It was after Asr prayer, during the long golden hours of the afternoon sun, that I first heard her name spoken with such quiet strength—Sawda bint Zamʿa, may Allah be pleased with her. I was a young girl back then, not more than ten years old, trying to carry a small jug of water, though it wobbled in my hands with every step. You won’t find my name in any surah, but I lived through those difficult days in Mecca, when the small group of believers around the Prophet Muhammad ﷺ were mocked, beaten, and chased from their homes.
My father was one of those early Muslims. He would come home with bruises on his face and his lips moving in dhikr—remembering Allah’s Name. But I didn’t understand why my mother cried in the dark. I only knew that the world around us was hard, and we had little to give.
Then came the news of the death of Khadijah—may Allah be pleased with her—the Prophet’s wife. Her death left a hole not just in his heart, but in the heart of every Muslim. She had stood by him when no one else would. And now, the man whom Allah had chosen to guide us stood alone, grieving.
That’s when the marriage to Sawda happened.
At first, I didn’t understand it. She was older. She had fled to Abyssinia—what people now call Ethiopia—to escape the torture in Mecca. Some whispered that it was a marriage of need, not of love. But I saw something else. Sawda made the Prophet smile again. Quietly. Kindly. She didn’t have the wealth of Khadijah, but she brought peace into their home.
One night, while I was helping my mother grind flour outside our home, I overheard some elders speaking. “He was offered the moon split in two,” one said, shaking his head. “And still, they didn’t believe.” He was talking about the miracle when Allah split the moon for the Prophet—something true believers still remembered with awe, even though the leaders of Quraysh refused to accept the truth.
That was the same year the hardships grew worse.
In Sawda, I noticed what I had not before: steadiness. While others were afraid, she brought meals to the needy. She cared for the Prophet’s daughters like they were her own. My older sister said once, “Sometimes, strength wears a soft face.” I didn’t understand what she meant, not until years later.
Looking back now, I see clearly that her presence gave the Prophet space to carry his mission forward. After sorrow, Allah gave him comfort. After loss, He gave him loyal support. Sawda’s marriage to the Prophet wasn’t just a kindness from one servant of Allah to another. It was a blessing for all of us.
Some say you have to witness a battle to see true courage. But I saw it in a woman who served without complaint, who smiled in the days of hardship, and who stood beside Rasulullah ﷺ when belief was a dangerous thing.
Sawda may not have split the moon. But Allah used her to hold the light steady while others learned to see.
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Story Note: Inspired by historical accounts of Sawda bint Zamʿa (RA), the early Muslims’ migration to Abyssinia, the Prophet ﷺ’s marriage after Khadijah's death, and the miracle of the splitting of the moon (Surah Al-Qamar 54:1–2; Sahih al-Bukhari 4864).
It was after Asr prayer, during the long golden hours of the afternoon sun, that I first heard her name spoken with such quiet strength—Sawda bint Zamʿa, may Allah be pleased with her. I was a young girl back then, not more than ten years old, trying to carry a small jug of water, though it wobbled in my hands with every step. You won’t find my name in any surah, but I lived through those difficult days in Mecca, when the small group of believers around the Prophet Muhammad ﷺ were mocked, beaten, and chased from their homes.
My father was one of those early Muslims. He would come home with bruises on his face and his lips moving in dhikr—remembering Allah’s Name. But I didn’t understand why my mother cried in the dark. I only knew that the world around us was hard, and we had little to give.
Then came the news of the death of Khadijah—may Allah be pleased with her—the Prophet’s wife. Her death left a hole not just in his heart, but in the heart of every Muslim. She had stood by him when no one else would. And now, the man whom Allah had chosen to guide us stood alone, grieving.
That’s when the marriage to Sawda happened.
At first, I didn’t understand it. She was older. She had fled to Abyssinia—what people now call Ethiopia—to escape the torture in Mecca. Some whispered that it was a marriage of need, not of love. But I saw something else. Sawda made the Prophet smile again. Quietly. Kindly. She didn’t have the wealth of Khadijah, but she brought peace into their home.
One night, while I was helping my mother grind flour outside our home, I overheard some elders speaking. “He was offered the moon split in two,” one said, shaking his head. “And still, they didn’t believe.” He was talking about the miracle when Allah split the moon for the Prophet—something true believers still remembered with awe, even though the leaders of Quraysh refused to accept the truth.
That was the same year the hardships grew worse.
In Sawda, I noticed what I had not before: steadiness. While others were afraid, she brought meals to the needy. She cared for the Prophet’s daughters like they were her own. My older sister said once, “Sometimes, strength wears a soft face.” I didn’t understand what she meant, not until years later.
Looking back now, I see clearly that her presence gave the Prophet space to carry his mission forward. After sorrow, Allah gave him comfort. After loss, He gave him loyal support. Sawda’s marriage to the Prophet wasn’t just a kindness from one servant of Allah to another. It was a blessing for all of us.
Some say you have to witness a battle to see true courage. But I saw it in a woman who served without complaint, who smiled in the days of hardship, and who stood beside Rasulullah ﷺ when belief was a dangerous thing.
Sawda may not have split the moon. But Allah used her to hold the light steady while others learned to see.
—
Story Note: Inspired by historical accounts of Sawda bint Zamʿa (RA), the early Muslims’ migration to Abyssinia, the Prophet ﷺ’s marriage after Khadijah's death, and the miracle of the splitting of the moon (Surah Al-Qamar 54:1–2; Sahih al-Bukhari 4864).
