By Abdullahi Abubakar Lamido
The dusty path to Al-Ma’arif Islamiyyah School was unusually quiet that Wednesday afternoon, except for the gentle crunch of sandals on gravel and the animated voices of two young girls wrapped in flowing white hijabs.
Unknown to many passersby, the conversation between these two girls wasn’t just about school or homework. It was about something deeper—something that could transform communities: the power of Waqf. As they walked, they debated a topic that many adults still struggle with: Should we prioritise spending on annual Umrah trips or invest in sustainable Waqf projects that empower girls through education and skill-building?
“Ameena, wait for me!” called out Hafsah, adjusting the corner of her veil.
Ameena slowed down and turned with a grin. “Wallahi, you’re always dragging your legs like an old lady.”
They both laughed.
But as they turned the bend, Hafsah lowered her voice and leaned in. “By the way, my aunt and her entire family are travelling for Umrah again this Ramadan. That’s like the fifth time in a row! Imagine the reward, subhanallah!”
Ameena nodded with a smile, but her eyes said more. “Masha Allah. No doubt, Umrah is virtuous. The Prophet SAW said in Sahih al-Bukhari, ‘Umrah to Umrah is expiation for the sins committed between them.’ And in another Hadith, ‘The performance of Hajj and Umrah removes poverty and sins just as a furnace removes the impurities from iron.’ So yes, it is beautiful.”
Hafsah beamed. “Exactly! That’s why they go every year. My aunt says you can never get enough of Makkah. The barakah there is like no other.”
Ameena stopped, picked a tiny stone, and tossed it thoughtfully. “I agree. But I can’t help thinking… what if, just what if, they did something different this year? Take the entire amount they usually spend—tickets, hotel, feeding, shopping—and invest it in a Waqf. A sustainable, income-generating waqf specifically for girls’ education and skills development.”
Hafsah blinked. “A waqf? Instead of Umrah?”
“Not instead of,” Ameena corrected gently, “but perhaps before another one. Let’s say they make a solid waqf just once. From then on, the proceeds can fund multiple Umrahs and sponsor tens—maybe hundreds—of girls like us. Wouldn’t that multiply the rewards?”
Hafsah frowned slightly. “Hmm. But that’s not the same spiritual feeling as being in Makkah.”
“True. But listen to this Hadith,” Ameena said, eyes lighting up. “The Prophet SAW said: ‘Whoever goes out to seek knowledge is in the path of Allah until he returns.’ That’s in Sunan al-Tirmidhi. And in Sahih Muslim, the Prophet said that feeding the hungry, helping the poor, or removing a harm from the road are all Sadaqah. These actions have also been likened in reward to Umrah.”
She continued, “In fact, Imam Ibn Rajab said some charitable actions—because of their benefit to society—can surpass voluntary Hajj and Umrah in reward!”
Hafsah looked unconvinced. “But those are small things. Can they compare to walking between Safa and Marwa?”
Ameena smiled knowingly. “Let me share a story about our Islamic heritage, as reported by Ibn Kathir—one of the great scholars and righteous predecessors, Abdullah ibn al-Mubarak, once set out for Hajj. Along the way, he passed through a town where a young girl was seen taking a dead bird from a garbage heap.
Curious, he followed her and learned that she and her brother had nothing to eat, surviving off scraps and carrion due to poverty and oppression. Ibn al-Mubarak was so moved that he cancelled his pilgrimage, gave her all the money he had set aside for Hajj—except a small portion for their return—and said: ‘This is better than our Hajj this year!’
Can you imagine? A scholar of his stature suspended the journey of a lifetime because he saw a greater reward in feeding the poor.”
Hafsah bit her lip, thoughtful.
“And what of the Hadith in Sahih al-Bukhari,” Ameena continued, “where the Prophet SAW said: ‘He is not a believer whose stomach is filled while his neighbour goes hungry.’ Don’t you think our people—who travel yearly for Umrah with their entire household—should ask themselves if their neighbors are fed, educated, and safe first?”
There was silence for a while. Then Hafsah asked, “But maybe they feel their own worship is more important.”
Ameena didn’t flinch. “Worship is important. But Islam is both ‘ibadah and mu’amalat—personal devotion and social responsibility. A society where girls are unskilled, uneducated, and poor is a society in crisis. Allah says in Surah Al-Balad, ‘But he has not attempted the Ascent. And what will make you know what the Ascent is? It is freeing a slave. Or feeding on a day of severe hunger, an orphan of near relationship, or a needy person in misery.’ That’s the real struggle.”
She paused, then added, “And here’s a shocking stat: According to UNICEF, more than 50% of girls in Northern Nigeria are out of school. Many of them end up as child housemaids or hawkers. Imagine if we had waqfs in every state—centres for literacy, vocational skills, business mentorship. Wouldn’t that be more pleasing to Allah than redundant luxuries?”
Hafsah exhaled slowly. “You’re making too much sense. But some people say they don’t have the time or knowledge to create a waqf.”
“They can partner with existing foundations,” said Ameena. “Or even just dedicate a part of their wealth to it. Start with a shop, a farm, or a borehole project. Let it generate income. Let it teach a girl to write, to code, to recite Qur’an beautifully, to become a teacher, to stand tall.”
By now, they were at the gate of the Islamiyyah school.
Hafsah turned and looked at her friend. “You know, Ameena, if your words were a waqf, they’d be multiplying rewards already.”
Ameena chuckled. “Then let’s start the first one—with our pens, our voices, and our footsteps.”
They both stepped in, side by side, into a class that taught not just religion, but purpose.
Inside the classroom, the discussion continued to swirl in Hafsah’s mind. That evening, as they sat under the neem tree during Qur’an revision, she whispered to Ameena, “You know what? I’m going to talk to my parents tonight. I’ll share everything you said—every Hadith, every idea. Maybe they can be the first to try this new way: build a waqf before the next Umrah.”
Ameena smiled, eyes glowing. “And I’ll talk to mine too. If they see how serious we are, and how much it could benefit the Ummah, I believe they’ll listen.”
The next day, during break time, the girls called a mini gathering under the school’s mango tree. A handful of curious classmates sat cross-legged in the dust, munching on groundnuts and zobo. Hafsah stood up and declared, “We want to tell you about something that can reward you even after you die. Something more powerful than a yearly trip to Makkah…”
She spoke. Ameena backed her up. Together, they planted a seed.
Later that afternoon, they approached their teacher, Ustaz Sani, known for his stern look but soft heart. A little nervously, they explained their idea.
To their surprise, Ustaz Sani leaned back, eyes shining. “Ameen! This is the spirit of Islam! The Prophet SAW once said, ‘The most beloved of deeds to Allah are the most consistent, even if they are small.’
But let me add more,” he said, reaching for a worn book on his desk. “Imam Al-Ghazali wrote that a waqf is a shield for society, a way to preserve faith, knowledge, and dignity. Some waqfs in history lasted over 700 years, sponsoring scholars, doctors, and imams! Even the famous Al-Azhar University in Egypt started as a waqf.”
The girls’ faces lit up.
“Keep spreading the message,” he urged. “You are not too young. Let your classmates know. Let your family hear. Let the whole Ummah remember:
Before your next Umrah… build a Waqf.”
Amir Lamido wrote from Gombe and can be contacted via lamidomabudi@gmail.com.
