Journey to Timbuktu (2009) Part Ten After returning to the Imam’s house, we were seated in the room we had previously occupied. However, now the room was illuminated with the light beaming from the faces of religious scholars, both young and old. The senior scholars were all adorned with the blue gowns that are the hallmark of scholars throughout West Africa and the Western Sahara region. They also were handsomely adorned with stately turbans, all meticulously wrapped in a common fashion. The younger scholars were all wearing Arab style thawbs of various colors. None were dressed in the traditional blue, nor were they wearing turbans. As we began our session of discussion and questions and answers, it was clear that the older scholars, as demonstrated by the Imam of Timbuktu earlier, were more comfortable speaking French than Arabic, with the exception of two or three who did not know French. As for the younger scholars, all of them had studied in Arab countries, —Egypt, Morocco, Libya, Tunis, or Saudi Arabia, hence, they were more conversant in Arabic. As we became deeply immersed in a stimulating conversation it was clear that there was a deep sense of solidarity between the two groups characterized by mutual respect and love. I remarked on this perception and one of the younger scholars replied that this the way of Timbuktu, he would reiterate, “These older scholars are our teachers and we will never disrespect them.” To see such harmony was a real joy. In many Muslim countries, there is a clear tension between the older more traditionally trained scholars, and the younger scholars or students of knowledge who educated outside of their countries. As our discussion progressed it was also clear that there was one thing all of the scholars were in agreement on: the need for a training school that would train students to a respectable level in Arabic and the religious sciences. Such a school, they felt, was necessary in order to reverse the religious ignorance that had descended over the Sahel in general. Graduates of such a school would be able to go to towns and villages far and wide in order to teach the people. We all agreed that it was a laudable idea. I mentioned how the freed slaves in the American South in the aftermath of the American Civil War were largely illiterate and how a campaign to build a network of teacher’s colleges throughout the Southern United States was one of the major steps in the elimination of much of that illiteracy within a generation. We promised to look into ways we could help these noble scholars build their school. May Allah grace us the uplifting winds of Providence. After the meeting with the Imams, we went to the Sankore Mosque for the Dhuhr prayer. This is a beautiful adobe mosque, smaller but in much better shape than the Grand Mosque, which as we mentioned is currently being renovated. After the prayer the Imam of the mosque gave us a brief tour. He directed us to an area in the mosque where he mentioned that prayers were answered. I made sure to pray there. Such a claim could not be baseless. Generations of pious and even saintly men had prayed there, and their words, the whisper of which gave the mosque a distinct mystical aura, have been passed down through successive generations. Being a recipient of their news was a great honor. May Allah accept all of our prayers from wherever they issue. I reflected deeply on the fact that it is certain that Ahmad Baba prayed in that spot. Mansa Musa likely prayed in that spot. His half brother Abu Bakr the Second, the Emperor of Mali before him, a man who had led an armada of two thousand ships out into the Atlantic, heading towards the Americas, never to return, probably prayed in that spot. Ibrahim Abdur Rahman, the Prince among slaves, who had studied in Timbuktu during his youth, is sure to have prayed in that spot. Now I was here in Timbuktu, in the naturally air-conditioned shade of the Sankore Mosque praying in that spot. It is Allah who answers all prayers, but He has made special times and places where the reward of our worship is magnified and amplified. During our tour of the mosque, several members of our group squeezed through the narrow passage and ascended the aging stairs leading to the top of the minaret. From that vantage point they were able to take many fascinating pictures of the surrounding town. It was very gracious of the Imam to allow those who ascended to the top this honor, for neither the stairs nor the roof was designed to bear their collective weight. After their descent, the Imam and several of his colleagues chatted with us for a brief while before we boarded the bus to return to the hotel for lunch and a brief nap. Our day, though, was far from over. After a brief lunch and a quick nap our group gathered for a meeting with the Governor of Timbuktu. We had been scheduled to meet with him earlier that day. However, the schedule was too tight for us. He had also been busy, called away from his office attending to some business. Our paths had briefly crossed at the home of the Imam of Timbuktu during our meeting with the scholars of the city. The Governor had stopped by briefly to pay his respects to the assembled Imams and to greet us. He was a well-groomed stately gentleman, who was formerly a Colonel in the Malian Army. His gentle demeanor barely hid a seriousness and sternness that led a member of our party to comment that he appeared to be the kind of person you did not want to cross. We sat before him in the cool, shaded courtyard of the Hendrina Khan Hotel and listened intently as he slowly began to give us a lesson on the history of the city in halting English. When he realized that a French translator was available he quickly switched to French and the details of his presentation became a lot richer. Much of what he presented had been mentioned earlier by the Imam at his house. He did present us some details about his own life and how he ascended to the governorship of Timbuktu. He kindly offered his good offices to us and urged us to continue the great work being undertaken by Islamic Relief, which he mentioned government officials were well aware of. After his departure, we prepared for dinner and a trip to one of the larger cemeteries in the city. We were told that one hundred sixty saints were buried there, so we decided to go there and pay our respects. After dinner, and Magrib then Isha prayers, we set out for the cemetery. Upon arriving during the dark of night we found a well lit, walled burial ground that could well have been in Cairo or Damascus. We stopped and issued the greeting of our Prophet, peace upon him, for the deceased, “Peace upon you, inhabitants of the abode of believers. God-willing, we will soon be joining you.” We then prayed and left. Upon returning to our car we were informed that we were at the wrong cemetery! So we proceeded to the right one and repeated the litany we had engaged in at the previous one. As we stood there beneath the African sky, our feet slightly depressed into the ubiquitous sand, the souls of the generations of righteous believers who surrounded us seemed to be calling out to us across the expanse of time separating our lives from theirs. They seemed to be welcoming us home on the one hand, and urging us to return to our homes in the western lands to let the people there know of Islam and its beauty. It is ironic that although some of our ancestors were brought to America in chains, it is the only home we have. The spirits of the mothers, fathers, brothers and sisters of those souls who had been so violently torn from their homes and families seemed to be urging us to stake our claim in that strange and distant land filled with so many contradictions. The serenity and depth of the moment was interrupted for me. Some meat I had eaten the previous day had apparently been left out in the sun too long and now it caught up with me. I was overcome by nausea. I moved to the side, away from the graves, for a violent fit of vomiting, the effects of which I was able to completely cover in the sand before returning to the other members of our group to catch the final part of the prayer that was being recited by Imam Talib Abdul Rashid. We returned solemnly to our hotel. Most of the group probably slept a few hours, but I was up all night afflicted with alternating fits of vomiting and diarrhea. Despite the trauma of that night, and the lack of sleep, I actually felt much better in the morning. We got up early and prayed Fajr. I skipped the breakfast. Before 6:00am we were on the road heading back to Bamako. As the mosques, homes and markets of Timbuktu faded into the distance behind us, I could not help but think how blessed I was. I had been to a place most people cannot even dream of going. I had met righteous people who carried the heritage of the Prophets, peace upon them, in their hearts, I had heard the whispers of the ancestors, and I had visited a place that owed its very existence solely to Islam. All Praise is for Allah!
Posted on: Thu, 27 Feb 2014 07:15:47 +0000
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