Before His Death: A Quest for Sacred Knowledge

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By Khalil Abu Asmaa (Christopher Moore)
** Unfinished Rough Draft **

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“You have to meet him before his death,” is what the elderly scholar Shaykh Muhammad Ma’moon told me in his humble home in Madinah, the City of the Noble Prophet of Islam, peace and blessings be upon him, (in the region that is now called Saudi Arabia). The person whom Shaykh Ma’moon was referring to is the great and noble sage, al-Murabit al-Hajj, of the Mauritanian desert lands. Shaykh Ma’moon himself had studied with him before he left his homeland to take up residence within the sacred precincts here in the blessed city of the Prophet (may God’s peace and blessings be upon him).

     Due to my somewhat sheltered American cultural past I had never really heard of Mauritania before meeting Shaykh Muhammad Ma’moon, let alone know where this country was located on the globe. All I knew was that it was in Africa and that it was a Muslim country. During my stay in Madinah I did recall hearing of a great and knowledgeable scholar who lived in the deserts of this region and it turns out that it was this very man that Shaykh Ma’moon spoke of with such great esteem and honor. That was all I knew.

     At the time, I was a student at the Islamic University of Madinah and was in my third year of intensive studies (five hours a day, five days a week of class time, not to mention the hours spent studying and reviewing out of class). I had received a full scholarship from the Saudi Ministry of Education after having previously studied in another Saudi-run Islamic Institute not far from my house in the Washington D.C. area. Coming from a typical, middle-class American background, born and raised into a Catholic family, I eventually made the choice to convert to Islam in the summer of 1994 after I had just turned 19. For some time I had felt a void in my chest, which, it turns out, could only be filled with Islam. That journey is a book to itself, which might get written one day, but I will leave you with that for now.

     Living in Saudi was a very new and different experience for me. Before becoming Muslim I had never left the United States and I didn’t even have a passport! I had no profound knowledge of what lied beyond our U.S. borders, besides maybe a little bit about Canada and Mexico, but, as most American youth at the time, I didn’t really care that much either. While in Saudi I lived in the blessed city of Madinah, the second most holy city of Islam. I was fortunate to have been a resident there from August of 1996 until May of 1999, minus a few months for vacation during the summers, and some vacations they were, for I had to study full time in a university back in America all summer long as well!

     In Madinah I was a student of Arabic and Islamic studies for several years before the time that I was blessed to meet the noble Shaykh Muhammad Ma’moon of Mauritania. The circumstances that led me to him are far too numerous to detail at this point, but what I will say is this: God works in mysterious and wondrous ways. We just have to be awake to see how. Heedlessness is the greatest veil of the heart, isn’t it high time that we remove it?
     It turns out that I lived just a few minutes away from Shaykh Muhammad Ma’moon’s home in Madinah. It was located in a very humble part of the city, which his character and demeanor clearly reflected, for ostentation and arrogance where so foreign to his way. He was an elderly man of about 70 years, fairly short and very feeble-bodied, but his faith was as firm as a rock and his heart as vast as an ocean. One could sail the seven seas without ever leaving his presence. When I was first introduced to him I felt as though I was meeting someone from centuries ago. He was in this world, but not of it. He usually dressed in a long, white robe-like garment with a loosely wrapped white or black turban resting upon his noble head. His long white beard was as the clouds cast against a clear blue sky. In a word, he was astonishing. 

     When he looked at you, you felt as though he was penetrating into the depths of your soul. His gaze was one that could be felt with an indescribable solidity. You didn’t feel violated, merely exposed. When a man looks with the eye of purity and sanctity, he can see a very different world than the rest of us do. That is the vision that I yearned to obtain, and I still yearn to attain it.

     Shaykh Muhammad Ma’moon would seldom speak with anything other than wisdom, advice, and heartfelt concern. He never liked to indulge in idle chatter nor in the affairs of the “people of this world”. The Prophet Muhammad (God’s peace and blessings be upon him) said, “Let him who believes in God and the Last Day speak good, or remain silent.” Silence was one of the modes of our communication. I remember sitting with him in his home on several occasions without either of us saying a single word. Silence allowed our souls to speak, and to breathe the breath of life between us.

     His presence was one of strength and dignity, even though his body was weak and ill. Here was a man. It is ultimately the quality of your soul that determines your true position in existence, not your body. I was beginning to think more and more about the greatness of this man’s teacher whom he spoke so much about, al-Murabit al-Hajj. If Shaykh Muhammad Ma’moon had been his student, then what about the one who taught him?

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This particular time was a very difficult phase in my life and a lot of changes were taking place. I was away from my parents and friends in a foreign land and I was struggling with a language that was both sacredly divine and extremely challenging, a language that was not my own. I was caught in the traveler’s nightmare—yearning to be home after settling in a new place, and then yearning to go back to that place once back home. My financial problems were quite significant as well. I could barely pay the rent on time and I had no car to get around with. No organized form of public transportation existed in Madinah, other than standing on the street and hoping for a taxi to come by at some point. I also found it very difficult to get back and forth from the university some days, not to mention taking care of running errands and handling the weekly shopping. All just indications that I was finding out how pampered I really was being raised in middleclass America.

     In reality though, these were not the real problems. There was something more. These issues were the ones that I would emphasize and mention to those who I knew wouldn’t or couldn’t understand what was really going on inside me. It was a front. It was a way to protect my deep-felt emotions and the concerns that were logged in the center of my heart.

     I began to have a strong desire to learn the way the scholars and sages of old had learned and taught. I found through studying their biographies, and through surveying Islamic history in general, that they had benefited much more from their knowledge and spiritual and technical training than we do today, even with all the new methods and materials that we now have at our disposal. For them, it was about the mind, the body, and most importantly, the soul. True knowledge was not merely information; rather, it was that which impacts upon the essence of the human being. Beneficial knowledge is transformative.

     I started to think that it would be better to leave the university there in Saudi. I wanted more, something different, something powerful. But what was I going to do about all those years that I had spent thus far towards earning a prestigious degree in Islamic Law? Was I going to waste those two years in the institute of intensive Arabic Language training and that whole year of study in the College of Islamic Law? Was I going to throw away the opportunity to obtain this degree? But was it the degree that I really wanted, or was there something more important in God’s sight? What is it that I want with this knowledge and who will I become after acquiring it? I was confused. My heart was telling me to go to Mauritania in search of more traditional and classical methods of juridical and spiritual training, but I was hesitant. All the while my desire intensified to meet the great scholar of the sub-Saharan desert, al-Murabit al-Hajj.

     I decided one morning to go to the famous Mosque of the Prophet (peace and blessings be upon him), which was about 10 minutes walking distance from my home in Madinah. I wanted to ask God directly about my concerns and I wanted to do it in the most sacred way possible. I had already consulted several of my friends and loved ones as to what I should do, but now it was time to fulfill the other half of my religious obligation. Such is the way of the Muslim: consultation, reflection, and prayer.

     I went to the front and most illustrious part of the Mosque called the Rawdah, or ‘the Garden’. This spot is believed to be a piece of the Heavenly Paradise right here on Earth. I began to pray in this sacred place—a prayer like none other I had prayed before. This was no easy decision to make. I solicited God’s decision, prostrating and asking Him for His guidance. With my face on the ground I knew that my only true goal in this life was my Lord; it was Him that I wanted to please. I slowly rose up and continued to call on Him until I felt that I could say no more. And what more could be said? He already knows what I want, and what I need.

     Lingering for a while to further contemplate and reflect on the turn of events that were taking place in my life, I sporadically made additional supplications and sought out the true essence of things. I hoped that God would manifest to me the pathways and alternatives that contained His pleasure. Sometimes things aren’t always clear, but when they are, why wait?

     After these moments of deep reflection and prayer, I got up and made my way to another section of the Mosque’s vast prayer area, which can accommodate literally tens of thousands of worshippers at one time. Although my house was in the direction of the noble graveyard called the Baqi’ (which is said to be the resting place of over 10,000 of the companions of the Prophet Muhammad (peace be upon him) and many of the great scholars, sages, and saints of Islam), for some reason, still unbeknownst to me, I headed in the completely opposite direction. I had no need to do so, and no business to attend to in that area. It was then that I stumbled upon a group of acquaintances from the university and I decided to sit down and chat with them for a while. I soon came to learn that they were reading and discussing an article in a well-known publication. The article was about traditional methods of study and teaching. I inquired, “That’s interesting. What is the survey about?” They replied, “West Africa”, and more specifically, the desert lands of Mauritania!

     I was shocked. As they read and discussed the contents of the article one of the brothers that was sitting with us spoke up, “I myself went to Mauritania and studied there for several years.” I was amazed. What is going on? I could not believe that this was happening right before my eyes. Was I dreaming? I asked him where he studied and whom he had visited of the scholars and sages. To my complete and further astonishment he mentioned the very man that I was just making prayers about moments before, the one whom Shaykh Muhammad Ma’moon had always talked about—the noble al-Murabit al-Hajj. He then went on to share with us some of his impressions and told us of some of the many benefits that he obtained from this journey of his. He also elucidated upon some vivid and exciting stories about viper snakes and scorpions, which, honestly, I was not too happy to hear about! But I knew, and still know, that nothing can harm or bring benefit expect by the will of God.

     Yes, it was an answer. My soul felt elated and my heart opened to a decision—I was going to West Africa. The desert was calling me. But how was I going to get there? I had no money, no job, and no degree to get a decent paying job even if I wanted one! On top of all this I had many other financial obligations and debts to take care of. Still, I was determined. No matter what the odds, no matter what anybody says, the determined one—one that is upon a path of right guidance and seeking nearness to the Divine—always wins in the end, by the power and grace of God Himself.

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I came back to America for my annual summer vacation from the university in Saudi. Sitting, looking out my window, I thought about how I was going to come up with the money I needed for the trip. The estimated amount that I required was about $2,400 U.S. dollars. Even with a job, how was I going to come up with this amount of savings when all one seems to do in America is spend, spend, and spend!

     I sought the advice of one of my mentors, who himself is a convert to Islam and had tread the path of sacred knowledge before me. In fact, he converted many years ago, some years after I was born, a humbling reflection of its own. He is very educated, and has a profound understanding of the Islamic faith and the world around us, and I highly respect his judgment and deeply value his insight. I mentioned my dilemma to him one day, via a somewhat casual e-mail. I did it in a way so as to hint that if he was “able to help me in any way”, i.e. with money, “then I would greatly appreciate it”.

     His answer was stressfully troublesome to me. He said that when it comes to providing for one’s worldly needs, or one’s wife and children, you have to get out there in the world and strive for it. But when it comes to the path of God and seeking sacred knowledge therein, it is all upon Him, the One. For once, I needed to let go of my worries and concerns for provision. God was the answer.

     This advice was one of the hardest that I ever tried to apply in my life. I knew how badly I wanted to meet the great and noble scholar al-Murabit al-Hajj, and I knew what my purpose for doing so was. I focused on God as much as possible for the next few days and prayed for His Generous Provision to find its way to me… “God hears the one who praises Him”.

     The phone rang. It was one of my best friends, who happened to know about my current financial situation and about my desire to embark on this wondrous journey. Out of nowhere he informed me that his wife wanted to give me the money that I needed to make my dream come true! “What? How could this be? Are you sure?” I exclaimed. “Yes, I am sure!” he replied. I thought to myself, “I didn’t even ask anyone for money?” But then again, I did ask someone, the only One that could really do anything about it. I wasn’t about to reject an opportunity, so I gladly accepted the offer. Within the next couple of days the check was in my hand. God answers all prayers, whether we realize it or not, either in this life or the next. I was on my way.

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October 1999

Customs and Immigration at the Mauritanian International Airport was, to put it quaintly, very simple, and you could quite possibly say that it was dangerously simple. People in every direction were trying to get in line first as Hasan (my travel companion on this journey) and I looked at each other with a mixture of laughter and annoyance. We promptly presented our passports to the Customs Officer. We waited for what seemed like an eternity for some type of reaction from the man, or at least some form of acknowledgment. We had our visas and everything was in order. He was still not speaking to us. He just kept looking at our passports, looking at our faces, and then looking back at our passports again, all without saying a single word. What was the problem here?

     A few moments later he told us that we had to come and see “the Chief” of the airport police department. “Sure, no problem,” I replied. He then escorted us to “the Chief’s” office and we entered. The Customs Officer slowly presented him our passports and quickly exited the room. Guess he didn’t want to stay around to see the action. We waited some time until “the Chief” finished business with another man that was seated with us there. All the while Hasan and I eagerly waited in suspense for some type of explanation, some line of questioning, or at least something! 

     Before “the Chief” got a chance to say anything to me, I got impatient and began, “Is there a problem here sir?” speaking in common Arabic. He responded, “No, just routine.” Strange routine, I thought, inconveniencing innocent people. “Why didn’t you stop the other people on the plane for interrogation? Why us? Is it because I have a beard and we look Islamic?” After I blurted that out I started to feel like something unfriendly was about to happen. “I don’t have to answer anything that you ask me. I am going according to orders,” he said. I quickly responded, “I think I have a right to know what is going on. We got our visas directly from the Mauritanian ambassador himself, back in America, in Washington, D.C. Please sir, what is the problem?”

     He was not listening. He seemed very arrogant and rude (but, I must admit, I probably was too!). He told us that he had orders to send us back on the next flight to where we came from (which was Morocco, in this case). “If you don’t let us go I will call the U.S. Embassy here and talk directly to the U.S. ambassador and tell him how you are treating us. And for no reason!” “I don’t care if you call Bill Clinton himself!” he yelled back to us. He told me to take a seat across from his desk. He was going to take his time now. And he did.

     By some miracle of God, we eventually got out of that strange situation, but we had to come back to the airport the next morning to pick up our temporarily confiscated passports. We never did find out what the real reason behind that whole fiasco was. He only offered to us that this was “his job” and that he was sorry for the way things happened. Even after saying all this he still was reluctant to give us our passports back, but after some more deliberation he finally gave in. We were now officially in Mauritania and free to go about our business!

     Within two days we were on a plane to Kiffa, a small village some 300 miles southeast of the capital city, Nouakchott, where we had initially arrived and where are fun experience with “the Chief” had occurred. It was a small plane, but the ride was quite pleasant. The view of the barren desert lands was incredible from that vantage point. The land stretched out as if it was endless. The desert had many lessons in store for us. It has its own way of teaching.

     We arrived in Kiffa and landed on a runway just long enough for touching down and taking off. It was the only runway in the entire airport. In fact, there was no airport, just the runway! This runway was located about 10 minutes outside the actual village area of Kiffa, in the middle of a practically empty and arid space (except for the cow that had crossed the middle of the runway after we had landed). This particular flight we were on comes there twice a week and returns about an hour after it lands with passengers in-route back to Nouakchott.

     We had already made friends with a man in the airport before we left the capital, and he was on his way to Gayro, an even smaller village geographically closer to Al-Murabit al-Hajj's abode. We were heading there too, so we threw our bags on top of the roof of a taxi and hopped in with him. A little rope was necessary to properly secure our bags. The driver took care of it and we were on our way.

     After a flat tire, a switch of cars, running out of gas, and several hours of waiting, we finally made it to Gayro. “Get used to it,” I was told. The same man who accompanied us on the plane from Nouakchott invited us to stay at his home. We gladly accepted his offer and got settled in. After a day or two we moved to another house in the same village. Our host this time was Shaykh Khatri, another amazing Mauritanian man of knowledge and wisdom. He was also a student of the great and noble scholar, al-Murabit al-Hajj, whom we were still eagerly waiting to reach. Shaykh Khatri, in his 60’s, is a great scholar in his own right. After another day or so we were ready to continue on to our primary destination. We were finally on our way to meet al-Murabit al-Hajj, the famous sage of the sub-Saharan desert.

     “The car is here. It’s time to go,” said our host, Shaykh Khatri. It was about 4:30 in the morning and everything around us was still pitch black, except for the countless stars that illuminated the heavens above. Hasan and I tossed our bags in the back of the 4-wheel drive Land Rover and jumped inside. Shaykh Khatri saw us off and wished us a safe and enlightening journey and that God would grant us what it is that we were looking for.

     The main road was extremely poor. Some of the potholes were the size of military trenches. Others looked as if a missile had exploded on the road itself. Was there a battle here recently? Maybe there was. As we were driving I felt that based on the direction that Shaykh Khatri had pointed in before we left, we were going in the wrong direction! I kept quiet because I knew that the drivers knew where they were going better than I ever could. We soon arrived at another tiny village with a couple of small tents. The driver violently honked his horn and soon several individuals appeared with their meager belongings. They all hopped in the back of the truck and we were on our way again. I assumed that they were going to part with us somewhere along the way before we got to al-Murabit al-Hajj. Some of them did, but some of them actually accompanied us all the way to al-Murabit al-Hajj himself!

     We continued on, now going the right way, and we stopped about 45 minutes before sunrise to perform our dawn prayer, which is one of the five daily prayers that all faithful Muslims perform during various, fixed time periods. We prayed on a large sand dune facing the direction of Makkah, which happened to be in the direction of the soon to be rising sun. It was one of the most beautiful and peaceful prayers that I ever performed. No distractions, no sounds, and no movement around us—just the sand, the brothers next to me, and the Divine Presence.

     There was nothing and no one to be seen for miles, except for a few mountains, some small trees and a little grass, and yes, lots and lots of sand. It was a place of complete quiet and peaceful solace. There is a difference between loneliness and solitude. I didn’t feel lonely here; there was always something mysterious and new about it.

     We finally drove up to another small village whose tents were spread out sporadically over a vast open plain. A large mountain was hovering over us from one side, and a never-ending expanse extended out over the horizons from the remaining directions. We stopped in order to hire some help from a local tribe to carry our belongings to the village of the great and noble scholar Al-Murabit al-Hajj. At this point, our travel companions informed us that the mountain, which, as I have said, was hovering over us in the background, was the very mountain we would now be scaling! A tall, dark, thin, but muscular, man from the village agreed to take our belongings (by hand, and on foot) for about $10. This was a lot of money for him. He never complained about it for one second and there was no argument at all. I didn’t complain either. Thank God he didn’t too, I only had $20 left to my name!

     Scaling and climbing the mountain was no easy task. It took about an hour, with several moments for rest, to make it to the top. Mountains, from a far distance, always look easier to climb than they really are. Didn’t realize this until I actually got to the foot of it, and then about 50 feet up. Talk about an unexpected exercise!

     The man we had hired to carry our belongings was the epitome of patience and sacrifice. He carried a suitcase on his head and a large bag on his back for hours and hours. As he scaled the rocks, without even the use of his hands for support, he never once lost his balance. He didn’t even have shoes on, just those flip-flops with the funny thing that goes in between your toes. You know what I am talking about. At some points I actually almost fell to my death right behind him, as he scaled with such grace and ease. I was definitely not prepared for this in any way. It seemed as if he had done it hundreds of times, which actually might have been the case.

     When we finally reached the top, after about an hour of climbing, we were welcomed by another small group of travelers that were heading to another village in a different direction. This small group consisted of two women and a man. The women were chuckling at my friend Hasan and I as we struggled and barely made it to the top of the mountain. They were watching us closely, examining with eagle eyes. We obviously looked like foreigners and were quite out of shape for the task of scaling this massive collection of rocks. They were probably thinking that we were “weak little boys.” I wouldn’t argue with them about that. We were the only ones in our group that ever complained about the distance and difficulty of the journey. At this moment, it seemed as if these women were like our men, and the men here were real men!   

     At the top of the mountain there was practically nothing for as far as the eye could see, just a flat plain of dirt and sand with a few hills, inclinations, and sporadic signs of vegetation here and there. We were on our way again, after a short rest, and it seems that my friend Hasan and I were the only ones that ever got tired and that the “rests” were really only for us to begin with!

     We pushed on for a short while until we finally came to the official “rest area”—a small tent constructed from wood and cloth. Hanging on the side of the small tent was a waterskin made from either sheepskin or goatskin, not really sure which one. When water is placed inside such a container, and kept in the shade, it stays somewhat cool, just as it came out from the well. We were told that the man who was the owner of this tent comes to it every day from the village at the bottom of the mountain we just scaled. There were a few crops planted in the area that surrounded the tent, such as corn and green beans, and the man would always come there to harvest the corn or pick the beans, or maybe just to get away from the village. The man appeared and served us some water as well as some quickly fried green beans. This was our lunch. There was nothing else to eat. He was very generous to us and he never asked anything from us. In fact, I don’t even remember him speaking. He would just selflessly give and serve. 

     We passed horizon after horizon until I started to ask the oft-occurring childhood question, “Are we there yet?” The sad answer would always be, “See that mountain off in the horizon over there? Well, after that one.” We never seemed to get to the last horizon. Where was the village of the great al-Murabit al-Hajj?

     While walking in the blazing sun we finally came across an oasis of water that I had been hearing about ever since we climbed that mountain hours ago. The water was clear and seemed as though it was waiting for us to do something. We took appropriate action. Hasan and I immediately jumped in and poured the water over our heads, faces, and necks, and drank from it profusely! At that moment, this water tasted purer than the best, bottled water on Earth, and it probably was. Praising God for His bounties upon us, we continued on.

     After walking, walking, and some more walking we came to another steep rocky hill. As we scaled over it one of our travel companions called out, “See those white speaks in the distance? Those are the tents of the village of al-Murabit al-Hajj!” I was ecstatic. It was a breathtaking sight. Imagine being at a movie theater and seeing the image on the screen with a bird’s eye view flying over the top of a mountain gradually letting out onto the view of a majestic, glorious, and scenic valley. Can you feel the wind? Can you hear it? Do you see the view? We made it!

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When I first arrived at the village in which I was to live my life for the next three weeks, I found the great and noble scholar al-Murabit al-Hajj taking his mid-day rest. He is well into his mid-nineties, is of average height, his body being quite weak and feeble. His skin has a warm, dark complexion, from years of exposure to the hot desert sun of the sub-Saharan region, and he has an intense look of simple, but powerful, nobility. There is an aura of dignity and piety that emanates from his presence, an aura that can only be truly captured by direct observation, it just cannot be written about with words on paper. I finally had seen the spiritual father of the pupils that I had been so deeply affected by thus far.

     Al-Murabit al-Hajj is a great man of sacred learning and spiritual wisdom and guidance, whom mostly all of Mauritania’s people respect and honor. He spent many years in the study of the various branches of the religious sciences of Islam and their many ramifications. He comes from a great lineage of scholars of both men and women of wondrous piety and austere asceticism. When he was younger he used to move from cave to cave in hopes to avoid the disturbance of the other students and youth in his village. It was finally said to them that they should leave him be: “He is fighting his lower-self [nafs]. When he finishes, then you will see him.” Here he was now, right in front of me. Those hours and days of solitude that he spent in his younger years were necessary for his spiritual training and religious edification. He arrived to his goal years ago. Now we could reap the fruits of his labor and taste something of the blessings that God had bestowed upon him. 

     After he rose from his rest I was blessed with the opportunity to be introduced to him for the first time. I will never forget those moments. They told him I was from America. He simply nodded and acknowledged that I was welcome to stay with them for as long as I wanted. He spoke in a somewhat inaudible and rough voice, completely in congruence with his age and medical condition. It felt as though as was being spoken too by an ancient sage, a divinely inspired saint who is in touch with the spiritual realm more so than the realm of what we call perceptive reality. He is definitely a man of God.

     His life is characterized by total and intense dedication. He is constantly teaching. You will find him in this state from the early morning up until the time that he is physically in bed to sleep. Students even came to learn from him at his bedside late at night! “We have no protocol here,” I was told many a time, “the Murabit is a teacher for life, and his time is always yours, never his own.” This was something I definitely wasn’t used to and I honestly didn’t know how to respond to such an amazing display of utter sacrifice to the love of knowledge, to the spiritual development of self and others, and thereby, to the betterment of society.

     I used to come to him twice a day to read my lesson. One particular evening, after the sunset prayer, I was sitting next to him while he was reciting a portion of the Qur’an (from memory of course, he never needs to look at the text). At this moment a student came to him in order to have the Murbait correct his own Qur’anic recitation and to check the progress of his memorization. The Murabit didn’t stop reciting the portion of the Qur’an that he was reading; all the while he listened to, and corrected, the student’s recitation, only to return to the exact place that he had left off reciting from! I had only heard of this technique in the stories of old, this was the first time that I witnessed it in front of my very eyes… 

     If he wasn’t teaching he was making the remembrance of Allah (“Allah” being the Arabic name that signifies the One and only Supreme God (even Arab Jews and Christians use this word to refer to God)). The mention, or remembrance, of God would flow from his tongue so freely and constantly that you would think that it was as necessary as breathing and water are to physical life. He was always in a state of the remembrance of God, and he himself was a symbol for it. 

     I used to sleep near his tent and every night I would hear him wake up, without fail, at about 5am or so. He would pray several units of prayer involving the recitation of the Holy Qur’an, supplication and imploring of the Divine, bowing, prostration, and the like. All the time I was there I never saw him eat anything of substantial nourishment. A bowl of warm cow’s milk would be brought to him in the morning and then again in the evening. These seemed to be his only “meals”. One time I do recall seeing him eating a few dates, but never more than that. His nourishment seemed as if directly from God.

     One of the first nights after we arrived, Hasan and I were sleeping under a makeshift, tent-like structure. Fortunately it had a decent roof that was covered with a tarp on the outside and lined on the inside with old rags and sheets. Suddenly we awakened to the roaring of a violent wind and the tent’s tarp and rags were blowing and waving rampantly. We began to hear voices and we saw two beams from little flashlights waving in the air, approaching us as if an alien abduction was about to occur.

     “Come on, come on, let’s go!” the two voices called out to us. We jumped up, followed their lead, and relocated to another tent in the vicinity. This other tent was slightly larger and was better constructed. It had long, sandy-brown colored flaps that hung down from the ceiling. It was a good protection from the ever-approaching storm. The flaps shook more violently as the storm arrived. The power of the wind, the sound of the thunder, and the flashes of lightening enthralled me. The rain brought relief to this barren region. “Verily, God brings back to life the Earth after its death. Indeed, in that there are signs for those who reflect” (The Qur’an). The heart of the human being is similar in that regard. This is the place were my heart was brought back to life. “Rain is a blessing from the Divine, we are happy when it comes,” one of the villagers told me. I was happy to have come here. I regret having to leave so soon...

Comments

[UmmZaid]

Salaam 'Alaikum

Jazakh Allah Khair for sharing. Whenever Mauritania is mentioned, I remember the talk you gave, accompanied by a slide show of Mauritania, at the Ni'ma Foundation's first event in the spring of 2000 in NY.

[Khalil]

Wa alaykum as-salam.

That is what this site is going to be all about: sharing. In sha Allah, I will continue to add more and more as the weeks and months go by. As for the Ni'ma Foundation presentation back in 2000, subhanallah, yeah, I remember that, and I remember the fact that Shaykh Muhammad al-Ya'qoubi was sitting right in the FRONT ROW!!! ;-(

[Serferaz Malik]

Asalaamalaaykum
Jazzkallah Khayr for this very beatifully articulated article about your journey to vist the Noble Shaykh Al-Murbiet-al-Hajj. I heard alot of the Shaykh from listening to talks by Shaykh Hazma Yusuf. Brother did you ever go back to visit the Shaykh again? and how long was your stay in Maurtania?

[Khalil]

Wa alaykum as-salam.

I only went there one time, during the fall season of 1999. I was there for about 3 - 4 weeks. Amazing time, Wallahi... One the best and richest experiences of my life...

Khalil

[umm s]

assalamualikum,
jazazakAllah kaseeran for sharing this wonderful source of knowledge with us.
It is an amazing narration..
Would please kindly tell us more?
There will be so many of us who will be so greatly obliged..

[Khalil]

Wa alaykum as-salam.

Thanks for the comments and encouragement! ;-)

I will be writing more in the coming weeks and months, just have a lot of Master's degree work going on right now.

May Allah bless you! Keep me in your dua's...

khalil

[Aljoofre]

Assalamualaikum,

Jazakumullahu Khairal Jaza'. Thanks for sharing this beautiful ni'mah. (Waamma bini'mati rabbika fahaddist).

Da'watukum wal'afwu minkum..

[sf]

Assalaam Alaikum brother,

Alhamdolillah, your spiritual journey is so illuminating and many hearts would be inspired from your divine experience in meeting this man of God.
Allah(SWT) has blessed you with this beautiful art of expression......so anyone who reads this would find him/herself accompanying you in the soul-searching journey to the light of truth.......
but yes, Alhamdolillah, you were fortunate to meet Allah's true devotee face to face....
Hoping to hear more.........inshaAllah soon.
May Allah(SWT) reward you immeasurably for your love for the purity of the soul. Ameen

Jazaak Allah Khair,

sf

[Abdul Rahman]

Salaamhu alaykum wa rahmatulla

Masha' Allah is really all that comes to mind. Alhumdullilah you had great opportunities and used them, may Allah swt bless you and your future endeavors insh'Allah. JAK for the great narration it really puts things in perspective for me.

Salaamhu Alaykum

Abdul Rahman Rashid

[Humairah]

Truly, the ability to seek knowledge, and seeking knowledge are great gifts from Allah (swt). And the path is definitely not-obstacle free, it requires a lot of patience and perseverence which you had, mashallah.
I hope to travel lots too inshallah, to gain knowledge.

[Farzeen]

Assalaamu'alaykum wa rahmatuLlah

JazakaLlahu khayran for sharing the story of your journey. It was like a breath of fresh air on a hot summer's day. You've made a lot of noteworthy points that I'm grateful to have read and hope to benefit from someday soon, insha'Allah. May Allah preserve our shuyukh and allow us to benefit from them and to taste the sweetness of servitude to Him, ameen.

By chance, do you have any photographs from your trip to Mauritania online?

[farhana]

assalamualaikum warahmatullah wabarakatuh

masyaAllah... ive been wanting to read more abt al-Murabit al-Hajj ever since i first heard of him from sheikh hamza yusuf. your account is really powerful and now i feel really deeply compelled to go to mauritania.

jazakallahu khairan kathiran, sheikh. =)