I had never met the man before. His clothes were different, his accent was strange, and his skin was darker than mine. But that day, he became my brother.
My name isn’t in any hadith, but I was there in Madinah — the blessed city that welcomed the Prophet Muhammad ﷺ when he migrated from Mecca. I was among the Ansar — the Helpers — the Muslims from Madinah who pledged our loyalty to the Messenger of Allah ﷺ when others turned him away.
I remember the day the Muhajirun — the Emigrants from Mecca — arrived. They had left behind everything: their homes, their businesses, even their families. They came with nothing but their faith. And yet, we didn’t see them as strangers. Prophet Muhammad ﷺ did something I’ll never forget. He took one man from the Muhajirun and paired him with one from the Ansar — making a pact of brotherhood between them.
“That is your brother now,” the Prophet ﷺ said. “Share with him and care for him as you would your own kin.”
I was paired with Nafi. He had fled Mecca with barely more than the clothes on his back. His face was worn from the journey, yet there was a calm strength in his eyes. That evening, I took him to my home and said, “Half of what I own is yours, brother. Even my orchard. Choose which trees you like.”
But Nafi only smiled and said, “May Allah bless your wealth and family. Just show me the market. I will earn my living myself.”
That moment struck me. He didn’t want my belongings. He didn’t want ease. He wanted dignity through work and prayer. I had never seen someone rely so deeply on Allah and yet be so humble toward others.
Over the months, we grew close. We prayed together, ate together, and shared our stories — of Meccan struggles and Madinan hopes. I told him about my orchard; he told me about how he hid in a cave with his mother to avoid the Quraysh — the tribe that had persecuted them for believing in the One God.
Years later, in the tenth year after the Prophet’s ﷺ migration, we stood together on the plain of Arafat during the Farewell Pilgrimage. The Prophet ﷺ had gathered over a hundred thousand Muslims. I looked around — Arabs and non-Arabs, rich and poor, dark-skinned and light-skinned, all dressed the same in white cloth, standing as one ummah — one nation under Allah.
That day, the Prophet ﷺ reminded us, “No Arab is better than a non-Arab. No white person is better than a black person. You are all from Adam, and Adam was from dust.”
I remember Nafi looking at me with tears in his eyes. “We were strangers once,” he said. “But Allah made us brothers.”
And I thanked Allah for joining our hearts.
Some say it was a simple act — pairing one man with another. But to me, it was the moment the world began to change — when brotherhood was no longer about blood, but about belief, mercy, and love for the sake of Allah.
—
Story Note: Inspired by the seerah (Prophetic biography), including the Prophet Muhammad’s ﷺ establishment of brotherhood (mu’akhah) between the Emigrants (Muhajirun) and the Helpers (Ansar) in Madinah, and his Farewell Sermon during the pilgrimage in the year 10 AH.
I had never met the man before. His clothes were different, his accent was strange, and his skin was darker than mine. But that day, he became my brother.
My name isn’t in any hadith, but I was there in Madinah — the blessed city that welcomed the Prophet Muhammad ﷺ when he migrated from Mecca. I was among the Ansar — the Helpers — the Muslims from Madinah who pledged our loyalty to the Messenger of Allah ﷺ when others turned him away.
I remember the day the Muhajirun — the Emigrants from Mecca — arrived. They had left behind everything: their homes, their businesses, even their families. They came with nothing but their faith. And yet, we didn’t see them as strangers. Prophet Muhammad ﷺ did something I’ll never forget. He took one man from the Muhajirun and paired him with one from the Ansar — making a pact of brotherhood between them.
“That is your brother now,” the Prophet ﷺ said. “Share with him and care for him as you would your own kin.”
I was paired with Nafi. He had fled Mecca with barely more than the clothes on his back. His face was worn from the journey, yet there was a calm strength in his eyes. That evening, I took him to my home and said, “Half of what I own is yours, brother. Even my orchard. Choose which trees you like.”
But Nafi only smiled and said, “May Allah bless your wealth and family. Just show me the market. I will earn my living myself.”
That moment struck me. He didn’t want my belongings. He didn’t want ease. He wanted dignity through work and prayer. I had never seen someone rely so deeply on Allah and yet be so humble toward others.
Over the months, we grew close. We prayed together, ate together, and shared our stories — of Meccan struggles and Madinan hopes. I told him about my orchard; he told me about how he hid in a cave with his mother to avoid the Quraysh — the tribe that had persecuted them for believing in the One God.
Years later, in the tenth year after the Prophet’s ﷺ migration, we stood together on the plain of Arafat during the Farewell Pilgrimage. The Prophet ﷺ had gathered over a hundred thousand Muslims. I looked around — Arabs and non-Arabs, rich and poor, dark-skinned and light-skinned, all dressed the same in white cloth, standing as one ummah — one nation under Allah.
That day, the Prophet ﷺ reminded us, “No Arab is better than a non-Arab. No white person is better than a black person. You are all from Adam, and Adam was from dust.”
I remember Nafi looking at me with tears in his eyes. “We were strangers once,” he said. “But Allah made us brothers.”
And I thanked Allah for joining our hearts.
Some say it was a simple act — pairing one man with another. But to me, it was the moment the world began to change — when brotherhood was no longer about blood, but about belief, mercy, and love for the sake of Allah.
—
Story Note: Inspired by the seerah (Prophetic biography), including the Prophet Muhammad’s ﷺ establishment of brotherhood (mu’akhah) between the Emigrants (Muhajirun) and the Helpers (Ansar) in Madinah, and his Farewell Sermon during the pilgrimage in the year 10 AH.
