I still remember the way my mother’s hands trembled when she tied the cloth around my shoulders. Her voice was steady, but her eyes were red from crying. “Stay close,” she said. “And do not let go of our group.”
You won’t find my name in any hadith, but I was there. I was a boy when we left Mecca — the sacred city where the Kaaba stands — heading for the land they called Abyssinia, far away across the sea. I didn’t understand everything back then. I only knew one thing: we had to leave because we believed in Allah — the one true God.
The Quraysh — the powerful tribe in Mecca — didn’t want us to follow Prophet Muhammad ﷺ. They worshipped idols made of wood and stone and didn’t like how he taught that only Allah should be worshipped. They were angry, especially with those who followed him early on. They mocked us, beat some of the men, and made life impossible for the women and children. My father had welts on his back that never healed right. We had no protection. So when word came that there was a Christian king in Abyssinia — a fair ruler named the Negus — who would give us refuge, we saw it as a sign of Allah’s mercy.
The journey was long and frightening. I remember the creaking of the wooden ship as we crossed the Red Sea, the salty wind burning my eyes, and my mother whispering du’a — prayers — under her breath the whole time. I was scared. Leaving the only home I knew, traveling to a strange land — it felt like being pushed into darkness.
But my fear didn’t last.
The first time I saw the hills of Abyssinia, I felt a strange peace. The people looked different, spoke with gentle voices I didn’t understand, and yet... they welcomed us. Our leaders, like Ja’far ibn Abi Talib — the Prophet's ﷺ cousin — stood before the Negus to explain why we had come, telling him about the message of Islam: that we worship Allah alone, care for the weak, and tell the truth. I heard Ja’far recite verses about Maryam — Mary, the mother of Prophet Isa (Jesus) — from the Qur’an, and the Christian king began to cry. He said the words we believed and the message of Prophet Isa were from the same light.
He gave us protection. No one chased us. No one mocked the way we prayed.
Living in Abyssinia felt like breathing fresh air. We missed Mecca — missed the Prophet ﷺ — but we were safe. Every morning, we gathered for prayer. Hope slowly returned. I saw it in my mother’s smile.
Now, when I look back, I realize something: I thought we were running away. But really, we were following Allah's path. He opened a door for us where we could not see one.
That journey taught me what true tawakkul — trust in Allah — feels like. Not when everything is easy, but when you're standing at the edge of the sea, unsure if there's land on the other side, and you take the step anyway.
Because you believe.
—
Story Note: Inspired by the early migration to Abyssinia as recorded in authentic seerah (Prophetic biography) sources, including Ibn Ishaq and Ibn Kathir.
I still remember the way my mother’s hands trembled when she tied the cloth around my shoulders. Her voice was steady, but her eyes were red from crying. “Stay close,” she said. “And do not let go of our group.”
You won’t find my name in any hadith, but I was there. I was a boy when we left Mecca — the sacred city where the Kaaba stands — heading for the land they called Abyssinia, far away across the sea. I didn’t understand everything back then. I only knew one thing: we had to leave because we believed in Allah — the one true God.
The Quraysh — the powerful tribe in Mecca — didn’t want us to follow Prophet Muhammad ﷺ. They worshipped idols made of wood and stone and didn’t like how he taught that only Allah should be worshipped. They were angry, especially with those who followed him early on. They mocked us, beat some of the men, and made life impossible for the women and children. My father had welts on his back that never healed right. We had no protection. So when word came that there was a Christian king in Abyssinia — a fair ruler named the Negus — who would give us refuge, we saw it as a sign of Allah’s mercy.
The journey was long and frightening. I remember the creaking of the wooden ship as we crossed the Red Sea, the salty wind burning my eyes, and my mother whispering du’a — prayers — under her breath the whole time. I was scared. Leaving the only home I knew, traveling to a strange land — it felt like being pushed into darkness.
But my fear didn’t last.
The first time I saw the hills of Abyssinia, I felt a strange peace. The people looked different, spoke with gentle voices I didn’t understand, and yet... they welcomed us. Our leaders, like Ja’far ibn Abi Talib — the Prophet's ﷺ cousin — stood before the Negus to explain why we had come, telling him about the message of Islam: that we worship Allah alone, care for the weak, and tell the truth. I heard Ja’far recite verses about Maryam — Mary, the mother of Prophet Isa (Jesus) — from the Qur’an, and the Christian king began to cry. He said the words we believed and the message of Prophet Isa were from the same light.
He gave us protection. No one chased us. No one mocked the way we prayed.
Living in Abyssinia felt like breathing fresh air. We missed Mecca — missed the Prophet ﷺ — but we were safe. Every morning, we gathered for prayer. Hope slowly returned. I saw it in my mother’s smile.
Now, when I look back, I realize something: I thought we were running away. But really, we were following Allah's path. He opened a door for us where we could not see one.
That journey taught me what true tawakkul — trust in Allah — feels like. Not when everything is easy, but when you're standing at the edge of the sea, unsure if there's land on the other side, and you take the step anyway.
Because you believe.
—
Story Note: Inspired by the early migration to Abyssinia as recorded in authentic seerah (Prophetic biography) sources, including Ibn Ishaq and Ibn Kathir.
