Qur'an

By Ibrahim Sulaiman (Jama’are)

In circa 1993, my late maternal grandfather, Malam Musa Nagari (d. circa 2017), took me to Malam Idi Nakamaku’s Makarantar allo (a traditional Quranic school) in the Gandun Sarki quarters of Jama’are town, where I was enrolled as a Titibiri (an elementary student). He purchased a new allo (a wooden slate used as a hand-held writing board by students) for me, which I guessed he bought from the Jama’are weekly market. 

Even though they weren’t the same age, I realized that Allaramma Malam Idi and my Malam Musa Nagari were good friends. 

I was already enrolled in Abdulkadir Ahmed Primary School (formerly known as Zango Kanti Primary School). I usually attend the afternoon session at Malam Idi’s school alone with his regular Almajirai (students), most of whom come from nearby and distant towns and villages around Jama’are. 

That was a foundational journey I first had in Islamic studies. 

Sometimes, my maternal grandfather, Malam Musa Nagari, would lead me to school, hand me over to Allaramma, and jokingly say, ‘Ga dalibinka, Dan Izala’ (here is your student, member of Izala). This is because my father had already been a member of Izala (JIBWIS) since the early 1980s. (For an exploration of this statement and the struggle for religious space between Izala and other Sufi groups in Jama’are, see my MA thesis, ‘A History of JIBWIS/Izala in Jama’are, 1986-2015,’ submitted to the Department of History at Bayero University Kano in 2022.)

That was the start of it. Since then, whenever Malam sees me or I pass by him, he calls out, ‘babban dalibi’ (a senior student), even though I stopped attending his school when I was at the Titibiri level. True to form, he asks, ‘ya karatu’ (how’s studies), now referring to conventional education, and concludes with, ‘Allah ya yi albarka’ (may God bless).

As Malam is no longer with us, I will miss his prayers. Whenever I’m in Jama’are, I can hardly pass by Malam without stopping to greet him, and he has always been generous with his usual prayers.

Malam Musa Nagari and Malam Nakamaku have been a school for me. They have been a veritable source of inspiration. 

Malam Nagari, though a grandfather, was a no-nonsense type. We rarely exchanged banter, unlike typical grandparents in a Hausa/Fulani setting like Jama’are. He was a disciplinarian in the real sense of the word. Although we spent a lot of time together at home, on the farm, and in his vocation of building houses, that familiarity did not breach any contempt, as they say. Malam Musa Nagari once told me something I knew was intended to inspire me. ‘Ibrahim, let me tell you. Do you see my farms in their numbers? I only inherited one from my parents…’. This is a way of telling a teenager to ‘be hardworking’!

From Malam Idi Nakamaku, I learned the principle of goodwill. Even though I left his school to probably join Izala Islamiyya, Malam Idi has never stopped considering me his student, referring to me with the term baban dalibi. This has never been a source of concern for him; he simply wants to know how I’m progressing, even at the conventional school level. Malam never ceases to ask such questions; the last time we met was last year during Eid el-Kabir. 

To me, Malam Idi Nakamaku’s life epitomized an enduring commitment to promoting Quranic studies (what a blessed life!). It symbolizes selflessness and service to humanity, along with complete submission to the will of God. I believe Malam Idi Nakamaku embodies the traditional classical eclectic ascetic lifestyle characterized by Zuhd (asceticism or self-denial to achieve Ridhal Allah, meaning God’s pleasure) of early Sufi scholars, which continues to endure into this century.

The demise of Allaramma Malam Idi Nakamaku on March 4, 2025, was a great loss and, indeed, irreparable to the entire Jama’are Emirate. May his soul, along with that of his good friend Malam Musa Nagari, continue to rest in Janna til Firdaus.

Ibrahim Sulaiman (Jama’are) wrote from Abuja via ibrahimsulaiman193@gmail.com.

By Ibraheem A. Waziri

MashaAllah. As the crescent moon rose to herald Ramadan this year, on this twentieth day of March 2025, a profound stillness has settled over me. The fast silences my body’s clamor, the long nights of prayer elevate my spirit toward the heavens, and my thoughts drift into the boundless expanse of the unseen. This Ramadan, I find myself wrestling with the nature of dimensions—what they signify, how they shape our fleeting lives, and how death might unlock realms beyond our earthly reach. 

The Qur’an unveils glimpses of this mystery: seven heavens layered in divine order, Jannah’s gardens of eternal serenity, Jahannam’s depths watched by stern guardians, and Allah’s timeless, infinite dominion. The number four—etched into our 4D reality and echoed in a hadith debate I explored last week—anchors my reflection, while the nineteen of Surah Al-Muddathir, mirrored in the nineteen letters of *Bismillahir Rahmanir Rahim*, stirs my soul. Could death guide us through a cosmic graveyard of stars into these dimensions, as some now ponder in awe?

Let us begin with dimensions as we experience them in this Duniya, this transient abode. We dwell within three spatial dimensions—length, width, and height. A minaret pierces the twilight sky; its shadow stretches wide across the sun-warmed earth, and its foundations sink deep into the soil. Time, the fourth dimension, flows relentlessly forward, a current bearing us from the first whispered adhan of Fajr to the tranquil hush of Isha. 

These four—three of space and one of time—form our 4D reality, a spacetime framework we navigate with every breath and every step we take. Yet science, with its insatiable curiosity, gazes beyond this familiar quartet, proposing extra dimensions—ten, eleven, or perhaps far more—coiled tightly at scales too tiny for our eyes to discern or sprawling across unseen planes our hands cannot grasp. These are not mere directions to wander but subtle layers, bending the forces of gravity, energy, or the very essence of creation in ways that stretch our comprehension.

In 2018, a Northern Nigerian Hausa broadcasting Television Station, Arewa24, in a documentary about space named black hole mutuwaren taurari (Mortuary of Stars), but I preferred mak’abartar taurari—the Graveyard of Stars—as a more evocative term. Here, death is a profound key, a passage to what lies beyond. In this 4D shell, we are tethered—our physical forms bound to the limits of space, our lives measured by the steady march of time. 

The Qur’an, however, assures us that the soul, the ruh, endures beyond this fragile vessel. When we die, might that soul break free, slipping into a fifth dimension, a sixth, or even further—realms where Jannah’s rivers ripple with mercy and Jahannam’s fires blaze with justice, domains veiled from us until Malak al-Mawt, the Angel of Death, carries us across the threshold? 

Physics offers a faint echo of this possibility: higher dimensions might surround us, omnipresent yet inaccessible, hidden behind a veil that only death can part. Some astronomers link each soul to a star wandering the cosmos; when a person dies, their star might collapse into this graveyard, bearing their ruh along. Could this black hole be a portal, a barzakh, where dimensions unfold beyond our sight?

The Qur’an sketches this vastness with strokes of majesty. “He who created seven heavens in layers,” proclaims Surah Al-Mulk (67:3), urging us to reflect on the nature of these layers. Are they celestial skies arching above our world, glowing in the twilight? Or could they be universes, dimensional planes, each distinct yet interconnected, ascending beyond our perception into a hierarchy only Allah fully comprehends? 

Our 4D reality, with its glittering stars and sprawling earth, might be the “lowest heaven,” as Surah As-Saffat (37:6) suggests, with its adorned lights, while six more heavens rise above, reachable only when death turns the lock. Time, too, bends in Allah’s presence—Surah Al-Ma’arij (70:4) likens a day with Him to fifty thousand years of our earthly counting. In these higher dimensions, time might not flow as we know it; it could stretch into an endless horizon, loop upon itself, or fold into an eternal now—a reality death alone might usher us into.

Yet it is the number four that steadies my wandering mind, a pattern I cannot unsee. Just last week, in *The Eternal Quartet: Understanding the Hadith Debate in Northern Nigeria*, I wrote of a debate stirring Northern Nigeria’s Muslim online space—Shaykh Prof. Ibrahim Saeed Ahmad Maqari and Shaykh Prof. Sani Rijiyar Lemo clashing over the degree of certainty in different categories of Hadith rather than dismissing their essence outright. 

I framed the scholars’ dispute through four lenses: reason, belief, doubt, and rejection, a quartet mirrored in Islam’s four legal schools—Hanafi, Maliki, Shafi’i, Hanbali—and four theological paths—Mu’tazila, Ash’ari, Maturidi, Athari. Maqari, with his Ash’ari and Maliki roots, demands the unshakable certainty of Mutawatir hadiths, those narrated by many, while Rijiyar Lemo, grounded in Athari and Salafi trust, upholds authentic Ahad narrations with strong chains, even if from fewer sources. Four emerged as a complete, balanced square: Maqari’s logic seeking widespread proof, Rijiyar Lemo’s faith in vetted tradition, the doubters’ hesitant questions, the rejectors’ outright dismissal. As I dwell in our 4D spacetime, I see it again—four as our foundation, the root from which higher dimensions might grow, a motif threading through faith, nature, and the human heart.

Then comes a piercing verse—Surah Al-Muddathir (74:30): “Alaiha tis‘ata ‘ashar”—“Over it are nineteen.” Nineteen angels guard Jahannam, their number stark and resonant, a mystery that stirs my soul to its core. Are these guardians confined to our 4D frame, or do they stride across dimensions, overseeing a hell that burns beyond our spacetime? This deepens when I count the letters in Bismillahir Rahmanir Rahim—ب س م ا ل ل ه ا ل ر ح م ن ا ل ر ح ي م—nineteen in all, the sacred invocation that opens every surah but one. Could this parallel—nineteen angels, nineteen letters—hint at more, perhaps 19 dimensions woven within or alongside the seven heavens? Science freely posits dimensions; string theory suggests ten or eleven, but the Qur’an’s seven and nineteen numbers carry a divine weight. From our 4D base, the seven heavens might rise as broad realms, each enfolding finer layers, totaling 19—a cosmic framework death unveils, where the nineteen serve as eternal watchmen.

Consider the black hole, this mak’abartar taurari. Could it be barzakh, a liminal space bridging dimensions? Does it cradle Jannah’s tranquility or Jahannam’s torment? Some wonder: might the Day of Judgment spring from this starry graveyard, an event science cannot yet name, where fallen stars—and souls—rise into new dimensions? We perceive only four in this Duniya, but black holes might harbor twelve, as some speculate. Add seven for Jahannam’s planes, and we reach 19—four we know, eight in Barzakh’s depths, seven in Saqar’s fire, guarded by nineteen, as Allah declares, “Alaiha tis‘ata ‘ashar”. Last century, scholars like Khalifa Rashad stirred debate with new readings of this verse—could it point to such a cosmic order?

Envision it: our 4D reality as the first heaven, rooted in four—length, width, height, and time. Six more heavens ascend, each a dimensional cluster, totaling 19 with Barzakh and Jahannam’s layers. Surah Fussilat (41:12) says each heaven has its command—unique laws across these planes, from fifth to nineteenth. His Kursi (Surah Al-Baqarah 2:255) spans them, the nineteen as sentinels in its scope. The Qur’an says the soul’s end wanders in the space between the dimensions of fire (dread) or peace (natsuwa). Death might thrust us through mak’abartar taurari into these 19, where nineteen angels stand guard.

As Taraweeh’s verses wash over me this Ramadan, I feel four and nineteen entwined. If 19 dimensions veil Jannah, Jahannam, or more, might they host others—angels, jinn, beings unseen? Science puzzles at silence; death might unveil a chorus. In sujood, fasting’s clarity sharpens this: the Qur’an bids us marvel. Whether seven heavens hold 19 dimensions via a starry graveyard, death is our key—a mercy cloaked as an end.

Breaking my fast, dates sweet with Jannah’s echo, I feel tethered to this vastness. Our 4D world—fourfold in dimensions and thought—is a breath, a shadow of Allah’s infinite craft. Ramadan 2025 is my pilgrimage—through hunger, hope, and “Alaiha tis‘ata ‘ashar”, mirrored in Bismillahir Rahmanir Rahim—toward a reality where death, from our fourfold root, opens the door to seven heavens, nineteen dimensions, and Allah’s eternal truth. Allah Shine masani.

By Prof. Abdalla Uba Adamu

A few comments about the ongoing Ramadan Tafsir at the Palace of the Emir of Kano conducted by Sheikh Qaribullah Nasir Kabara (translator, Qadriyyah) and Muhammad Hadi Gwani (reciter, Tijjaniyya) brought back nostalgic memories for many people. The conversation was started by Muhsin Ibrahim. Perhaps only those living or having lived in Kano may probably know of this Tafsir that has been consistently going on since about the 1940s, shifting location only once, from Chiranci to Kofar Kudu in Kano. On Sunday, 16 Ramadan/March 2025, I was part of a TV discussion on the Tafsir and its meaning to me. This was what promoted this sharing of memories. 

Tafsir is the scholarly interpretation and explanation of the Quran. It helps to clarify the meanings of verses, their context, linguistic nuances, and the reasons for their revelation. The combo of Sheikh Qaribullah Kabara and Sheikh Hadi Gwani in Kano is one of the hundreds of Tafsirs conducted during Ramadan in Islamicate northern Nigeria. 

Each individual has their preferences for the reciter/translator combo. Mine, inherited from my father, was for the Kabara Tafsir. The reason is up close and personal. I was born on 14th Ramadan 1375, or 25th April 1956. My father was informed of my arrival while he was at the Tafsir in the inner chambers of the Emir of Kano’s Palace near the reciters. My father was a Qadiriyya adherent and disciple of Malam Nasiru Kabara. 

The nostalgia was ignited by Muhsin’s reflections of Surah Yusuf, which was recited on the 9th day of every Ramadan. Perhaps the Surah draws the largest crowd apart from the day of the ending of the Tafsir (Hattama). I have always marveled at why there is a surge of attendees on any day the Surah is being recited/translated. I remember being annoyed one year when I was slightly late and had to virtually push and shove through a huge crowd – often “standing room” only – to get to my reserved seat deep in the open space of the Place just before the door leading to the “Soron Isa” antechamber. All eager to listen to Surah Yusuf. 

Significantly, the Juz’i containing the Surah ends on Ayat 52. But on Friday, 17th December 1999/9th Ramadan 1420, as I noted in my own copy of Yusuf Ali’s Translation of the Holy Qur’an, which I used as a guide in following the recitation, Sheikh Qaribullah suggested to complete the Surah to its 111 Ayats to maintain the narrative structure and continuity of its events. Thus, on the day, the Tafsir lasts longer than on other normal days, while the Tafsir on the following day, starting directly with Surah Al Ra’ad, always ends up being the shortest night of the Tafsir. 

There are many reasons for the attachment of thousands of people – some who attend the Tafsīr on the Surah Yusuf day only. While this has many lessons, I will examine it from an ethnographic perspective. The story of the travails of Prophet Yusuf has one central cultural importance to the Hausa – “haƙuri can dafa dutse”/Patience is a virtue. This was indeed played out by the way Prophet Yusuf went through so many challenges in life – simply because of the stupendous natural beauty bestowed on him by Allah (SWT) to begin with. 

But his trials centered around what I call “yan ubantaka,” sibling rivalry and jealousy inherent among siblings of different mothers. This is a theme in Hausa family structures where offspring sharing only a father seem almost always at each other’s throats. Of course, not all households are like this – I am sure you know some households with perfect harmony, despite different mothers (might even be your own particular circumstance). However, the general experience of many Hausa is precisely as described in Surah Yusuf – bitter rivalry towards the more outstanding brother – whether junior or senior. Attendees of the Tafsir, therefore, get solace at the spiritual formula and lesson of patience and perseverance and go home uplifted that, as for Prophet Yusuf, “komai nisan dare, gare zai waye”/there is light at the end of the dark tunnel. 

Another significant historical moment in the Kabara Tafsir was what I called The Switch. On 29th March 1990,equivalent to 3rd Ramadan 1410, while reading Surah Al-Ma’idah, Ayat 20, Mal. Nasiru stopped the translation. With an emotionally charged voice, he prayed for the Emir Alhaji Ado Bayero (the host of the Tafsir). Then he informed the congregation that the Emir had given permission for Qaribullah Nasiru Kabara to continue the translations. The massive roar of Allahu Akbar takbir startled the mass of Swallows (Bilbilo) perching on the trees in the Emir’s mangrove area (Sheka), where they took off en mass. It was indeed an emotional moment. Right away, Mal. Qaribullah took over the translations, and in a well-synchronized manner, Mal. Hadi led him through the recitation, changing the tonalities of his recitation with Mal. Qaribullah matching him tone for tone. More Takbirs followed every hill and valley of their voices. It was a truly historic moment. 

Finally, a massive controversy concerning filming the story of the Prophet Yusuf erupted in Kano in 2009. Luckily, it was not from Kannywood producers, who, aware of the prohibitions of depicting prophets of Allah in any visual form, dared not even attempt it. However, in 2009, a TV series, Yousuf-e-Payambar or Joseph, the Prophet, was screened at the 2009 Cannes Film festival. The 45-episode series was produced by Sima Film Productions, an affiliate of the Islamic Republic of Iran Broadcasting (IRIB). 

Although the series’ dialogue was in Persian, soon enough, the Lebanese Al Manar TV station, owned by the Shi’a Hezbollah, started re-broadcasting the series with Arab dub-over voices of the Farsi dialogue, and became available through the Middle East satellite TV networks. It was a Shi’a TV show, since apparently in the Shi’a understanding of Islam, there was nothing wrong with depicting Prophets in any visual medium. Further, the story of Prophet Joseph had universal constants that made it appealing throughout the Muslim world, regardless of doctrinal inclination. 

In the summer of 2009, a young Muslim Hausa student studying at the Al-Azhar University in Cairo somehow downloaded the entire Yousuf-e Payambar series with Arabic voice-over dubbing in his laptop and brought it to CD marketers in Kano, the biggest commercial centre in northern Nigeria. In Kano, somehow, it was dubbed over in the Hausa language. It was an instant hit. The marketers subsequently copied the series into eight-volume DVDs and released them to traffic light markets common in most African urban centers.

However, no sooner had the DVDs entered the market than two prominent Muslim clerics in the Shari’a State of Kano appeared on public radio and condemned the Series. These were Sheikh Amin Daurawa and Sheikh Ibrahim Khalil, the latter of whom was the Chairman of the powerful Kano State Council of Ulama. In their ‘fatwa’ – Islamic ruling – echoing the Al-Azhar proscription of visually representing a Prophet of Allah (SWT), they argued it is prohibited to depict any Prophet in any form visually. The basic problem was that while Shi’a filmmakers produced the Prophet Yusuf TV series, the consumers in Kano were Sunni and did not make the sublime distinction about the interdiction of prophetic images between Sunni and Shi’ite interpretations of Islam.

The fatwa resulted in the Kano State Censorship Board’s banning the sales of Joseph the Prophet DVDs and arresting and prosecuting marketers and vendors who sold the DVDs. However, while the series was banned in Kano, it became readily available in neighboring States, especially Kaduna and Bauchi, where Shari’a law was implemented more flexibly.

The Kabara Tafsir is available on the YouTube Channel I created specifically for it. So look for it if interested. If you want to know more about the controversies and censorship of the Prophet Yusuf CDs in Kano, read my article, “Controversies and restrictions of visual representation of prophets in northern Nigerian popular culture.” March 2017. Journal of African Media Studies 9(1):17-31. The journal publishers don’t want their articles on academic social media networks (ASMN),but they say nothing about personal sites! So, if you want to download the entire paper, it is Acibilistically available at this link.

For those old enough, there is also an Egyptian poster of the Prophet Yusuf/Zulaykha in the presence of her husband, al-Aziz (Potiphar) encounter (fully depicted in the TV series) which, together with other Prophets and saints, were also freely sold in Kano in the 1960s. This gives a historical perspective to how artists tried to portray this popular Islamic narrative in popular culture. The poster is in the article.

By Uzair Adam 

The Katsina State Government has confirmed that the winner of the National Qur’anic Recitation Competition, Abdulsalam Rabiu-Faskari, along with his father and brother, remains in the custody of their abductors.  

In a statement issued on Friday, the state’s Commissioner for Information and Culture, Dr. Bala Salisu-Zango, clarified that contrary to some media reports, the victims were still alive.  

Rabiu-Faskari, an ABU final-year medical student, was kidnapped alongside his father and brother two days ago while returning to Faskari from Katsina, shortly after being honored by Governor Dikko Radda for his outstanding performance in the competition held in Kebbi.  

The commissioner noted that Rabiu-Faskari was set to represent Nigeria at the upcoming international edition of the competition.  

“The government has been made aware of reports suggesting that the young scholar was killed by his abductors. However, the latest information reaching us confirms that he and his family members are alive and in captivity,” Salisu-Zango stated.  

He further revealed that the kidnappers were demanding N30 million for their release.  

Governor Radda condemned the abduction, describing it as unfortunate and assuring that efforts were underway to secure the victims’ safe return.  

“My heart is with the victims, their family, relatives, and friends. We pray for their safe release. The government is taking concrete steps to ensure their rescue,” Radda said.  

He urged security agencies to intensify efforts in tracking down the kidnappers while reaffirming his administration’s commitment to addressing the security challenges in the state.  

The governor also called on the public to offer prayers for the safety of Rabiu-Faskari and other abductees.

By Ibraheem A. Waziri

Last week, the Muslim online community in Northern Nigeria was abuzz with a debate between two prominent scholars: Shaykh Prof. Ibrahim Saeed Ahmad Maqari, Imam of the National Mosque, and Shaykh Prof. Sani Rijiyar Lemo, a well-known teacher and writer. They are discussing hadiths—sayings of the Prophet Muhammad—and their reliability. 

Maqari insists that only Mutawatir hadiths, which are passed down by many narrators, are certain. In contrast, Ahad hadiths, coming from fewer narrators, lack certainty; Da’if hadiths are doubtful; and Maudu’ hadiths are fabricated. Rijiyar Lemo argues that Ahad hadiths with strong chains—like those found in Bukhari or Muslim—are as trustworthy as Mutawatir hadiths, also rejecting both Da’if and Maudu’ hadiths.

This may appear to be a new split in Islam, but it isn’t. It’s an old debate reemerging, reflecting four fundamental ways we think: reason, belief, doubt, and rejection. Maqari and Rijiyar Lemo each adhere to one of four classic Muslim paths. Let’s simplify it to demonstrate that this isn’t a crisis—it’s just part of our nature.

The Scholars’ Stances: Old Roots, Modern Voices

Maqari aligns with the Ash’ari and Maliki approach. He’s cautious: only Mutawatir hadiths, widely shared and undeniable, confirm the Prophet’s words, especially for core beliefs. Ahad might be true but aren’t certain, Da’if are shaky, and Maudu’ are fabrications. His stance is logical, demanding solid proof.

Rijiyar Lemo takes the Athari and Salafi route. He’s straightforward: Ahad hadiths with strong chains are as good as Mutawatir—no need for a crowd if the narrators are reliable. He discards Da’if and Maudu’, trusting the vetting process.

This echoes a thousand years of Muslim thought, split into four theological groups—Mu’tazila, Ash’ari, Maturidi, Athari—and four legal schools—Hanafi, Maliki, Shafi’i, Hanbali. Maqari’s Ash’ari/Maliki; Rijiyar Lemo’s Athari/Salafi. The others linger in the background, forming four ways to see faith.

 The Fourfold Lens: A Universal Impulse

This isn’t just about hadiths—it’s how we view everything, through four lenses:

– Reason: “Prove it—how many narrators? Are they solid?” Maqari’s fans value his logic, insisting on Mutawatir’s wide agreement for certainty over Ahad’s limited sources.

– Belief: “My scholar says it’s true.” Rijiyar Lemo’s supporters trust a single Sahabi’s word if the chain is sound, no extra proof needed—just faith in the process.

– Doubt: “Are we sure? What if it’s wrong?” Questions linger for those unsure about either side.

– Rejection: “This is outdated nonsense.” Some walk away entirely.

Northern Nigeria’s Muslim online space shows all four: some cite Mutawatir facts for Maqari, others trust Rijiyar Lemo’s Salafi roots, a few question both, and some dismiss it outright. These align with the four schools, too. Picture a grid—reason on one side, revelation on the other—yielding four pairs:

– Reason + Reason: Hanafi and Mu’tazila  

  Hanafis use analogy and judgment for rules; Mu’tazila apply logic to beliefs like free will. They’re strict: theology needs Mutawatir or Ahad with three-plus narrators; rules use authenticated Azizi (strong Ahad). Reason leads.

– Reason + Revelation: Maliki and Ash’ari

  Malikis mix reason with Medina’s practices; Ash’aris back faith—like God’s traits—with logic. Maqari fits here: Mutawatir for beliefs, authenticated Ahad for rules like prayer times. Revelation guides reason.

– Revelation + Reason: Shafi’i and Maturidi

 Shafi’is prioritize hadiths and Qur’an, sorted logically; Maturidis use reason within scripture’s bounds. Mutawatir for theology, authenticated Ahad for rules like fasting. Revelation’s first, reason aids.

– Revelation + Revelation: Hanbali and Athari

Hanbalis stick to texts; Atharis take the Qur’an and hadiths as is. Rijiyar Lemo’s here: authentic Mutawatir or Ahad work for both beliefs and rules. Revelation rules.

Maqari’s Ash’ari/Maliki stance demands Mutawatir for certainty; Rijiyar Lemo’s Athari/Salafi view accepts authentic Ahad.

Four Across the Ages

Four isn’t just in this debate—it’s a pattern across time and cultures. In the West, psychologist Carl Jung saw four as a symbol of wholeness, like in mandalas or personality types—thinking, feeling, sensing, and intuiting. Stephen R. Covey’s four quadrants divide tasks by urgency and importance, offering a complete way to manage life. Game theory maps four outcomes—win/win, win/lose, lose/win, lose/lose—covering all possibilities in decisions, much like Karl Popper’s fourfold reasoning tests ideas through trial, error, doubt, and rejection. Four directions—north, south, east, west—guide us; four elements—fire, earth, air, water—once explained the world; four schools shape Islam. Even a Sudanese Sufi song by Abdurrahim Albur’iy, Misr al-Mu’mina, celebrates four in nature and Islamic history:

“We call upon You with the four and the four books,  

And the 114 surahs [Qur’an],  

With the six angels and the four noble ones,  

With our Prophet Muhammad and the four caliphs,  

And the six after them and the four imams,  

And the seven jurists and our four poles,  

The pegs of the earth in the four directions,  

The substitutes and the ten chiefs in four,  

Preserve my three and four limbs,  

And keep our four sides from the resting place,  

Remove the body’s illness in its four temperaments,  

Bless our week until Wednesday (fourth day),  

The ninety days of the year in four,  

And our seven seas and our four rivers,  

We are saved from four and gathered with four.”

Fours—caliphs, books, rivers—tie faith and life together across time.

Philosophy Meets Faith: Why Four?

Why four? It’s simple and complete. Two (yes/no) is too basic, three (yes/maybe/no) lacks balance, and five’s cluttered. Four’s just right: two ways to agree (reason, belief), one to question (doubt), one to reject. Like a square, it’s steady, covering all sides—seen in nature, history, and our debates.

Nothing New Under the Sun

Don’t let Northern Nigeria’s Muslim online space hype fool you—this is old news. Ash’ari scholars like al-Ghazali sought proof, like Maqari; Athari ones like Ibn Taymiyya trusted texts, like Rijiyar Lemo. Mu’tazila favored reason; Maturidi blended it with faith. Four schools, four views—same as today.

It’s loud now because Maqari’s at the National Mosque, and Rijiyar Lemo’s books reach many. People care about the Prophet’s words. But it’s not a new split—just two notes in an old four-part tune.

Takeaway: Embrace the Quartet

Don’t worry about this debate. It’s not Islam breaking—it’s alive, with views fitting four natural slots: Maqari’s logic, Rijiyar Lemo’s trust, plus doubt and rejection. Next time Northern Nigeria’s Muslim online space heats up—over hadiths or anything—spot these four: thinkers, believers, questioners, and naysayers, blending into many combinations. It’s how we work. Maqari and Rijiyar Lemo pick two corners of a square we’ve all been drawing forever. It’s not chaos—it’s our pattern.

By Hadiza Abdulkadir

The Muslim Students’ Society of Nigeria (MSSN), Ahmadu Bello University (ABU), Zaria, has expressed deep sorrow over the tragic kidnapping of one of its members, Abdussalam Rabi’u Faskari, a 300-level MBBS student. 

The incident, which also involved two members of his family, occurred as they traveled home from the Government House of Katsina State.

Abdussalam, known for his academic excellence and deep religious commitment, is not just a promising medical student but also an accomplished Islamic scholar. 

He is an Imam at the College of Medical Sciences mosque. He also secured the first position in the 60Hizb category at the last National Musabaqa (Qur’anic competition).

The MSSN community, along with the wider Muslim ummah, is now calling for fervent prayers for his safe return, as well as for other victims of similar tragedies. 

The statement from MSSN urged all students to remain steadfast in their faith, emphasizing that “with hardship comes ease” (Qur’an 94:6).

This unfortunate event is part of the growing security crisis affecting Nigeria, where kidnappings for ransom have become alarmingly frequent. 

Calls for more decisive government intervention and lasting security solutions continue to mount as families and communities grapple with these distressing incidents.

By Uzair Adam

Kiru Tahfeezul Qur’an Secondary School has graduated 1,643 students who have memorized the Holy Qur’an.

The graduation ceremony, held on Sunday at the school’s conference hall, celebrated students who completed their studies between 2019 and 2024.

In a statement, Balarabe Abdullahi Kiru, Director of Public Enlightenment at the Kano State Ministry of Education, disclosed the achievement.

Speaking at the event, the Kano State Commissioner of Education, Dr. Ali Haruna Makoda, congratulated the graduates, describing their accomplishment as a divine blessing.

He commended the school for its role in promoting Qur’anic and Islamic education, recognizing it as one of the best in the state.

Represented by the ministry’s Permanent Secretary, Alhaji Bashir Baffa Muhammad, the commissioner announced the state government’s plan to renovate the school under Governor Abba Kabir Yusuf’s administration.

He noted that a team of engineers had recently assessed the school’s infrastructure to prepare a bill of quantity for the renovation.

Dr. Makoda reiterated the government’s commitment to improving education through various initiatives aimed at enhancing learning conditions.

He urged the graduates to uphold the values instilled in them and be exemplary representatives of their alma mater.

Earlier, the school’s director, Alhaji Mamuda Abdullahi, highlighted the institution’s impact, noting that many of its alumni have attained prominence within and outside Kano.

He added that the school currently has 1,400 students from all 44 local government areas of the state and beyond.

Dignitaries at the event included the Chairman of Kiru Local Government Area, Alhaji Abdullahi Sa’idu Kafin Maiyaki, and the Executive Secretary, Alhaji Rabiu Saleh Gwarzo.

The ceremony underscored the school’s commitment to quality Islamic education and the Kano State Government’s efforts to support learning and infrastructure development.

By Muhammad Sulaiman

Salwan Momika, the Iraqi refugee known for organizing Quran-burning demonstrations in Sweden, was shot and killed on Wednesday night in Södertälje, near Stockholm.

According to Swedish authorities, police responded to reports of gunfire at an apartment building, where they found Momika with multiple gunshot wounds. He was later pronounced dead. Five individuals have been arrested in connection with the shooting as investigations continue.

Momika gained international notoriety in 2023 for desecrating copies of the Quran, sparking widespread protests and condemnation from Muslim-majority countries. He moved to Sweden in 2018 and had been granted a three-year residence permit.

At the time of his death, he was facing trial for incitement to hatred, with a verdict scheduled for Thursday morning. The court has since postponed the ruling.

Swedish Prime Minister Ulf Kristersson confirmed that the country’s security service is involved in the investigation, citing possible foreign links to the killing.

Authorities are yet to disclose a motive, but the killing has raised concerns over tensions surrounding Momika’s controversial actions.

By Abubakar Aminu Ibrahim

Language is a powerful tool. It shapes how we think, communicate, and understand our beliefs. In the Islamic faith, words carry immense weight, for they are tied to sacred meanings and spiritual truths. This is why using the term “Qur’anic festival” to describe any event associated with the Qur’an is both misplaced and misleading. While the word “festival” may seem innocuous, its implications are incompatible with the spiritual essence of the Qur’an and the traditions it upholds.

A festival is often marked by joy, festivities, and entertainment. While it can sometimes carry religious undertones, its modern usage is predominantly cultural or secular. On the other hand, the Qur’an is a divine revelation—a book of guidance, wisdom, and moral discipline. It is meant to elevate the soul, inspire reflection, and connect individuals to their Creator. Associating the Qur’an with a “festival” risks reducing its sacredness to something casual, even trivial.

Consider the Islamic celebrations of Eid al-Fitr and Eid al-Adha. These are joyous occasions deeply rooted in worship, gratitude, and submission to Allah. Their joy is spiritual and reflective, not superficial. To call these occasions “festivals” would diminish their profound meanings. Similarly, attaching the word “festival” to the Qur’an creates a disconnect between its sacred purpose and the secular image that the term often evokes.

Moreover, using the term “Qur’anic festival” opens the door to misinterpretation. To the uninformed, it might conjure images of parades, loud music, or revelry—activities that Islam often cautions against when taken to excess. For instance, a Qur’anic recitation event might aim to deepen one’s connection to Allah, but labelling it a “festival” could unintentionally attract a crowd expecting entertainment rather than spiritual enlightenment. Precision in language is vital in Islamic traditions, and terms like “gathering” or “symposium” better preserve the solemnity of such occasions.

The Qur’an is not just a book; it is Allah’s final message to humanity, and its recitation, study, and understanding are acts of worship. To frame these sacred practices as part of a “festival” undermines the dignity of the Qur’an and the reverence Muslims owe to it. Imagine referring to a gathering for tahajjud (night prayers) or a Qur’anic competition as a “festival.” Such terminology strips the event of its spiritual depth and misrepresents its purpose.

It is also important to, with all sense of humility, caution scholars and traditional leaders against carelessly inventing new terms or traditions on a whim. If some have historically criticised the celebration of Maulud (the Prophet’s birthday) as an innovation, why then should the term “Qur’anic festival” be any less scrutinised? This is not to argue the correctness or incorrectness of the concept of Maulud, Qur’anic events or similar practices but to highlight the inconsistency in applying principles of linguistic and theological precision. The issue is, first and foremost, with the choice of the word “festival” attached to the Qur’an.

The Qur’an deserves words that uplift its message, preserve its sanctity, and reflect its divine status. It is a guidance for humanity, a light for those in darkness, and a connection to Allah that transcends worldly pleasures. Let us honour its dignity by rejecting terms that fail to encapsulate its sacred purpose.

Abubakar Aminu Ibrahim (AbuMuhd) can be reached via matazu247@gmail.com.

By Isma’il Hashim Abubakar 

Dr. Bashir Aliyu Umar was the second teacher whose tafsir I did not miss not only this year’s Ramadan but also many years ago. I had the privilege of attending the tafsir personally several times, which was conducted at Al-Furqān Mosque at GRA, Kano before I left Nigeria five years ago. Dr. Bashir’s erudition and dexterity in addressing contemporary issues that were paraded to him while using sophisticated jurisprudential techniques are enough credentials to attract listeners and students like me.

Additionally, I personally cherished the tafsir session because whenever I heard Malam Sa’idu Harun, the recitation assistant (mai jan baki), it reminded me of Shaykh Ja’far’s tafsir which always proved unique with the recitation of Malam Sa’idu. Dr Bashir’s tafsir would appeal to intellectuals and listeners with a background in Western education. 

Dr Bashir explained verses which mention scientific and universal phenomena excellently and more lucidly. Atheists would find the correct answers to many of their questions and clear up many misconceptions through the exegetical exercises undertaken by Dr Bashir. Drawing on a view of the late Shaykh Isa Waziri on a similar issue, Dr. Bashir, in one of his tafsir sessions, argued that Nigerians are likely robbed of divine bounties similar to what befell the inhabitants of Saba’. 

Dr Bashir is an extraordinarily easygoing and calm person, so much so that at times, he allowed his recitation assistant to decide which question he would respond to either due to its substance or when there was no time and the recitation assistant was eager to fill the venue with his sonorous voice. 

I was surprised, however, when during the closing session of this year’s tafsir on the 28th day of Ramadan, Dr Bashir refused to answer a question about the legal status of bleaching in Islam, which, according to the questioner, has been said to be lawful by some scholars. Dr Bashir’s refusal to respond to the question elicited the interest of the audience to unanimously thundered “Allahu Akbar”, which left a suggestion that the answer to the question was well known to everyone and it might have just been posed to trigger needless, belated controversy. Unlike many scholars, Dr Bashir does not bother to ask new converts if they were forced or they willingly chose and decided to embrace Islam. 

One of the unique episodes with which Dr Bashir’s final tafsir has been characterised for some years is the courtesy visit of his nonagenarian father to bless the occasion and, at times, make sobering reflections on some of the clerical trajectories of his scholar-son. To my knowledge, only Dr Bashir is continuously lucky to have his aged and royal figure father appear during his tafsir and publicly endorse his son’s venture.

Isma’il writes from Rabat and is reachable via ismailiiit18@gmail.com.