upon entering, the Christian teachers left with the look like, "she is all yours."

The girl didn't have her head scarf on. Her long hair was so messed up. She was pacing around the room like it was her ego that had taken over; walking arrogantly across like a boss. So I started reciting surat Yasin. I had no idea what I was doing. I didn't know what surah was to be read but I still went on with the surah with her brother and my teacher following along. The girl was laughing at us, mocking us, insulting us; we were being useless. She wasn't feeling anything. And for once I felt how really small I was. By the time I was done with Yasin and there was no improvement, I remembered surat Jinn and this is when things started getting wild. She was yelling, screaming in pain. I was shaking now, my hands too cold. There was nothing heroic about this; just shudders of fear. After some verses, she was holding my knees. Don't even ask me how she got there but she was; holding my knees begging me to read louder because, "He is there. I can see him" pointing somewhere above our heads. It was terrifying and my knees wobbled. I almost thought i'd either pee on myself or faint in the process. She then quieted down. My teacher rushed to give her a glass of water and check if she recognizes herself and the people around. Somehow, with time, I was able to get over it but that was never the end of the exorcism sessions I had to attend.

In uni, one of my mates had the same issue and time to time we would have to do the exorcism on her despite knowing that it should be done by experts only. But then within the past few days, I came across far worse case scenarios I had never seen.

In Islam, (for those who don't know about this) we have our traditional medicine and treatments called ruqya, and despite this being the original and the best medical way to deal with ailments especially the complicated unexplainable ones, we always tend to keep this to be the last option. Ruqya is commonly known for treatment of witchcraft, exorcism, hasad and 3ayn (disastrous envy) but also for normal ailments that could do just good with some herbals and holy treatment.This is the place you go when no scan is telling what is wrong with you. When you see the doctor and he has to call a mini-meeting to discuss what could be wrong with you and they just end up giving you speculations. This is the place you go when doctors and people ask you, "maybe it's all in your head? Maybe you are just imagining being sick." This is the place you go when you have lost hope and finally realize only religious treatment will help you.

My sister and I entered the room which was somewhat full with other Muslim ladies. We went to the front rows, sat quietly waiting just like the rest. When the sheikh finally started reciting, slowly I could hear voices behind me and beside me. Someone was crying, almost wimping, another was laughing in a mock. The one in front of me started stretching her hands, moving her head vigorously from left to right, beside us was another who was now groaning like a lion. Right behind me, the young lady was twisting and turning in pain. And I was there, right at the middle of it all, all seeming like a zombie apocalypse horror movie and everyone was getting infected and I was definitely the next. The screams were getting into my head, the cries, the shouts and my hands were already getting cold. Half the time I was holding my sister's hand and the other half I was hugging myself, head bowed down. I didn't want to look but hearing the voices only is way worse. So I get glimpsing around me and it was like someone was trying to drown me. My head being shoved in cold water, pulled out, before being shoved right back. There is a lot of sympathy, empathy, confusion and chaos. I almost walked out right at the middle of it because there you are and you see people having literal fights with the unseen. Someone is twisting like she has no bones, another is groaning like she is about to puke, another is shouting, 'sitokii!!' (leave me alone) or 'uskut' (Keep quiet!), another is half-crying half-laughing, another is holding her head while crying out in pain, another is screaming like a banshee while another is moving about intensely like she is dancing some zumba. 

For the first time I was so scared of my own self, too tensed up because you don't even have an idea what is wrong with you or even what is your situation exactly. I kept checking on my sister and whenever she'd just move a bit i'd get worried until after confirmation that she is okay. I was trying too to not bulge even an inch because my own restlessness was making me worry. So I wanted to convince myself that nothing is wrong and that nothing is wrong with my sister. But then keeping still is almost impossible too. When the one in front started reacting we had to move back a little bit, when the one behind was writhing in pain on the floor, we had to move forward again. I was terrified, shocked and perhaps it was too much for me to see several people ache loudly like that all at once. By the second day end of it all, a lady was still crying while talking in arabic, "Khaliny. Khaliny anta lasta 3unuky" (Leave me! Leave me you are not my neck) while struggling with her neck like she was being strangled. And that's when I had had enough. I broke down.

I cried at the difficulty of the situation. At how hard it can be for someone to be their own enemy. At how your ailment is something inside you and you can barely do anything about it. I cried at how we really take it lightly how much these people suffer. But then this is way worse than malaria or even diabetics. This is someone inside you who was sent on a mission to destroy you. Someone who is trying to steal your identity, your happiness, your comfort and worst of all, you are the only one who can see it. Someone who can totally take control of your soul, make you do things or harm yourself and others without even knowing it. This is perhaps one of the biggest tests anyone can have. And even while watching the emotional mess, I wanted to disappear right into the wall beside me. It's not a sight for someone with empathy issues or even crying-an-entire-bucket issues. I believe that the victims are very strong people and I just hope Allah makes it easy for them and pays them abundantly for their patience.

Perhaps this is why we keep being told that whenever we feel we are in difficult situations, we should look at those in worse scenarios than us and thank God anyway. Nonetheless, the religion has always been complete. We have to take these things seriously and recite the duas for the morning and evening sessions. We have to protect ourselves and our children. We have to teach them the duas before going into the washrooms and after, before eating and after, before leaving home and after...We have to ask for Allah's protection when going to the beaches and new places. We have to read and listen to qur'an more often but more importantly, we have to listen to the ruqya verses more often. Trust me, it is worth it. The way people talk of possessed victims like it is an ordinary and 'normal' thing, is quite underrated. They suffer and they need our support, love and care. They need you now more than ever. They need your sincere prayers.

Besides all these dark spirits (which is mostly not everyone's fault), Mombasa is a beautiful place of it's own kind. Stereotyping generalizes it way more than it really is. The victims are sick and trust me, they do not like it just like you. Do not be afraid of them or stigmatize them. God is surely for us all.

To end this, below is a ruqya video that is good for you. Make time to listen to the video at least once everyday and let your family listen too. You can always download more videos and audios from the internet. Follow the link: https://youtu.be/8aY_krmD72M and this another: https://youtu.be/oEgZT9cJ4lY

May Allah have mercy on us, protect us and our families from all evil. Ameen.