A Journey to Ancient Islamic Ethiopia

April 2025 by Dr. Mufti Abdur-Rahman ibn Yusuf Mangera

Ethiopia 2025

The Genesis of a Dream

The seed for my Ethiopian journey was planted rather serendipitously in 2012 during a flight to Zambia aboard Ethiopian Airlines. Though the desire to explore this ancient land had lingered in my mind for years, it wasn’t until 2025 that the opportunity finally materialised. When One Nation charity approached me about travelling to Zambia for some youth programs, I proposed an alternative to their usual Emirates routing: why not fly Ethiopian Airlines and finally fulfil my long-held wish to explore this fascinating country?

The suggestion sparked immediate enthusiasm, particularly from Mr Haroon Lambat, one of their representatives, who readily agreed to accompany me. Allah blessed us further by connecting us with Abdul Rahman, an Irish convert married to an Ethiopian, who became our invaluable local guide and logistics coordinator, saving me from the considerable challenge of having to find the right flights and hotels and arrange guides independently. May Allah reward both him and One Nation abundantly for arranging all the logistics and facilitating this journey.

My itinerary centred on two historically significant locations: the ancient walled city of Harar, home to over a thousand years of Islamic heritage and countless historic mosques, and the Negash area in Ethiopia’s northern Tigray region. The latter held particular significance for me, as it houses the final resting place of King Negus (Najashi) and fifteen of the Sahaba (Companions). Having read countless times about the first and second migrations to Abyssinia in the Prophet’s biography g, where the companions found refuge under the protective wing of the just Abyssinian king, visiting this sacred site had been a decade-long aspiration.

Arrival in Addis Ababa

Our Ethiopian adventure commenced as we departed London Heathrow Airport on the evening Ethiopian Airlines flight on Wednesday 9 April 2025. Landing at Addis Ababa’s Bole International Airport in the early morning hours, we encountered our first taste of Ethiopian efficiency blended with its characteristic chaos.

The first challenge was locating Haroon Sahib, who had come on another bus from the aircraft. Unsure if he had gone ahead, I followed directions to the end of the arrivals area and turned left toward immigration. Alhamdulillah, the customs process went smoothly—the friendly officer simply asked for my online visa that I had processed a few days prior.

Despite being told in London that our bags couldn’t be checked only to Addis during our five-hour stopover (being under the 12-hour threshold), I spotted my luggage on the carousel as I cleared immigration. An official informed me that I needed to collect the luggage, clear customs, and manually check them in at the domestic terminal. Alhamdulillah, Allah’s plan proved better than ours—this allowed us to leave our bulkier items in Addis rather than carrying everything to Harar.

With the airport WiFi proving unreliable, I made my way to an EthioTelecom counter to purchase a SIM card—a worthwhile investment at around five US dollars that would provide sufficient data throughout our trip. The airport staff who recommended it was right about its reliable coverage across Ethiopia. Once connected, I discovered multiple missed calls and messages from Haroon Sahib, who had been waiting at the international transfers lounge, expecting to find me there.

The hospitality of local Ethiopians was immediately apparent. Airport staff, taxi drivers, and hotel representatives showed genuine helpfulness—one even offered to watch my luggage, pointing out the security camera and that he could be trusted, while I searched for Haroon Sahib. When we finally reunited, we headed to a café for something to eat, reflecting on our flight where the lengthy meal service had unfortunately cut into potential sleep time. The domestic terminal, our next destination, offered no lounge facilities.

The café provided a quiet space to reorganize our luggage, transferring essential items to our hand baggage. Our local host, Brother Abdul Rahman, thoughtfully arranged for a friend to collect our main bags for safekeeping at his house. The connection between terminals at the airport requires passengers to exit the international terminal and walk across outdoor pavements to reach the domestic terminal with their luggage, as there is no internal connecting corridor between the two. This arrangement can be unexpected for travellers used to more integrated airport facilities. Adding to the peculiarity was the requirement for double security checks at the domestic airport—one at check-in and another just beyond to go airside—with each checkpoint requiring removal of footwear and everything from your pockets, despite being located just around the corner from each other.

Finding some empty seats at our advertised gate, we managed a brief 45-minute rest before a gate change. By this time, Abdul Rahman had arrived, and we had our first warm meeting after previously only communicating through text messages. Together, we proceeded to board our flight to Dire Dawa.

First Impressions of Ethiopian Culture

While waiting for our connection to Dire Dawa, I observed the fascinating linguistic tapestry of Ethiopia unfolding around me. The country’s rich cultural heritage was immediately apparent in the babel of languages echoing through the terminal—a preview of the nation’s 83 distinct ethnic groups and their corresponding dialects. Amharic, the national language, served as the linguistic glue binding this diversity together.

Most striking was the visible Islamic presence throughout the airport—from passengers to staff—challenging the official census figures that stubbornly maintain a 30% Muslim population despite widespread beliefs that the true figure exceeds 50%. This statistical disparity would become a recurring theme in our conversations with locals. Some explained that the official Muslim population figures were deliberately kept low to ensure Ethiopia could continue receiving international aid—a claim that, while unverified, reflected local perceptions about the relationship between religious demographics and foreign assistance.

I recited the prophetic supplication for entering a new city:

اللَّهُمَّ حَبِّبْنا إلى أهْلِهَا، وَحَبِّبْ صَالِحي أهْلِها إِلَيْنا

O Allah, make us beloved to its people, and make
the righteous among its people beloved to us.

I have always found benefit in reciting this prophetic supplication, experiencing its blessings in facilitating connections with local communities.

The Journey to Dire Dawa

The short 45-minute flight to Dire Dawa offered a bird’s-eye view of Ethiopia’s dramatic landscape. As we descended, the temperature rose noticeably—from Addis Ababa’s temperate highlands to Dire Dawa’s tropical 35°C (95°F) heat. The humidity wrapped around us like a warm blanket as we stepped onto the tarmac, though Abdul Rahman assured us that Harar, our final destination in the highlands, would offer more clement weather. The road distance to Harar from the capital Addis is about 530 kilometres and can take about twelve hours. Alhamdulillah, we would arrive much sooner than that.

First Steps in Dire Dawa: A Taste of Ethiopian Hospitality

Our first priority upon landing in Dire Dawa was spiritual rather than temporal. We made our way to a nearby mosque, a striking modern structure that defied traditional Islamic architectural conventions whilst retaining the essential elements of minaret and dome. The multi-storey building buzzed with quiet activity, even in the afternoon heat. Several worshippers were absorbed in Quranic recitation or peaceful meditation as we arrived for Zuhr prayer around 1:40 pm.

The simple ablution (wudu’) area provided a refreshing respite from the tropical heat. After months in Britain’s cold climate, the act of performing ablutions in the warm air felt almost therapeutic, setting a peaceful tone for our Ethiopian sojourn.

First Taste of Ethiopian Cuisine

Our introduction to Ethiopian cuisine came at the expansive restaurant of the B-Capital Hotel. Here we encountered injera, the country’s distinctive sourdough flatbread, a grey-tinged pancake-like creation that serves as both plate and utensil in Ethiopian dining. Our driver, perhaps over-enthusiastic, ordered what seemed like a feast for an entire family. The injera arrived topped with tibs—a spiced meat dish that offered our palates their first adventure in Ethiopian flavours.

The portion sizes proved overwhelming, but nothing went to waste—following local custom, we had the excess packed for distribution to the needy.

The Road to Harar

The journey to Harar took us through a landscape that told its own story of Ethiopia’s diversity. The hour-and-a-quarter drive revealed a countryside dotted with mud houses, expertly crafted despite their humble materials. Recent rains had filled a nearby lake to unprecedented levels, tragically destroying many of these traditional homes—a stark reminder of the challenges faced by local communities whose traditional building methods are increasingly vulnerable to changing weather patterns.

Arrival at the Wonderland Hotel

As the sun began its westward descent, we arrived at the Wonderland Hotel, strategically located just outside the ancient gates of Harar’s old city. While the hotel might only merit one or two stars by international standards, it offered clean, spacious rooms and an authentic taste of local architecture. The staff’s initial enthusiasm to place us in their ‘special room’—complete with traditional Harari majlis seating arranged in hierarchical levels—was touching but impractical, given its location on the fifth floor of a lift-less building. We opted instead for more accessible lower-floor rooms, which, though basic, provided some of the essential comforts: clean towels, soap, but no shampoo. Most importantly, there was a small prayer room on the grounds where we prayed our ‘Asr prayer.

Time was of the essence as Maghrib approached, and we had an important meeting scheduled with Shaykh Hasan, director of a local relief organisation called the Development and Relief Association, and a graduate of Medina University. The evening unfolded in a series of meaningful encounters: first, prayers at one of the larger mosques in Harar’s new district, followed by an enlightening meeting conducted in Arabic, where we learned of the organisation’s impressive humanitarian work while enjoying very sweet local watermelon and papaya.

The day concluded with ‘Isha’ prayers at Harar’s Jamia Masjid (the Grand Mosque of Harar), a magnificent 900-year-old structure (founded in 1216 CE). The traditional collective adhkar (remembrances) that followed the prayers offered a glimpse into the deep spiritual heritage of this ancient Muslim city. Exhausted but fulfilled, we retired to our hotel around 10 pm, our minds still processing the day’s experiences and anticipating what the next day would bring in this remarkable city.

Ethiopia: A Living Museum of Languages and Cultures

At the crossroads of Africa and the Middle East lies Ethiopia, a nation that defies simple categorisation. Neither wholly African nor Middle Eastern, it stands as its own unique entity, shaped by millennia of history, trade, and cultural exchange. Within its borders, eighty-three distinct ethnic groups weave a cultural tapestry of extraordinary complexity, each maintaining its own traditions while contributing to a greater Ethiopian identity.

Ethiopia holds a unique distinction in African history as the only nation to successfully resist European colonization. While Italy made two significant attempts to colonize the country, the first ended in a decisive Ethiopian victory at the Battle of Adwa in 1896, under Emperor Menelik II. However, during the second attempt, Mussolini’s fascist regime successfully occupied Ethiopia from 1936 to 1941, using superior military technology and chemical weapons. This period ended when British and Ethiopian forces liberated the country during World War II. Though Italy left some architectural and infrastructural legacy, particularly in Asmara (now in Eritrea), this brief occupation is not considered true colonization, and Ethiopia’s resistance became a powerful symbol for African independence movements.

Eritrea, though previously a part of “Habasha” (the Axumite Kingdom), later became an Ottoman territory and then an Italian colony for 51 years (1890–1941). Although Ethiopians consider it essentially a part of Ethiopia, Eritreans consider themselves as a separate nation and didn’t accept being returned to Ethiopia after WWII. They subsequently fought for independence from Haili Selassie, and then the socialist regime of Mengistu Haili Mariam for another fifty years, eventually braking away again in 1997.

Ethiopia’s linguistic landscape tells a story as old as civilization itself. Like a living museum of human communication, Ethiopia hosts eighty-three different languages, each one a testament to the country’s rich history. While Amharic serves as the national language, binding this diverse nation together, it is merely one voice in a magnificent chorus of ancient and evolving tongues.

Perhaps nowhere is the country’s historical connection to the wider world more evident than in its language. The influence of Arabic, in particular, has left an indelible mark on Ethiopian linguistics, providing a fascinating window into centuries of trade and cultural exchange. In marketplaces across the country, one hears the echo of ancient commercial routes in everyday conversation, where Arabic-derived terms for trade and numbers have become thoroughly Ethiopian.

The numerical system offers a particularly striking example of this linguistic fusion. Traditional Amharic numbers dance alongside Arabic-influenced alternatives: hāya and ‘ishrīn both meaning twenty, selasa and thalāthūn for thirty, each pair telling the story of two civilizations meeting and melding over centuries of contact. This numerical duet continues through the counting system, creating a mathematical poetry of cultural exchange.

Even brief historical encounters have left their mark on Ethiopia’s linguistic landscape. The short-lived Italian occupation, lasting merely five years, bequeathed a legacy of industrial and mechanical terminology that persists to this day. More recently, English has made its presence felt, particularly in the realm of technology and innovation, adding yet another layer to Ethiopia’s linguistic palimpsest.

Ethiopia’s social landscape is as varied and dramatic as its physical terrain, with deep valleys of tradition and soaring peaks of modernity creating a unique cultural topography. Walking through its cities and villages, one encounters a visual representation of the country’s conservative values—Muslim women in hijab move alongside Christian women in their distinctive white scarves and head coverings, both expressing modesty in their own traditional ways, creating a unified social aesthetic despite theological differences.

Ethiopia’s major ethnic groups each contribute distinct threads to its diverse social fabric. The Oromo people, comprising roughly 35% of the population, are known for their sophisticated Gadaa system of traditional governance. In rural areas, Oromo communities (and others, like the Siltie), still gather under ancient fig trees, known locally as Shola, where elders make decisions through consensus.

While the Oromo represent the numerical majority, the Amhara have historically wielded considerable cultural and political influence as custodians of the country’s Orthodox Christian heritage and the Amharic language. Their ancient manuscripts, preserved in monasteries, tell tales of kingdoms and saints dating back millennia.

The Tigray people, though smaller in number, maintain close connections to the ancient Axumite civilization and the Ethiopian Orthodox Church. Their influence has shaped national politics in the near past (specifically under the EPDRF government from 1997–2018), though the recent Tigray War (2020–2022), which resulted from their removal from power by Abiy Ahmed, highlighted deep ethnic divisions. The Harari people, despite their small numbers, have exercised remarkable influence through trade, with their ancient walled city of Harar standing as testament to centuries of commerce stretching from Africa to Arabia.

What emerges is a society that somehow manages to be both deeply traditional and remarkably adaptable, even as it works to heal from periods of ethnic strife. This ability to embrace change while maintaining cultural continuity has been key to Ethiopia’s survival as Africa’s oldest independent nation, making it one of the continent’s most fascinating and enduring civilizations.

Friday, 11 April: Dawn in Ancient Harar

The day began with Fajr prayer in one of Harar’s old mosques, a modest structure over two centuries old situated on the left side of the road. Its simplicity, with just three or four wudu stations and a small prayer hall, transported me instantly to the neighbourhood mosques of Saharanpur in India. The Imam’s recitation caught my attention with its distinctive pattern—the opening verses of Surat al-Kahf in the first rak’a, followed by its concluding verses in the second, appropriate for a Friday. After the prayer, we remained seated in the serene morning atmosphere, completing our tasbihat before meeting the imam. His question revealed a common assumption about foreign visitors in religious attire—he wondered if we were from the Tablighi Jamaat, a movement that enjoys considerable popularity in Ethiopia.

The Living Museum Comes Alive

After breakfast, we began our exploration of Harar’s old city, proudly proclaimed as “The Living Museum” on an impressive sign outside its ancient walls. The historical significance of this UNESCO World Heritage site became immediately apparent as we learned about one of its most celebrated figures.

Imam Ahmad ibn Ibrahim al-Ghazi (1506–1543), known in Ethiopian Christian literature as Ahmad Graññ (“the left-handed”), was a pivotal figure in the history of the Horn of Africa. As Imam of the Adal Sultanate from 1527 to 1543, he led a significant military campaign documented in the Arabic text Futuh al-Habasha (The Conquest of Abyssinia). Under his leadership, the Muslim forces brought three-quarters of Ethiopia under the control of the Adal Sultanate during the Ethiopian-Adal War (1529-43). His military prowess and strategic leadership earned him the title Sahib al-Fath (Lord of the Conquest). His wife Bati del Wambara, after his death in battle against Portuguese forces in 1543, returned to Harar where she rallied his followers and maintained his legacy.

Like Sultan Muhammad al-Fatih of the Ottoman Empire who conquered Constantinople, Imam Ahmad was a powerful leader during a period of expansion and military success. In contrast, the image displayed on the gates of Harar is of Emir Abdullahi, the last Emir of Harar, who, much like Sultan Abdul Hamid II in the declining Ottoman period, attempted to preserve and revive his domain’s prominence in the 19th century but lacked the power to fully realize this ambition amid changing global circumstances.

Moving from these historical gates into the living present, our first stop was a Turkish-sponsored initiative where five local women worked at sewing machines, creating traditional Harari embroidered shirts for men and ceremonial headwear. The craftsmanship spoke of centuries-old traditions being preserved through modern means.

One couldn’t help but notice a peculiar aspect of local life: wherever our vehicle stopped, curious onlookers would gather around, their interest piqued by visitors—a common occurrence in many areas around the world where any unusual sight is a welcome distraction from daily routines.

The city’s main square revealed its complex religious history through its central building—once a grand mosque but now a church. This imposing structure stands as a silent witness to Harar’s changing fortunes. Its conversion during the Christian conquest marked a significant chapter in the history of what was once the dominant Islamic centre in the Horn of Africa.

Our cultural immersion deepened at two significant museums. The Sherif Harar City Museum, housed in a historic building that once hosted Emperor Haile Selassie’s honeymoon, displayed an impressive collection of artifacts—from ancient jewellery and coins to weapons and traditional textiles. At the Harar Manuscript Museum, our guide made the remarkable claim that Harar ranks as Islam’s fourth holiest city after Makka, Madina, and Jerusalem. When we questioned this assertion, particularly regarding the historical route of the Sahaba’s migration to Abyssinia, he explained that Harar served as the initial entry point into the Horn of Africa before the Companions proceeded to the Tigray region. His argument cited Najashi’s reference to these migrants settling in “neighbouring areas” rather than his immediate vicinity. He referenced the ḥadīth of Umm Salama (may Allah be pleased with her) related by Ahmad: “When we arrived in Abyssinia, we found the best ‘neighbour’ in the Negus.” His contention was that this meant they were in a “neighbouring land” rather than being in the land of Najashi himself—which, according to local tradition, they identify as Harar. We remained somewhat sceptical of this interpretation.

Throughout our walk through the narrow streets, we encountered a recurring sight: people with green khat leaves. From a caretaker in a mosque to shopkeepers and passers-by, this mild stimulant plant appeared deeply woven into the social fabric. The leaves, known to suppress appetite and provide a mild euphoric effect that makes users feel temporarily content with their situation, have become problematic in their widespread use. Many individuals had become essentially non-functional, spending their entire income on khat only to end up begging for basic necessities, their productivity and daily responsibilities neglected.

Our host shared a telling story about a foreign Muslim convert who was chewing khat on a bus. He overheard Christian passengers expressing surprise at seeing a white person engaging in this habit, with some remarking, “It must be because he’s Muslim that he does it.” This perception—that khat use was somehow linked to Islamic identity—proved to be a wake-up call for the convert, who subsequently quit the habit.

While khat remains legal and culturally significant in Ethiopia, it raises complex questions about productivity and health impacts, particularly within the Muslim community. Some justify its use through historical precedent, noting that certain scholars used it to maintain alertness during worship, though its widespread use today appears more recreational than spiritual, often with devastating social consequences.

The Friday Prayer and an Unexpected Trial

As Jumu‘a approached, we headed to the grand Jami‘ Masjid, but our spiritual focus was momentarily disrupted when Abdul Rahman discovered his bag was missing. The situation was particularly concerning as the bag contained his passport, cards, laptop and money. While the driver went to retrace our steps, checking the hotel and the sewing cooperative, we proceeded with the Friday prayers, maintaining hope and trust in Allah’s protection.

The atmosphere in the Jami’ Masjid before Jumu’ah was deeply spiritual, with worshippers engaged in collective awrad recitation. When the adhan was called, the young imam, whose appearance reminded me strikingly of one of my students Mawlana Dr Ikramul Haq, delivered the khutba in both Arabic and the local Harari language—a tongue distinctly different from Amharic. A particularly moving moment occurred between the two khutbas, when the entire congregation joined in collective tasbihat, their voices rising in unison as they added radiy Allah ‘anhu after mentioning the names of the Sahaba.

After the prayer, I had the opportunity to speak with the imam. His educational background explained his distinctive appearance—he had studied under teachers trained in Yemen’s Hadramaut, which accounted for his Hadrami-style turban and dress. He spoke of a recently deceased teacher who had been a notable scholar of hadith in the region. Currently, it was Shafi‘i fiqh that was being taught in the local seminaries.

Despite the packed mosque, the temperature remained surprisingly manageable, a characteristic of Harar’s moderate highland climate. Like many mosques we visited, there were no fans installed. Throughout our journey, we rarely encountered fans or air conditioning units, with Dire Dawa airport being one of the few exceptions.

Islamic Education and Contemporary Movements

I had first learned about Harar nearly two decades ago while studying the works of Shaykh ‘Abdullah al-Harari al-Habashi. While Harar maintained its traditional system of Islamic education, parts of Ethiopia had experienced significant influence from Salafi thought. This was reportedly due to an earlier government’s tolerance for Wahhabi ideology, possibly for economic benefits, followed by a later shift towards promoting the Ahbash movement, followers of the Shaykh. Originally from Harar but later based in Lebanon, he was known for his mastery of Ash‘ari theology and his commentaries on creed works, though his controversial and extreme views on Imam Ibn Taymiyya and Mu‘awiya (may Allah be pleased with him) had sparked debate.

Just after entering the Masjid, I was approached by a man who initially spoke in broken Arabic. Upon discovering he was from Pakistan, we switched to Urdu. His story raised several red flags—he claimed to be with the Tablighi Jamaat but also mentioned collecting money for a madrasa in Kashmir. When I inquired about his group size, he said there were three people, which seemed unusual for Tablighi work. His background story was also inconsistent—he first claimed to be from Kashmir, specifically Mirpur, but then mentioned being from Jammu Kashmir. When I pointed out that Jammu Kashmir was in India, not Pakistan, his responses were evasive.

The situation became clearer after Jumu‘a prayer when either he or one of his companions stood up to make an announcement in English, soliciting donations for a Kashmir-related cause. They positioned themselves by the gate to collect money. When confronted about how this aligned with Tablighi work, he couldn’t provide a convincing explanation. I expressed concern about taking advantage of the local community, who themselves were not particularly wealthy.

This incident reminded me of similar experiences where the plights of Kashmiris and Palestinians (may Allah relieve them and grant them assistance) have been exploited for questionable fundraising. I recalled a particular incident in Makkah where a woman, clearly Egyptian in both dress and dialect, approached me claiming to be Palestinian. When I called her out on this, pointing out her obvious Egyptian background, she simply smiled and asked how I had recognized her origin.

A unique feature of many mosques in Ethiopia was the presence of shoe cleaners outside who would wash and brush visitors’ footwear during prayer times—a service sometimes available even along the streets.

A Feast for the Senses

After Jumu‘a, the atmosphere lightened considerably. Haroon Sahib distributed his takhtis—Arabic alphabet charts that are part of his personal educational project. Though intended for children, even adults eagerly reached for them, revealing the touching simplicity and earnestness of the local people. I contributed to the moment by distributing bananas, which were received with genuine gratitude.

To our immense relief, word came that Abdul Rahman’s bag had been found—apparently it had been left at the hotel’s front desk during checkout. With this worry lifted, we headed to lunch at a unique outdoor dining spot that epitomised Harar’s traditional food culture.

Rather than simply ordering from a menu, we first had to purchase raw meat from the butcher’s store. With mutton and lamb already sold out, the brothers opted for beef and camel meat—the latter being notably less expensive. These were then taken to the adjacent restaurants where the meat was prepared to be served atop the distinctive injera flat bread. We ate in the traditional manner, just like everyone else there, using our hands to scoop up the flavourful meat with pieces of the slightly tangy injera.

The meal concluded with an introduction to Ethiopia’s celebrated fruit juice culture. A layered creation that’s more dessert than beverage. My choice—a vibrant combination of avocado, mango, guava, and papaya—justified Ethiopia’s reputation for outstanding fruit juices.

Coffee Ceremonies

Walking through Harar’s narrow streets, we frequently encountered signs bearing the Arabic phrase Wa Shawqah alongside images of the Prophet’s Mosque in Madina (Allah bless him and give him peace). The phrase, which translates to “How I yearn for it,” expresses a deep spiritual longing. These signs, scattered throughout the ancient city, poignantly reflect the connection between this historic Muslim city and Islam’s holy sites, capturing the yearning of its inhabitants for the blessed city of Madina.

Ethiopia is widely recognized as the birthplace of coffee, and it remains one of the country’s most iconic and valuable exports. Renowned for its unique flavours and exceptional quality, Ethiopian coffee is celebrated globally, with regions like Sidamo, Yirgacheffe, and Harar producing beans that are among the most sought-after in the world. The connection between the Ethiopian people and coffee runs deep, as evidenced by the traditional Ethiopian coffee ceremony—a ritual that beautifully showcases the cultural reverence for this beloved beverage.

Our journey brought us to one of these traditional coffee ceremonies, where the rich brew was prepared and served from a distinctive round black pot, filling the air with an intoxicating aroma. Harar, in particular, is famed for producing some of Ethiopia’s finest coffee, which itself is considered among the best in the world. As someone who only occasionally drinks coffee, I couldn’t fully appreciate the subtle distinctions between the different varieties. Yet, as I sat there, sipping the freshly brewed coffee, I was reminded of a deeper truth: the ability to discern and appreciate nuance, whether in coffee or in spiritual matters, depends on genuine interest and engagement.

This principle applies universally. Just as coffee connoisseurs can detect subtle flavour notes and distinguish between regions and roasts, those who immerse themselves in any pursuit develop a deeper appreciation for its intricacies. The same holds true in matters of faith—those with no love for Allah often fail to understand divine love, while those who cultivate their spiritual connection develop an increasingly refined appreciation of its depths.

The Journey Back to Addis

With our luggage already in the vehicle, we began our return journey to Dire Dawa. Our skilled driver navigated the road confidently, overtaking slower vehicles with practiced ease. While Harar can also be accessed via Jijiga (Jigjiga) the capital city of Somali Region of Ethiopia, Dire Dawa remains the more convenient gateway.

At Dire Dawa airport, a chance encounter with an Indian expatriate provided an illuminating perspective. His observation that Ethiopia’s current state mirrors India of thirty years ago crystallised something I had been struggling to articulate. The contrast between Ethiopian Airlines’ modern fleet—among the first to acquire Boeing Dreamliners over twelve years ago and now operating new Airbus A350s—and the country’s general development level was striking. While Addis Ababa shows significant progress, much of the country still awaits similar development.

Our flight to Addis was delayed by two hours in total, though the full flight suggested Shaykh Hasan’s observation was accurate—more people now prefer the brief flight to the arduous eight-hour road journey through hot, hilly terrain. As Maghrib time arrived while we were in the departure hall, Shaykh Hasan suggested we pray right there. About ten others joined our congregation, with some women offering their prayers separately due to space constraints. Though the airport had a prayer room in the check-in area, the departure area lacked one, making this improvised arrangement necessary.

During our wait, Shaykh Hasan shared news of his two forthcoming books—an impressive bibliography cataloguing over 1,700 Arabic works about Habasha (Abyssinia), and a treatise on contemporary priorities for Ethiopian Muslims. Even this substantial compilation, he noted, represented only a portion of the available literature.

The flight itself, aboard a Bombardier Q400, provided time for Qur’an recitation and travel journal updates. Despite the short duration of these domestic flights, Ethiopian Airlines maintained their service standards—evening flights like ours included a cake muffin with apple juice and water, while morning flights offered a falafel sandwich in place of the muffin.

Evening in Addis

Landing in Addis around 9:45 p.m., we had to postpone our planned dinner at the local Darul Ulum to the following day, when we would return earlier from Mekelle. Instead, we checked into the Al Nahari Hotel, which is situated approximately 2 kilometres from the airport, on Ethio-China Street, Wollo Sefer Square, making it a convenient option for travellers. This Muslim-owned establishment reflected Ethiopia’s diverse heritage—the desk clerk himself descended from Pathan and Arab ancestors, while the owner was of mixed Yemeni-Ethiopian background.

The rooms were surprisingly spacious and well-furnished, comparable to what you might find in a Hilton hotel. Though modern and spotlessly clean, the hotel shared a peculiar characteristic with most Ethiopian buildings—the absence of air conditioning or fans. We adapted by leaving the windows open to the 15 to 18-degrees night air. This brought to mind an interesting observation from throughout our journey—many locals, particularly in the mornings, would wrap themselves in jackets, socks, and shawls, even when temperatures reached 20–25 degrees Celsius.

We concluded our day with a meal at the hotel restaurant, cautiously ordering a turmeric-based Indian chicken curry, accompanied by spinach soup. The large, clean rooms provided a comfortable end to our fascinating day in Harar, though the slight stuffiness reminded us that we were indeed in Africa, despite the moderate highland climate.

Saturday 12 April: Journey to Ancient Negash

Our morning began at Addis Ababa airport, where we encountered Ethiopia’s characteristic double security protocol yet again.

We had breakfast at the airport with scrambled egg and Ethiopian foul, a local interpretation of fava beans that diverged notably from its Mediterranean cousins. The version here came enriched with local ghee, its robust flavour catching me somewhat off-guard. The meal, complete with tea or coffee, proved remarkably economical at around fifteen pounds for our group. The domestic terminal’s prayer room and the generally respectful atmosphere made the early morning wait comfortable.

Flight to Mekelle: Echoes of Recent Conflict

On the flight, I found myself intrigued by what I initially mistook for Somali but turned out to be Tigrinya, both languages sharing distinctive strong consonants, particularly the pronounced ‘ayn sound—quite different from the softer cadences of Amharic.

The journey to the Tigray region carried sobering undertones of recent history. The region had only recently emerged from a brutal civil war (November 2020 to November 2022) that pitted the federal government under Prime Minister Abiy Ahmed against the Tigray People’s Liberation Front (TPLF). The conflict’s impact on the Muslim community had been particularly severe, with reports of forced conscription and heightened tensions in a region where Muslim-Christian relations were already complex.

Our journey to Mekelle, the capital of Tigray, hung in delicate balance from the start. Initial attempts to book flights were met with news of possible cancellations due to local flareups. When Ethiopian Airlines finally reopened the routes, they did so cautiously, offering refund policies in case of further disruptions. The news of resumed flights brought immense relief, particularly as visiting Negash was a deeply personal goal and would be the highlight of our journey. The road to Negash by car is about 975 kilometres from the capital and could take sixteen or more hours—a journey we neither had time nor appetite for. Despite its profound historical significance as the site of the first hijra (migration), Negash remains relatively unknown and rarely visited by international travellers. This lack of recognition, rather than any security concerns, is what makes it such a rare destination, which only increased my determination to visit this sacred place.

Arrival in Mekelle: Local Perspectives

At Mekelle’s modest airport, we were met by our driver, a striking figure who embodied Ethiopia’s cultural complexity—a Muslim Tigrayan named Said in Western business attire complete with tie and suit, yet sporting a full beard and speaking fluent Arabic. While official statistics had maintained a two percent Muslim population in the region for decades, he estimated the true figure at between thirty to forty percent—another example of the statistical discrepancies we’d encountered throughout our journey.

Our first stop was at a fruit vendor for bananas—a traveller’s reliable companion being easily peeled and consumed without having to be washed. During our hour-and-quarter journey to Negash, our driver shared encouraging observations about the Muslim community’s progress. While historically under-represented in education, Muslims have increasingly pursued learning, leading to their growing presence in professional fields. In Mekelle itself, he noted, Muslims owned significant properties.

We collected our guide, Ustadh Umar ud-Din, a turbaned teacher from the local madrasa, whose knowledge would prove invaluable for our visit to Negash. The weather blessed our journey, a pleasant 24 degrees with a refreshing breeze—ideal conditions for exploring this historically significant region.

The Road to Negash: A Journey Through History

The journey to Negash revealed Ethiopia’s dramatic topography, markedly different from our earlier route to Harar. Where the Harar road had been relatively straight and predictable, this northern path carved through more challenging terrain. The road wound its way through arid highlands, each turn revealing new vistas of rocky outcrops and undulating hills.

Our vehicle navigated the serpentine route carefully, the sparse traffic allowing our driver to maintain a steady pace despite the demanding terrain. The landscape grew increasingly austere as we progressed, the vegetation adapting to the highland conditions. Small settlements appeared periodically, their traditional homes blending harmoniously with the natural surroundings. Christian women in their white head coverings and Muslim women in hijab moved through this ancient landscape, their presence adding human texture to the geological drama.

Our guide shared rich historical narratives as we travelled, painting a picture of Ethiopia’s unique position in Islamic history. The country holds the distinction of being the second most populous nation in Africa with 130 million people, recently overtaking Egypt while trailing only Nigeria. More significantly for Muslim visitors, Ethiopia hosts what is likely the world’s second-largest Muslim minority after India, though official statistics often seem to underrepresent these numbers.

Our guide shared a dark chapter of local history that highlighted the region’s complex religious dynamics. He spoke of Yohannes IV, who was the King (Nugus) of Tigray, and later the Emperor of Abyssinisa, who had attempted to forcibly convert the Muslims of Wollo  (now part of Amhara region) to Christianity. Those that refused to abandon their faith, he massacred  in their thousands. This atrocity did not go unanswered—upon learning of these events, forces from Sudan intervened, defeating the oppressor and, in a dramatic conclusion to his reign of terror, took his head to Khartoum, where it reportedly remains to this day. (For a more detailed history of Yohannes and his enmity with Islam in Ethiopia, see https://dn720002.ca.archive.org/0/items/islam-in-wallo-hussein-ahmed/Islam%20in%20Wallo%20-%20Hussein%20Ahmed.pdf, pp. 175–176.)

A fascinating geographical detail caught my eye on the map—a place called Abraha and Atshbeha near the town of Wukro. While our driver initially suggested a connection to Abraha of the elephant army that attempted to destroy the Ka’ba, our guide provided a different explanation. The names, though sharing the common Ethiopian name Abraha, actually referred to two Christian saints commemorated by a local church. This led to an interesting historical discussion about the actual Abraha, who had been sent by a Negus to Yemen, which was under Aksumite rule at the time, as a governor or military leader but subsequently seized control, and then the famous Year of the Elephant incident took place when he tried to destroy the Ka‘ba.

A striking observation throughout our journey was the complete absence of pigs, which I thought was unusual in a country with a substantial Christian population. Ibrahim explained that pork is virtually unknown in Ethiopia, as Orthodox Christians and the Pentecostals here, like Muslims, abstain from it. This dietary restriction reflects a more literal interpretation of Old Testament dietary laws that most modern Christian communities have set aside. The timing of our visit also coincided with the Orthodox Christian Lent, during which many establishments suspended meat service entirely.

As we approached the town of Agula, the terrain softened slightly, though the hills remained constant companions. We were told that the town had five mosques, though their minarets weren’t visible from our approach. The final stretch through Wukro, just 5-7 kilometres before Negash, brought us through terrain that seemed to echo with centuries of history, the landscape itself a witness to the religious and cultural exchanges that had shaped this remarkable region.

Our anticipation grew as we approached Negash. The road wound through terrain that seemed to echo with the footsteps of the earliest Muslim refugees who had found sanctuary here under the just rule of the Najashi.

Arrival in the Sacred Destination of Negash

As our vehicle pulled into the walled compound around noon, we entered one of Islam’s most historically significant yet least visited sites.

To our right stood the masjid, maybe the first built in Africa, as the Axumite Kingdom was the first kingdom to recognize Islam as a religion. We first proceeded along a purpose-built walkway that wound gently through Negash’s serene hilly landscape. This walkway unfolds like a silent story of sacrifice and faith. Along the path, sixteen graceful marble markers stand proudly, each bearing the name of a noble soul — companions of the Prophet Muhammad (Allah bless him and give him peace) who journeyed across seas in devotion to their Lord. The polished stone pillars, adorned with intricate Islamic designs and crowned with the crescent and star, and a basmala at the top, whisper the legacy of courage, emigration, and steadfastness. Each step along the walkway brings visitors closer to the heart of history, culminating at the resting place of Ashama ibn Abjar — the righteous King Najashi — and these blessed companions who found sanctuary and solace in the land of Abyssinia. The gentle breeze, the soft rustling of trees, and the distant hum of prayers and voices create an atmosphere heavy with reverence, inviting every visitor to walk not only through a place, but through a chapter of living faith.

We walked through this walkway reading the names of the companions and thinking about their lives and their struggles

One marker particularly caught my attention, displaying the powerful Qur’anic verses in Arabic with Turkish translation:

وَٱلَّذِينَ هَاجَرُوا فِى ٱللَّهِ مِنۢ بَعْدِ مَا ظُلِمُوا لَنُبَوِّئَنَّهُمْ فِى ٱلدُّنْيَا حَسَنَةً ۖ
وَلَأَجْرُ ٱلْـَٔاخِرَةِ أَكْبَرُ ۚ لَوْ كَانُوا يَعْلَمُونَ ٤١ ٱلَّذِينَ صَبَرُوا وَعَلَىٰ رَبِّهِمْ يَتَوَكَّلُونَ ٤٢

As for those who emigrated in the cause of Allah after being persecuted, We will surely bless them with a good home in this world. But the reward of the Hereafter is far better, if only they knew. It is they who have patiently endured, and in their Lord they put their trust (16:41-42).

The verses seemed particularly fitting for this sacred site, speaking directly to the experience of those buried here—the first Muslims who made hijra to Abyssinia. Their emigration, struggle, and patient endurance in the face of persecution was rewarded with safety and sanctuary in this world, and as the verse promises, an even greater reward awaits them in the Hereafter.

The Sacred Cemetery

According to the marble markers, fifteen companions are buried here—ten men and five women. Studying their names revealed interesting family connections, particularly through the lineage of Harith, suggesting family groups among those who made the migration to Abyssinia. I noticed some inconsistencies in the Arabic inscriptions—Harith appeared sometimes with the definite article al- and sometimes without, indicating possible variations in the recording or inscription process.

It is important to note that these fifteen companions represent those who died in Abyssinia, either before the opportunity to return to Madina arose or having chosen to remain in the area. The majority of the original emigrants had returned to Madina when it became established as a safe haven for Muslims.

The fifteen are:

1. ‘Adi ibn Nadla
2. Hatib ibn Harith
3. Hattab ibn Harith
4. Al-Muttalib ibn Azhar
5. Tulayb ibn Azhar
6. ‘Urwa ibn ‘Abd al-‘Uzza
7. ‘Amr ibn Umayya
8. Sufyan ibn Ma‘mar
9. ‘A’isha bint Harith ibn Khalid
10. Zaynab bint al-Harith ibn Khalid
11. Rayta bint Harith
12. Umm Harmla bint ‘Abd al-Aswad
13. Fatima bint Safwan
14. Musa ibn Harith ibn Khalid
15. Abdullah ibn Harith (may Allah be please with them all)

The cemetery contains two covered tombs—the larger containing the collective grave of King Najashi (pronounced Nugus by locals, with the second u as in push) and twelve of the Companions. Our guide explained that while the graves were originally separate, a devastating flood had led to their combination in a mass grave. The smaller tomb houses ‘Adi ibn Nadla h, a Companion notably associated with the first implementation of Qur’anic inheritance laws, known as awwal mawruth fi ’l-Islam. The graves of Musa ibn Harith ibn Khalid h and Abdullah ibn Harith h lie outside these structures among some other graves.

A Tribute to Najashi (May Allah be Pleased with Him)

Ziyarat al-Najashi (The Visit to Najashi) is an Arabic devotional tribute or salutation composed by a local Ethiopian Shaykh ‘Umar Abrar (buried in the same cemetery) to Najashi (Negus), the then Christian king of Abyssinia (Ethiopia) who gave refuge to the early Muslims. Here is its English translation which I read at his grave::

Peace be upon you, O just king,
Peace be upon you, O just king,
Peace be upon you, O just king,

You to whom the Prophet of God — peace and blessings be upon him — sent his companions,

Saying: “Go to a land where there is a just king. He does not wrong anyone and grants refuge to the oppressed.”

You received the Companions and honoured them,

You protected them and gave them safety,

You gave them peace and dignity in your land.

Peace be upon you, O just king,
Peace be upon you, O just king,
Peace be upon you, O just king,

Your name is remembered in the Qur’an,

Among those who followed the religion of Abraham in truth,

Who believed and did not conceal the truth.

Peace be upon you, O just king,
Peace be upon you, O just king,
Peace be upon you, O just king,

You are one of those of whom Allah said:

“They are not all the same; among the People of the Book is a nation standing in obedience…” (Al ‘Imran, 2:13)

You read the scripture and wept at its truth,

You recognized the light when you heard it from the Companions.

Peace be upon you, O just king,
Peace be upon you, O just king,
Peace be upon you, O just king,

You were guided by the Messenger’s message,

You returned the gifts of the Quraysh,

You rejected their call and stood with the oppressed.

Peace be upon you, O just king,
Peace be upon you, O just king,
Peace be upon you, O just king,

You are the one who wept when he heard of the Prophet’s mission,

You stood with the truth and died upon it,

And the Prophet — peace be upon him — prayed for you,

The only funeral prayer he performed in absence.

Peace be upon you, O just king,
Peace be upon you, O just king,
Peace be upon you, O just king,

May God reward you with goodness,

May He raise you in rank with the righteous,

And may we be gathered with you in the company of the Prophet,

In the gardens of everlasting peace.

We bear witness: There is no god but Allah,

And Muhammad is the Messenger of Allah.

We bid you farewell in the peace of your Lord,

Safe, secure, and honoured among the truthful.

 

Determining Authenticity

When I inquired about the site’s authenticity as the final resting place of Najashi and the Companions, our guide offered compelling evidence. The site’s continuous use over centuries as a stop on the major hajj route meant it had never been “lost” to history and later rediscovered. A testament to its historical significance is the long-standing gathering that traditionally takes place here every ‘Ashura. Pilgrims returning from hajj would camp here, waiting for the 10th of Muharram, while scholars held their consultations. Though recent conflicts have disrupted this centuries-old tradition, people still congregate here on this significant date.

The question of why Najashi was buried here, some 100 kilometres from his capital in Aksum, led to a poignant historical tale—the Companions and Najashi had allegedly been poisoned together, possibly by Najashi’s non-Muslim wife, leading to their burial in this location. And Allah knows best.

As we explored the sacred site, we observed another group of visitors being led by a local guide. They gathered to offer supplications together at the graves, their collective devotion adding to the spiritual atmosphere of the place. We took our time, visiting at our own pace, allowing the profound historical significance of the site to sink in.

The relative quietness during our two-hour stay highlighted how this profound historical site remains somewhat hidden from the wider Muslim world. The scarcity of detailed online travelogues or vlogs about Negash prompted me to record some short clips for our channel, hoping to share this sacred place with a broader audience.

The facility renovated by The Turkish Cooperation and Coordination Agency (TIKA) in 2017, but then damaged and looted during the Tigray conflict, is undergoing renovation again. It still bears visible scars of the recent conflict, though much has been restored through TIKA’s efforts. Having seen their projects across the Balkans and visited their headquarters in Turkey, I noted how their ambitious plans for a university here had been halted due to tensions between federal and Tigrayan authorities, limiting their work to renovating existing structures.

The Ottoman-Inspired Mosque

Returning along the memorial pathway for Zuhr prayer, we approached the masjid. Its exterior cleverly complemented local architectural styles, but stepping inside revealed unmistakable Ottoman influences—from the distinctive pulpit to the carefully chosen carpets. The attention to detail in the geometric paintings and exquisite tile work spoke to Turkey’s rich architectural heritage, though adapted sensitively to its Ethiopian setting.

After Zuhr prayer, we experienced the warmth of local hospitality in one of the mosque’s small recesses, which doubled as a madrasa. Our hosts served thick pieces of bread filled with raw honey, accompanied by a distinctive sweetened herbal tea—a warming blend of ginger and other herbs that proved particularly soothing for the throat.

Here we met a young Jordanian scholar who had committed to spending four years teaching local children, having been appointed by his shaykh in Jordan. May Allah grant him the endurance to stay. The educational programme reflected the site’s continuing role as a centre of Islamic learning, with Qur’an memorization classes in the evening and general Islamic studies for younger children during the day.

Outside the mosque, the complex includes various facilities designed to serve visitors. While there is an industrial-scale kitchen with dining facilities, it currently stands damaged and awaits renovation. The wudu facilities are basic, and the main toilets are not functioning. Visitors must use makeshift facilities outside the complex wall—simple holes in the ground screened by curtains. Water must be drawn manually from a ground cistern using a bucket.

A Farewell Stop at the Mekelle Madrasa

On our return journey to catch our flight to Addis, we made a meaningful detour to a small madrasa and masjid complex in Mekelle. Nestled in the heart of a Christian community, this Islamic centre served Muslim families from the surrounding areas. Though just minutes from the main airport road, the unpaved access spoke to its modest circumstances.

What unfolded here left an indelible impression. When Haroon Sahib went to a local store and purchased bags of sweets to distribute, we witnessed extraordinary discipline among the students. The children—girls on the ground floor, boys on the third, with the masjid occupying the second floor—displayed remarkable restraint. Unlike our experience in Harar, where both children and adults had eagerly reached for the takhtis being distributed, or even in the West where children typically show enthusiasm for treats despite their relative abundance, these students remained perfectly composed. Not a single child reached out in anticipation; each waited patiently until a sweet was offered directly to them before opening their palms to receive it. Such composure spoke volumes about their training and character.

Return to Addis

Our flight landed in Addis at Maghrib time, around 6:30 p.m. In the baggage hall, an amusing encounter occurred with a young Pakistani man who insisted Haroon Sahib and I must be Pakistani, despite us saying we were originally Indian. He had been in Ethiopia for about one and a half months, working in mobile phone sales alongside other Pakistanis in the same trade. He mentioned the challenges of securing long-term visas for staying in the country.

When I asked for his impressions of Ethiopians—always interesting to hear different perspectives about a country’s people—his response was notably positive. He praised their religious devotion, noting that most Ethiopian Muslims were consistent in performing their salat, perhaps drawing a comparison to his experiences in Pakistan. He particularly emphasized their compassionate nature, describing them as “soft-hearted people” who would readily offer monetary assistance and help to those who expressed genuine need.

Navigating Addis Ababa: A City in Transition

The drive to the local Darul Ulum during rush hour provided a vivid glimpse into Addis Ababa’s urban challenges. Without air conditioning, our open windows admitted not just the evening air but the heavy fumes of congested traffic, a stark reminder of the city’s growing pains.

The capital’s streets tell a story of rapid transformation. Modern SUVs share space with minibuses. Traffic rules seem more suggestive than mandatory, with honking serving as the primary language of the road. Roundabouts become theatres of organized chaos, vehicles entering and exiting in what appears to be a choreographed dance of near-misses.

The city’s infrastructure reflects its journey toward modernisation. While main arteries boast new pavement and clear lane markings, many side streets remain rough and potholed. Construction dominates the cityscape—cranes and scaffolding reach skyward as Addis races toward its future. The light rail system, though sometimes complicating traffic patterns, stands as a symbol of the city’s aspirations.

Yet amidst this development, human stories unfold at every intersection. Street vendors display remarkable entrepreneurial spirit, weaving between vehicles to sell everything from water to household goods. Beggars—young and old, able-bodied and disabled—remind visitors of the socio-economic disparities that persist. Their presence adds a poignant note to the city’s symphony of progress and tradition.

The vehicles themselves tell social stories—practical, durable Toyota Land Cruisers and Hiluxes dominate, chosen for their ability to handle both rough terrain and unpredictable traffic. Luxury cars remain rare, and most vehicles bear the battle scars of urban navigation.

This complex urban tapestry—where new skyscrapers rise above informal settlements, where modern traffic lights stand dark during power outages, where tactile paving for accessibility appears alongside muddy footpaths—embodies Addis Ababa’s position at the crossroads of tradition and modernity. It’s a city writing its future while carrying its past, its streets a daily testament to both the challenges and resilience of Ethiopia’s capital.

A Haven of Islamic Learning in Ethiopia’s Capital

We arrived at the Darul Ulum Seminary just as the melodious sounds of ‘isha’ prayer filled the evening air, creating a peaceful sanctuary from Addis Ababa’s chaotic streets. The recitation of verses echoed through the courtyard as we entered, the stark contrast between the city’s bustle and the seminary’s serenity immediately apparent. After prayers concluded, we were warmly welcomed by some of the seminary’s teachers, their presence carrying the quiet authority of deep scholarship.

The seminary revealed itself as a fascinating blend of local and international Islamic scholarship. Al Imran Qur’an and Islamic Institute, located in CMC district in the Altad neighbourhood, exemplifies this synthesis of traditions. Several of the teachers, we learned, had studied in Pakistan and spoke fluent Urdu, creating a unique bridge between Ethiopian and South Asian Islamic traditions. Though our late arrival limited our interactions, we spent valuable time with two notable scholars: the senior hadith teacher, Shaykh Shariff Hasan, who had completed his studies within Ethiopia, and the younger Shaykh Aslam Yusuf Nuru, who has studied in Pakistan. The institute itself was established by these two scholars along with several others who, after completing their studies in Pakistan, had returned to create this thriving madrasa under the guidance of the elder Shaykh.

Over a modest but delicious meal of mandi, served with characteristic Ethiopian hospitality, we learned more about the seminary’s extensive operations. The five-story building, arranged around a central courtyard, housed 380 boarding students from across Ethiopia and some other parts of Africa. The institution offered a comprehensive educational framework including a rigorous five-year ‘alimiyya program and a three-year hifz course. Adjacent to the main seminary stood a separate building for 400 girls, though without boarding facilities. Perhaps most impressive was their network of 161 maktabs across Addis Ababa, providing daily Islamic education to over 1,500 children, and another forty-five branches of the madrasa nationwide.

Nearly all students came from zakat-eligible backgrounds and studied free of charge. The seminary’s vision extended beyond its walls. Students entered into a mutual agreement before beginning their studies—after completing the five-year ‘alimiyya program, they would be sent to further their education in countries like Pakistan, Yemen, or other centres of Islamic learning. Upon their return, they were committed to teach somewhere in Ethiopia for three years, as per their original contract. This arrangement created a sustainable cycle of knowledge transmission, ensuring that Islamic education would continue to spread throughout Ethiopia, touching lives across different regions of the country.

Despite these achievements, challenges remained. While the main seminary in Addis Ababa enjoyed strong local community support, securing funding for rural branches proved more difficult, highlighting the ongoing struggle to extend quality Islamic education beyond urban centres.

As we toured the facility, the sight of students studying in their classrooms was deeply moving. Their quiet dedication, surrounded by books and the gentle murmur of recitation, spoke to the timeless nature of Islamic scholarship. The building’s architecture cantered around a courtyard, with several floors rising on all sides, allowing views of all levels from the central area. This open design created a space that buzzed with purposeful activity, with classrooms and study areas radiating outward.

As we walked through the halls, the hum of students reciting their lessons filled the air, evoking a sense of nostalgia and reverence. Being in this environment, surrounded by the echoes of sacred words and the weight of our heritage, was deeply heartening. There is something indescribably beautiful about a madrasa—its solemnity, its sense of purpose, and the sacred energy that seems to permeate every corner. It is a space where the past, present, and future converge, where the light of knowledge continues to shine against all odds.

The visit left us inspired and humbled. The seminary stood as more than just a place of learning; it was a sanctuary of hope and resilience, a testament to the enduring spirit of our tradition in this part of Africa. The sights, sounds, and atmosphere stayed with us long after we left, a gentle reminder of the sacred duty to preserve and pass on the knowledge that has been entrusted to us.

Sunday 13 April: Departure from Ethiopia

Our final morning in Addis began with Fajr prayer, followed by a quest for Ethiopian honey. On the hotel desk staff’s recommendation, we crossed the main road to visit a specialist honey shop. Though we arrived to find it closed despite assurances it would open before 7:30 a.m., Abdul Rahman’s call to the number displayed brought the owner quickly from a neighbouring building.

Ethiopia’s reputation as one of Africa’s largest honey producers made this stop particularly interesting. The country’s diverse geography and flora contribute to unique varieties, including the prized white honey from Tigray and the distinctive Sidr honey. I chose jars of the rare white Tigray honey, drawn to its unique character and connection to the region we had just visited.

An Unexpected Airport Ordeal

We arrived at the airport for check-in, not having given much thought to my oversight in not checking in advance—a decision that would soon prove consequential.

What followed was an unexpected lesson in the complexities of modern air travel. When online check-in failed within the two-hour window before departure, we joined the airport queue, receiving boarding passes marked with standby abbreviations. The significance of this detail became clear as we watched other passengers board while we waited with a small group. Even after finally receiving boarding passes and boarding the bus to the aircraft, we were called back and informed the flight was overbooked.

Due to the Easter weekend, all alternative routes to Lilongwe were full, forcing us to accept next day’s departure. The airline offered hotel accommodation and a $200 voucher—small comfort for losing a day in Malawi, our next destination. Initially, we were offered accommodation outside the airport and considered returning to spend more time at the Darul Ulum. However, immigration officers brusquely refused to let us exit the airport, without explanation.

When the airline service desk couldn’t provide space at the airport hotel, they offered lounge access. Unwilling to spend a full day and night in the lounge, we requested to speak with the manager. Though he personally intervened with immigration on our behalf, even our British passports provided no leverage. The core issue, we finally learned, was technical—having used our visa for the three-day stay, we hadn’t officially exited the system to obtain a new one. A simple explanation from immigration could have made this comprehensible from the start.

Alhamdulillah, the situation resolved with accommodation at the Ethiopian Skylight Hotel within the airport complex. While not the same as continuing our journey, it offered far more comfort than airport chairs. The hotel provided all our meals, and the unexpected pause gave me a chance to catch up on some much-needed rest and writing. In such moments, one searches for hidden wisdom in delayed plans. Perhaps there was protection in this deviation from our intended path, or lessons in patience and acceptance to be learned. Whatever the divine purpose, we were grateful for the relative comfort of our situation, recognizing that many travellers face far greater challenges when plans go awry.

Reflections on Ethiopia: A Land of Contrasts and Hidden Treasures

As our journey through Ethiopia drew to a close, I found myself reflecting on this remarkable country that defies easy categorization. Perhaps the most striking aspect was the ease with which Islam is practiced here—we offered our prayers openly in airports and public spaces without hesitation or self-consciousness, a testament to the religious harmony that generally prevails despite historical tensions.

The Ge’ez script, which had first caught my attention on Ethiopian Airlines flights over a decade ago, continued to captivate me. Its rounded squiggles appear like elegant artwork—intricate yet ordered, with each character seemingly dancing across the page in rhythmic flows. This abugida script, where each character represents a consonant-vowel combination, evolved from an ancient abjad system and carries centuries of history in its beautiful forms.

The Ethiopian currency is the Birr, which exchanged at approximately 170 Birr to the British pound during our visit. We found Ethiopia generally inexpensive compared to the UK, particularly for food and hotels. At the airport, we were approached by someone offering about 20% above the bank rate for US dollars or British pounds. Later, one of the brothers we met mentioned he could offer at least 50% more than the official rate. This parallel currency market reflects Ethiopia’s foreign currency challenges, similar to what we would later encounter in Malawi, where locals are willing to offer significantly higher than bank rates to secure foreign currencies.

Ethiopia’s relationship with globalization presents interesting contrasts. The limited presence of international brands is notable. Yet this relative isolation has preserved unique cultural traditions, particularly the distinctive coffee ceremony. Unlike other countries, coffee here is a social ritual with three formal rounds: “awol,” “tona,” and “baraka,” each serving as a marker in the rhythm of gatherings among family, friends, and neighbours.

Traveling through Ethiopia proved surprisingly straightforward, though it required planning. Ethiopian Airlines efficiently connects major cities through Addis Ababa, even if direct regional flights are limited. The people we encountered were consistently friendly and approachable, eager to help and welcoming to visitors, making navigation of unfamiliar territory less daunting.

Ethiopian cuisine offers plenty of halal options, with a distinctive character shaped by its use of aromatic spices and communal dining traditions. Most dishes are eaten by hand, using injera (a sourdough flatbread) to scoop up various wot (stews and curries). The food is typically spicy, with berbere and mitmita being common spice blends that give Ethiopian dishes their characteristic heat. Many dishes at hotels would be served on a large shared platter, reflecting the social and cultural importance of shared meals in Ethiopian society.

The country’s economic landscape revealed itself through its market offerings. Unlike countries such as India, Pakistan, or Egypt, which produce many of their own consumer goods, Ethiopia imports most of its manufactured products. This reminded me of similar patterns I had observed in Mauritania. The country does produce certain items locally: coffee (for which it is world-renowned), distinctive teas, honey varieties, spices, cereals, pulses, textiles, and leather goods.

Perhaps most poignant was a local man’s observation that “We Muslims of Ethiopia have not told the world about ourselves.” This simple statement encapsulated both the richness we had discovered and the world’s general unfamiliarity with Ethiopia’s Islamic heritage. From the historic sites of Harar to the Najashi complex in Negash, from the thriving Darul Ulum in Addis to the small madrasas in Mekelle, we had encountered a vibrant Islamic tradition that deserved wider recognition.

Our journey revealed a country far more complex and nuanced than external perceptions might suggest. It is a land where ancient traditions and modern aspirations coexist, where religious harmony prevails despite historical conflicts, and where warm hospitality bridges cultural differences. As we departed, I carried with me not just memories of historic sites and sacred spaces, but a deeper appreciation for Ethiopia’s unique place in the Islamic world and its potential to share its rich heritage with a global audience.

 

 

Najashi (The Negus) of Abyssinia

A Biography of Faith and Justice

The Negus (النجاشي), whose personal name was Ashama (أصحمة), meaning “gift” (عطية) in Arabic, holds a unique position in Islamic history. He is counted among the Successors or Companions of Prophet Muhammad (Allah bless him and give him peace), despite never having physically met him—a rare distinction. He passed away during the Prophet’s lifetime, having embraced Islam and demonstrated unwavering support for the early Muslim community.

The story of the Negus is one of justice, wisdom, and divine guidance. From his dramatic early life as a displaced heir to his eventual rise as a just ruler, and finally to his acceptance of Islam, his life story represents a remarkable journey of faith and principle. His role in protecting the early Muslim refugees, his correspondence with Prophet Muhammad (Allah bless him and give him peace), and his eventual conversion to Islam mark significant moments in Islamic history.

This biography draws from various reliable historical sources, including Ibn Ishaq, Ahmad, Bukhari, Ibn Kathir, and other respected historians and scholars. Through their narrations, we piece together the life of a ruler who chose truth over tradition, justice over prejudice, and faith over worldly power.

 

Ashama ibn Abjar (born around 560 and died 630 CE) was the Negus (Najashi, the title given to the kings of Abyssinia). He welcomed the Muslim Companions who migrated to his land, and met with them between 610-629 CE. He was also known as Armah. He was the first non-Arab king to embrace Islam and he passed away during the lifetime of Prophet Muhammad (Allah bless him and give him peace) but did not migrate to him. He was a beneficial supporter of the Muslims, and his story is well-known in the chronicles of Islamic history, particularly regarding his kindness to the Muslims who migrated to his land in early Islam.” He was the only person for whom Prophet Muhammad (Allah bless him and give him peace) performed the funeral prayer in absentia (salat al-gha’ib) upon learning of his death.

Shams al-Din al-Dhahabi states that the Negus is counted among the Companions and was among those who excelled in their Islam though he never migrated to Medina nor saw the Prophet (Allah bless him and give him peace). Thus, he is considered a Successor (tabi‘i) from one perspective and a Companion from another perspective, and he passed away during the lifetime of the Prophet (Allah bless him and give him peace) (Siyar A‘lam al-Nubala’).

The Rise of Ashama: From Exiled Prince to Negus of Abyssinia

The Negus’s father was the king of his people and had no child except the Negus. The Negus had an uncle who had twelve sons, and they were the royal household of Abyssinia. The Abyssinians said among themselves, “If we kill the Negus’s father and make his brother king—for he has no child except this boy, while his brother has twelve sons—they will inherit the kingdom after him, and Abyssinia will remain stable for ages.” So they attacked the Negus’s father, killed him, and made his brother king, and this continued for some time.

The Negus grew up with his uncle and became an intelligent and determined man. He gained influence over his uncle’s affairs and achieved a high position. When the Abyssinians saw his status, they said among themselves, “By Allah, this youth has gained control over his uncle’s affairs, and we fear he will make him king over us. If he becomes king, he will surely kill us all, for he knows we killed his father.” They went to his uncle and said, “Either kill this youth or remove him from among us, for we fear him.” He replied, “Woe to you! I killed his father yesterday, shall I kill him today? Instead, I will expel him from your land.”

They took him to the market and sold him to a merchant for six hundred dirhams. The merchant put him on a ship and departed. That evening, an autumn cloud appeared, and his uncle went out to seek rain under it, when he was struck by lightning and killed. The Abyssinians then turned to his children, but found them to be foolish with no good qualities, and their affairs fell into disorder.

When their situation became difficult, they said to each other, “By Allah, know that your true king, without whom your affairs cannot be managed, is the one you sold this morning. If you care about Abyssinia’s affairs, then find him now.” They went searching for him and the merchant they sold him to until they caught up with them. They took him back, crowned him, and seated him on the royal throne.

The merchant who had bought him came to them and said, “Either give me my money back, or I will speak to him about this.” They said, “We won’t give you anything.” He replied, “Then by Allah, I will speak to him.” They said, “Go ahead.”

He came and sat before him, saying, “O King, I bought a youth from people in the market for six hundred dirhams. They handed over their youth and took my money, but when I travelled with my youth, they caught up with me, took the youth, and withheld my money.”

The Negus said to them: “Either give him his money, or the youth will put his hand in his and go wherever he wishes.” They said, “We will give him his money.”

This is why he says, “Allah did not take bribes from me when He restored my kingdom, so why should I take bribes in His cause, and the people did not have power over me, so why should I obey them in His cause.” This was the first demonstration of his firmness in his religion and justice in his rule (Sirat Ibn Hisham).

There are some unverified reports suggesting that the Negus learned Arabic during a period of alleged enslavement, during which he reportedly became acquainted with ‘Amr ibn al-‘As. These accounts attempt to explain both the Negus’s emotional response to Ja‘far ibn Abī Talib’s presentation and why ‘Amr was specifically chosen for the Quraysh delegation due to this supposed prior acquaintance. However, these reports appear to contradict established hadith narratives, particularly the account of how both the Negus and his ministers wept upon hearing the verses of Surat Maryam—which logically would have required translation, as it seems implausible that all of his ministers would have also understood Arabic.

 

The First Hijra: Muslim Refugees Find Justice at the Court of the Negus

It is well-known and established in the sira that when Prophet Muhammad (Allah bless him and give him peace) saw his companions suffering severe torture and tribulation from the Quraysh disbelievers trying to make them abandon their faith, he advised them to migrate to Abyssinia. He knew its king, the Negus, was just and that no one was oppressed under his rule. Ibn Ishaq reported that the Prophet (Allah bless him and give him peace) said to them: “In Abyssinia, there is a king under whom no one is wronged. Go to his land until Allah provides relief and a way out of your situation.”

Umm Salama, the Prophet’s (Allah bless him and give him peace) wife, narrates the story of this migration and the Negus’s justice and eventual conversion to Islam, saying:

When we arrived in Abyssinia, we found the best neighbour in the Negus. We felt secure in practicing our religion and worshipped Allah without harm or hearing anything we disliked. When this news reached Quraysh, they decided to send two determined men to the Negus with gifts from Mecca’s precious goods. Leather was among the most admired gifts for him, so they gathered much leather. They didn’t leave any of his patriarchs without a gift. They sent ‘Amr ibn al-‘As and ‘Abdullah ibn Abi Rabi‘a (before their conversion to Islam) and instructed them: “Give each patriarch his gift before speaking to the Negus about them, then present the Negus his gifts and ask him to surrender them to you before he speaks with them.”

She continued:

They departed and reached the Negus while we were living well in the best land with the best neighbour. They gave each patriarch his gift before speaking to the Negus, telling each one: “Some foolish youths from our people have fled to the king’s land. They’ve abandoned their people’s religion without entering yours, bringing an invented religion that neither we nor you know. Their people’s nobles have sent us to the king to return them. When we speak to the king about them, advise him to surrender them to us without speaking to them, for their people know them best.” The patriarchs agreed. They then presented their gifts to the Negus, which he accepted, and said: “O King, some foolish youths have fled to your land. They’ve abandoned their people’s religion without entering yours, bringing an invented religion that neither we nor you know. Their people’s nobles—their fathers, uncles, and clan members—have sent us to return them, as they know them best and are most aware of what they’ve done wrong.” Nothing was more hateful to ‘Abdullah ibn Abi Rabi‘a and ‘Amr ibn al-‘As than the possibility of the Negus hearing from the Muslims themselves. The patriarchs around him said: “They speak truth, O King. Their people know them best, so surrender them to return to their land and people.” The Negus became angry and said: “No, by God, I will not surrender them. I will not betray people who have sought my protection, settled in my land, and chosen me over others until I summon them and ask about what these two say. If they are as claimed, I’ll surrender them to their people, but if not, I’ll protect them and be a good neighbour to them while they remain under my protection.”

Umm Salama continued:

The Negus then sent for the Companions of Allah’s Messenger (Allah bless him and give him peace). When his messenger came, the Companions gathered and discussed what to say when they met him. They agreed, “By Allah, we shall say what we know and what our Prophet (Allah bless him and give him peace) instructed us, whatever may come of it.” When they arrived, the Negus had summoned his bishops, who spread their scriptures around him. He asked them, “What is this religion for which you have left your people, yet not entered my religion nor any of these other faiths?” Ja‘far ibn Abi Talib (may Allah be pleased with him) responded, saying: “O King, we were an ignorant people, worshipping idols, eating carrion, committing indecencies, severing family ties, treating neighbours poorly, and the strong amongst us would devour the weak. We remained thus until Allah sent us a Messenger from among ourselves—one whose lineage, truthfulness, trustworthiness, and chastity we knew well. He called us to Allah, to worship Him alone and to renounce what we and our fathers had worshipped of stones and idols. He commanded us to speak truthfully, fulfil trusts, maintain family ties, be good to neighbours, and refrain from prohibitions and bloodshed. He forbade us from indecencies, false speech, consuming orphans’ wealth, and slandering chaste women. He ordered us to worship Allah alone, associating nothing with Him, and commanded us to pray, give charity, and fast.” Ja‘far enumerated the principles of Islam, then continued, “We believed him and followed what he brought. We worshipped Allah alone, prohibited what He prohibited, and permitted what He permitted. But our people turned against us, torturing us and trying to force us back to idol worship and the evil practices we once deemed lawful. When they oppressed and persecuted us, preventing us from practising our religion, we fled to your land, choosing you above others, desiring your protection, and hoping we would not face injustice under you, O King.” The Negus asked, “Do you have anything with you from what he brought from Allah?” Ja‘far replied affirmatively, and when asked to recite, he read from Surat Maryam. The Negus wept until his beard was wet, and his bishops wept until their scriptures were dampened. The Negus declared, “Indeed, this and what Jesus brought come from the same source. Go forth, for by Allah, I shall never surrender you to them” (Musnad Ahmad).

 

The Historic Correspondence Between Prophet Muhammad and the Negus

The Messenger of Allah (Allah bless him and give him peace) sent ‘Amr ibn Umayya al-Damri to the Negus regarding Ja‘far ibn Abi Talib and his companions (may Allah be pleased with them), and wrote with him a letter:

In the name of Allah, the Most Gracious, the Most Merciful. From Muhammad, the Messenger of Allah, to the Negus Asham, King of Abyssinia. Peace be upon you. I praise before you Allah, the Sovereign, the Holy, the Faithful, the Guardian. I bear witness that Jesus, son of Mary, is the Spirit of Allah and His Word, which He bestowed upon Mary, the pure virgin, the chaste and immaculate, who conceived Jesus. He created him from His spirit and His breath, just as He created Adam by His hand and His breath. I call you to Allah alone, who has no partner, and to allegiance in His obedience, and to follow me and believe in what has come to me, for I am Allah’s Messenger. I have sent to you my cousin Ja‘far with a group of Muslims. When they arrive, receive them hospitably and abandon arrogance. I invite you and your soldiers to Allah. I have conveyed the message and given sincere counsel, so accept my counsel. Peace be upon those who follow guidance.

The Negus wrote back to the Messenger of Allah (Allah bless him and give him peace):

In the name of Allah, the Most Gracious, the Most Merciful. To Muhammad, the Messenger of Allah, from the Negus Asham ibn Abjar. Peace be upon you, O Prophet of Allah, and Allah’s mercy and blessings. There is no god but He who guided me to Islam. I have received your letter, O Messenger of Allah, concerning what you mentioned about Jesus. By the Lord of the heavens and earth, Jesus is exactly as you described. We understand what you have sent to us, and we have hosted your cousin and his companions hospitably. I bear witness that you are Allah’s Messenger, truthful and confirmed. I have pledged allegiance to you and to your cousin, and I have submitted through him to Allah, Lord of the Worlds. I have sent to you, O Prophet of Allah, Ariha ibn al-Asham ibn Abjar. I possess authority only over myself, and if you wish me to come to you, I shall do so, O Messenger of Allah, for I bear witness that what you say is the truth (Bayhaqi, Dala’il al-Nubuwwa).

 

The Negus’s Success in Quelling Discord

The Abyssinians gathered and said to the Negus, “You have abandoned our religion.” They rebelled against him, so he sent for Ja‘far and his companions, prepared ships for them, and said, “Board them. If I am defeated, proceed on your way, but if I prevail, then stay.” He then took a parchment and wrote in it that He bears witness that there is no god but Allah, and that Muhammad is His servant and messenger, and he bears witness that Jesus is His servant and messenger, His spirit and His word which He bestowed upon Mary. Then he placed it inside his robe and went out to face the Abyssinians who had lined up before him. He said, “O people of Abyssinia, am I not the most entitled to rule over you?” They replied, “Indeed, you are.” He asked, “How have you found my conduct among you?” They said, “The best of conduct.” He asked, “Then what troubles you?” They said, “You have abandoned our religion and claimed that Jesus is a servant.” He asked, “What do you say about him?” They replied, “He is the son of God.” He then placed his hand on his chest over his robe where the document was and said, “He bears witness that Jesus…” not adding anything more, referring to what he had written, but they understood it according to their belief. They were satisfied and departed (Siyar A‘lam al-Nubala’)

The Marriage of Umm Habiba: How the Negus Arranged the Prophet’s Wedding

The Prophet (Allah bless him and give him peace) sent word to the Negus to arrange his marriage to Umm Habiba (may Allah be pleased with her), daughter of Abu Sufyan, and to send her to him with the Muslims who were there. The Negus sent his maidservant named Abraha to inform Umm Habiba of the Prophet’s proposal. Overjoyed, she gave Abraha her silver jewellery and rings, and appointed Khalid ibn Sa‘id ibn al-‘As as her representative for the marriage. The Negus delivered the marriage sermon on behalf of the Prophet (Allah bless him and give him peace), and Khalid gave the response, completing Umm Habiba’s marriage. The Negus then called for four hundred dinars as her dowry and gave it to Khalid ibn Sa‘id. When these dinars reached Umm Habiba, Abraha brought them and she offered Abraha fifty mithqals, saying, “I gave you those earlier when I had nothing, and now Allah has provided this.” Abraha replied, “The king has ordered me not to take anything from you and to return what I took. I am the keeper of the king’s perfumes and clothes. I have believed in Muhammad as Allah’s Messenger and believed in him. My request is that you convey my greetings to him.”

Umm Habiba agreed, and the king had ordered his wives to send her their perfumes of oud and amber. The Prophet would later see these with her and did not disapprove. Umm Habiba said: “We departed in two ships, and he sent sailors with us until we reached Al-Jar. Then we rode on mounts to Medina, finding the Prophet (Allah bless him and give him peace) at Khaybar. Some went to him there, while I stayed in Medina until the Prophet (Allah bless him and give him peace) returned. When I met him, he would ask me about the Negus, and I conveyed Abraha’s greetings, which he returned.”

When news of the Prophet’s (Allah bless him and give him peace) marriage to Umm Habiba (may Allah be pleased with her) reached Abu Sufyan, he said, “He is a stallion whose nose cannot be restrained” (meaning he was a noble match) (Tarikh al-Tabari).

 

The Return from Abyssinia: Ja‘far’s Meeting with the Prophet

Ja‘far (may Allah be pleased with him) relates, “When the Messenger of Allah (Allah bless him and give him peace) migrated to Madina and established himself there, we said to the Negus: “Our companion has gone to Madina and has prevailed there. He has migrated and defeated those we told you about. We wish to journey to him, so please provide us provisions.” He said, “Yes,” and provided us with transport, provisions, and gifts. Then he said, “Tell your companion what I have done for you. Here is my messenger with you, and I bear witness that there is no god but Allah and that he is Allah’s Messenger. Tell him to seek forgiveness for me.” Ja‘far said: “We departed until we reached Medina. The Messenger of Allah (Allah bless him and give him peace) met me and embraced me, saying, “I know not which brings me more joy—the conquest of Khaybar or the arrival of Ja‘far!” Then he sat down, and the Negus’s messenger stood up and said, “Here is Ja‘far, ask him how our master treated him.” I said, “Yes, he did such and such for us, provided us transport and provisions, supported us, and testified that there is no god but Allah and that you are Allah’s Messenger. He said to tell you to seek forgiveness for him.” The Messenger of Allah stood up, performed ablution, then prayed three times: “O Allah, forgive the Negus.” The Muslims said “Amin.” Ja‘far said to the messenger: “Go and tell your master what you have witnessed from the Prophet (Allah bless him and give him peace)” (Tabarani, Al-Kabir).

 

 

The Prophet’s Tribute: The First and Only Funeral Prayer in Absentia

Abu Hurayra (may Allah be pleased with him) narrates: “The Prophet (Allah bless him and give him peace) announced the death of the Negus on the day he died, led them to the prayer ground, arranged them in rows, and pronounced four takbirs (Sahih al-Bukhari). In another narration, the Prophet (Allah bless him and give him peace) said, “Today, a righteous man has died. Stand and offer prayer for your brother Ashama” (Sahih al-Bukhari).

 

A Divine Sign: The Light Over the Negus’s Grave

Lady Aisha (may Allah be pleased with her) said: “When the Negus died, we used to speak about how a light could continuously be seen upon his grave” (Sunan Abi Dawud).

 

Negus’s Role in the Ultimate Conversion of ‘Amr ibn al-‘As to Islam

‘Amr ibn al-‘As (may Allah be pleased with him) said: When we returned from the Battle of the Trench (Khandaq), I gathered some men from Quraysh who respected my opinion and listened to me. I said to them: “By Allah, I see that Muhammad’s influence is rising remarkably, and I have an idea—what do you think about it?” They asked, “What is your idea?” I said, “I think we should join the Negus and stay with him. If Muhammad prevails over our people, being under the Negus’s rule would be preferable to being under Muhammad’s rule. And if our people prevail, they know us well and will only treat us well.” They said, “This is a good idea.” I told them, “Gather gifts for him. The most beloved gifts to him from our land are leather goods.” We gathered much leather and travelled until we reached him. By Allah, while we were with him, ‘Amr ibn Umayya al-Damri arrived—the Prophet (Allah bless him and give him peace) had sent him regarding Ja‘far and his companions. He entered to meet the Negus and then left.

I said to my companions, “This is ‘Amr ibn Umayya al-Damri. If I could ask the Negus to hand him over to me and kill him, Quraysh would see that I’ve served them well by killing Muhammad’s messenger.” I entered and prostrated as I used to do. He said, “Welcome, my friend! Have you brought me anything from your land?” I replied, “Yes, O King, I’ve brought you much leather.” I presented it to him, and he was pleased with it. Then I said, “O King, I saw a man leave your presence who is the messenger of our enemy. Hand him over to me so I can kill him, for he has harmed our nobles.” The Negus became angry and struck his own nose so hard I thought he had broken it. If the earth could have swallowed me then, I would have disappeared into it out of fear. I said, “O King, had I known you would dislike this, I wouldn’t have asked.” He said, “Are you asking me to hand over the messenger of a man who receives the greatest Namus (Angel Gabriel) that used to come to Moses, so you can kill him?” I asked, “O King, is he really like that?” He replied, “Woe to you, O Amr! Obey me and follow him, for by Allah, he is upon the truth and will prevail over his opponents just as Moses prevailed over Pharaoh and his armies.” I said, “Will you accept my pledge of allegiance to him for Islam?” He said “Yes,” and extended his hand, and I pledged allegiance to Islam. I left my companions with my opinion completely changed, but I kept my conversion secret from them. I then set out to meet the Prophet (Allah bless him and give him peace) to embrace Islam, and I met Khalid ibn al-Walid just before the conquest of Mecca, coming from Mecca. I asked, “Where to, Abu Sulayman?” He replied, “The path has become clear, and the man is indeed a prophet. I’m going to embrace Islam—how much longer can we wait?” I said, “By Allah, I’ve come only to embrace Islam too.” We arrived at the Prophet’s presence. Khalid went forward first, embraced Islam, and pledged allegiance. Then I approached and said, “O Messenger of Allah, I pledge allegiance on the condition that my past and future sins be forgiven.” The Prophet (Allah bless him and give him peace) replied, “O Amr, pledge allegiance, for Islam erases what came before it, and migration erases what came before it.” So I pledged allegiance and departed. Ibn Ishaq said: “I was told by someone I trust that ‘Uthman ibn Talha ibn Abi Talha was with them and embraced Islam when they did (Musnad Ahmad).

 

Divine Revelation Honouring the Negus: The Story Behind Verse 3:199

Anas ibn Malik (may Allah be pleased with him) said: When the Negus died, the Messenger of Allah (Allah bless him and give him peace) said, “Seek forgiveness for your brother.” Some people said, “He orders us to seek forgiveness for an infidel who died in Abyssinia.” Then the verse was revealed: “And indeed, among the People of the Scripture are those who believe in Allah and what was revealed to you and what was revealed to them, being humble before Allah….” Jabir (may Allah be pleased with him) said: “The Messenger of Allah (Allah bless him and give him peace) said to us when the Negus died, ‘Indeed, your brother Ashama has died.’ The Messenger of Allah (Allah bless him and give him peace) went out and prayed as one prays over the deceased, making four takbirs. The hypocrites said, ‘He prays for an infidel who died in Abyssinia.’ So Allah revealed: ‘And indeed, among the People of the Scripture are those who believe in Allah and what was revealed to you and what was revealed to them, being humble before Allah, not exchanging the verses of Allah for a small price. Those will have their reward with their Lord. Indeed, Allah is swift in account’” (Tafsir Ibn Kathir).

April 2025 by Dr. Mufti Abdur-Rahman ibn Yusuf Mangera