In Search of My Qawwam (Provider/Protector) After 5 Years of Singledom: “Qawwam, Take Me Away!"

By Ayisha Karim

The Life-Altering Separation: March 23, 2014 

This past March marked 5 years that I’ve been single without a husband to provide for me in the traditional way that our religion dictates. But the truth is, my ex-husband wasn’t providing in the traditional Islamic manner prior to the separation, and subsequent divorce, long before that turning point.

I’ll leave it at that. I won’t go into the details of the nature of our bank accounts and work schedules to prove to you why I make such a claim. Instead, I’ll simply tell you that at the end of March 2014, I was forced to leave my family home of 10 years, with a fraction of our belongings that I primarily picked out, without my two children ages 1 and 3, and abruptly settled into a moderately-sized, one-room suite in my oldest brother’s home, where he and his two teenage children were also living. It was a Sunday at the end of the spring term of school, and I had to pull myself together the following Monday morning, and prepare to teach my full load of math classes - business as usual.

The days that followed were filled with a sadness that I can’t bring myself to fully recount, a sadness like none I’d experienced in the 35 years leading up to it, a sadness that led me to cry in the bathroom stall at work or irrationally fantasize about ways that I could escape and move past this torture/disaster that was my current reality.

The separation on March 23, 2014, meant that I was suddenly without my two babies, not even school-age, for whom I’d prayed and longed for over a decade, often doubtful that they would ever be, (within a marriage that I never imagined would end, surely not the way that it did).

Days of driving thirty miles on school nights, to and from, to see my two children at a house where I wasn’t welcomed yet was (legally) in my name. Exhausted, disillusioned, half broken … yet faithful. Only God knows how I made it through that period.

Alhamdulillah, on the weekends I brought my children to my brother's house.

But that night of March 23, 2014, I left the man who was charged with being my provider, my qawwam (in Arabic), and was graciously placed in the hands of another man who’d been my qawwam all along, my oldest brother Khalil. The same older brother who told my mom that I looked like an Africanese (African mixed with Chinese) when she first brought me home from the hospital as a newborn – very keen observation for a 5 year old.

The ayat (verse) in our holy book, Qur’an, that speaks to this role of men (mostly ascribed to the husband) comes from the chapter "The Women":

 “Men are the upholders and maintainers of women by virtue of that in which God has favored some of them above others and by virtue of their spending from their wealth" (The Study Quran Translation) 

(In Arabic: Ar-Rijaalu Qawwaamuna 'ala Nisaa’i bimaa Faddalallahu ba’dahum 'ala ba’din wa bimaa anfaquu min amwaalihim)  

5 Years Later, Today, 2019   

Fast-forward to today, through days in family court, moving out of my brother’s home and securing my own cozy spot – enough for me and my two kids - co-parenting plans, child support payments, and my ex remarrying a year ago. I contemplate what I desire most in my future husband.

Yes! I’m still very hopeful. I alternate back and forth between 1) the moderately devout Muslim (like myself), who stimulates me intellectually, spiritually, and emotionally, who I can ultimately trust to be loyal, consistent, and kind, 2) the man who I’m attracted to and drawn to physically, who creates chemical sparks that I’ve missed over these five long years, whom I love and who loves me (a sister deserves that, right?! Absolutely), and 3) the solid brother who will pay the bills, take the trash out, handle car mechanical issues, and play catch & soccer with my son and appropriately discipline him when I can’t get through to him.

For some reason, these three versions of my future husband don’t smoothly or seamlessly coexist. Perhaps, it’s because of my limited close-up/real world experiences with such men. Perhaps, it’s a lack of faith in the miracles that God can bring into my life. Perhaps, my inability to imagine and search for all three of these in one man stems from my own fears and insecurities in being compatible with such a well-rounded, phenomenal mate. Will I be as solid, desirable, loyal, and phenomenal as a wife?

Wait! Let’s dissect that last part a bit more. This insecurity. I’ll be honest: I’m triggered every time a marriage prospect, or just a man for that matter, questions me about how I want to be provided for, i.e., “Do you want to keep working or do you want to stay home?”

God forbid the phrase “gold digger” pops up. I’m like an atomic bomb waiting to go off. Simply put, I’m very sensitive about finding a spouse who DESIRES and plans to be my qawwam (provider) along with doing so out of a religious duty. I usually respond, “Although financial support is not the main trait or benefit I seek in a future mate, I would love for a brother to WANT to provide for me and hold it down! [Geez]” Let’s just say, I’ve spilled many a tear over this topic.

Along with occasionally feeling inadequate in my state of not having a qawwam in (the role of) a husband, I confide in God as to whether I should look ultimately for a man to carry out this role or be content with the ways in which God reveals that He, alone, is the Provider, the Qawwam. Of course, God usually reminds me of the latter – that I should only depend on Him – and that He uses His devout servants, humans, to carry out His Will, and oftentimes in ways that astonish, tickle, and humble me. Let me share with you one of those moments. In my Biggie (Notorious B.I.G.) voice, I gotta story to tell!    

The Long Journey to Houston, Texas  

On May 30th, the father of one of my dearest childhood friends passed, Imam Qasim Ahmed, one of the most prominent, well-respected Islamic leaders under the tutelage of our beloved Imam Warith Deen Mohammed (may God be pleased with them both). I secured a flight out of Atlanta to Houston – one layover in Dallas – determined to be there for my dear friend Huraiyah and her family.

Soon after arriving in Dallas, my connecting flight was delayed. Moments earlier, I spotted a group of African-American brothers, who seemed familiar and whom I suspected were headed to the same funeral. But I intentionally walked quickly pass them so as not to engage in any small talk, not wanting any undue attention as a single Muslimah with a reputation to uphold, lol. Later, I’d have to depend on these brothers to get to my final destination.

Within an hour of learning that our flight was delayed, the American Airlines monitor flashed the update that our flight had actually been cancelled. A group of us immediately picked up our belongings and headed to the customer service desk as if this was a regular part of the passenger experience with this particular airline. I noticed the same group of brothers in the customer service line. At that point, both parties were more comfortable to engage in dialogue certain that we had the same end goal in mind – Imam Qasim’s janazah (funeral).

It was 8/9 pm Saturday night at that point, and the funeral service was the following morning at 10 am. We had decisions to make and had to make them soon. At that very moment, the highlight of my trip began, and mind you it had already been quite eventful.

I must have possessed an air of confidence, diplomacy, and compassion as I stood there in that line because out of nowhere a Korean woman in her fifties or sixties approached me, handed me her cell phone, and gestured that I speak to the person on the other end. It was her adult daughter on the other end, asking that I share the status of the flight changes.

This went on for at least another hour or two until it was approaching midnight and our flight to Houston was being pushed back every hour. The five Muslim brothers also traveling to the janazah were busy making backup plans, which they shared with me: “Sis, we’re probably going to rent a van and drive to Houston three hours away. You’re welcome to come with us.”

Do I take the risk of a flight that never makes it out of Dallas in time or jump in the van with these seemingly trustworthy brothers, no matter how awkward it may prove to be?!

By that point, one of the five brothers had noticed the Korean woman’s dilemma and jumped right on in to assist by downloading the language translator app on his phone, and proceeded to communicate with her. A group of us had bonded over this airline chaos, and a young Native American woman among us also stepped in to help the Korean elder and found herself on the phone with not just her daughter but now her son as well. Next thing I know, the Native woman informed me that the Korean woman’s children wished for her to join the caravan to Houston with me and the five brothers.

WAIT, HOLD UP! This had gone too far, and I for one couldn’t be more tickled! Reacting from a place of stereotypes of Asian people’s opinions of Black people, I thought to myself, surely there’s a breakdown in communication! As all seven us, Korean woman included, said our goodbyes to the group at the gate, jumped on the train to the ground transportation area, I continued to speak to the stranger’s son. He texted: “First of all thank you so much for taking care of my mom. She doesn’t speak English. Could you tell me what is going on now.”

And just when the brothers had secured the keys to the rental van, her son responded as I suspected her children would have all along. After my giving him the final, comprehensive status update and travel plans, the Korean woman’s son made the executive decision, “I think it’s best that she wait for the flight … Did she go back to the gate? … Have a safe trip.” The American flight was then scheduled to leave at 12:13 am, but in reality, the flight didn’t leave until the next morning at 7 am.

One of the brothers, the same one who translated Korean on his phone app, insisted that I sit in the front seat. This was really happening, but there was an unexpected calmness that overcame me. I’d told my family what I’d decided to do and spoke to my mom who secured the names and cities of all five brothers I’d be traveling with. To say that I was amused by the current situation is an understatement.

The five brothers ranged in age, between their 50s and 70s, and the closer up I got, I recognized a couple of faces from my childhood, from Islamic conventions coming up, brothers who were mostly imams, i.e., religious leaders of their Muslim communities, and sincere students of our beloved Imam Warith Deen Mohammed (may God be pleased with him). I smiled and giggled as they poked jabs at each other, cracked jokes, and scouted out the closest Whataburger restaurant.

I fell off to sleep and awoke to quiet, with only the driver awake. It was 3-something in the morning and where I would be dropped off in Houston hadn’t been decided upon; not to mention that I had no luggage or change of clothes. At that point, the brother behind the wheel instructed me to put my cousin’s home address into the GPS regardless of the fact that it was an hour out of the way from the hotel they were staying at. He insisted at this point, that taking me there at that hour was the most responsible, sensible move. Soon we were driving up to the gate of her subdivision; my cousin greeted me warmly and directed me to her guest bedroom with the most comfortable bed on earth after the night I’d had.

The next morning, I arrived at the masjid where the funeral was taking place, a bit early and wearing the same outfit I traveled in the previous day. I was thrilled to be present among other believers, family members, friends, and admirers of the beloved Imam Qasim Ahmed, may Allah have mercy on him.

And in the sea of familiar faces, while standing for the ceremonial prayer, I spotted one of the brothers from the unforgettable journey to Houston. We acknowledged one another and later I recognized the whole group at the cemetery, the culmination of this sacred event. There, the physical body of our beloved was returned to the earth, his soul on its journey back to his Maker.  Inna Lillahi wa Inna Ilayhi Raji’un [To God we belong, and to Him is our return.]   

#Hagar Lives

             

Slides for my presentation at the Black American Muslim Conference, Atlanta, GA, 2019

Black American Muslim 2019-4 by Jamillah Karim on Scribd

Coming Out as a Radical Lover: Prayers, Poems, and Passion for Hagar (R)

By Jamillah Karim

I almost believed the story I told myself. That Radical Love was something new, that started when in love with him.

But then I found an old letter to her.

Love Note #1

July 3, 2001

. . .

I pray that this letter finds you in Allah’s mercy and love. I am writing this letter inspired to write to you and only you. I feel this way because I realize that God sent you as a companion for me on the path, and I did not always know it or appreciate it.

I don’t know where to begin. Allah (swt) is so Merciful, so Generous, and so Magnificent.

This letter was to a dear friend who introduced me to a program to sit with and learn from eminent scholars of our time. I told her about my Maliki fiqh class with Shaykh Hamza, and then wrote,

My heart and intellect want and desire so much. The knowledge quenches my thirst but only makes me thirsty again. Pray patience for me.

I was twenty-five then. And not married. Not surprisingly, the next paragraph in the letter describes my desire for marriage and a brother I had noticed. At the time, I had no idea that I’d have to wait another four years for that type of union.

Now back to the love I did possess. My love for this sister beloved was engraved on my heart, but the letter was long forgotten.

Fast forward fifteen years, two days before turning forty. I am married with three sons. I write a love note that mirrors the mingling of satisfaction and wanting expressed in love note #1. The days of pretty stationery now long gone, this time I confess my love in a text. (I’m giggling.)

This love note, #2, is also to a sister, inspired by this Amir Sulaiman line, “Let my breaking be beautiful.”

5/8/16

. . .

Your beauty is my breaking...My breaking deepens because in the vastness of pleasure, my heart discovers there is no limit to Allah’s Beauty and Love. I become immeasurably content only to find myself wanting more. Wanting Allah. May Allah give us Allah.

(Edited)

Satisfaction, desire, breaking, yearning, prayer, patience, love, Allah! I call these feelings and expressions—gently colliding--Radical Love.

Radical Love is love for the Divine manifested in passionate love for Allah’s creation,

Love with God written all over it,

Love heightened, elevated, and sweetened,

Love with the physical veils lifted and sensual satisfaction not the goal intended,

Love you hadn’t expected to find here or there

because you had yet to realize that love is everywhere.

What? You found love where?!

I began this post with mention of love for him because that is how women are expected to speak of love. And our ultimate breaking must relate to him, especially if he desires another her.

I’m sorry, beloved, this is not my love language or story.

True, he desired her,

Made union with her,

All of it pleasing and sacred,

A destined son, a delight,

Came out of it.  

For sure, I experienced heartbreak. But the wound is where the light enters. Rumi said it, but all of our hearts have lived it. 

Beloved, my story is that of Radical Love.

Yes, I experience it with him,

In love with him,

Caresses I’ve known only through him.

But, as love note #1 proves, I was on this path well before him--loving and longing and breaking.

Perhaps, though, there's a reason why Radical Love appeared to give birth with this particular breaking, that is, watching my romantic beloved love another beloved. I never expected to find so much love in it.   

Hopefully another love note will help to capture what I’m saying. Let’s call this love note #3:

October 12, 2017

I am reminded of the moment when I realized that love was the reward for Ihsan (virtues like beautiful patience and generosity). I mean really realized it, and I began to do so the moment when from the outside, it appeared that I had lost out on the pursuit of love as the world sees it. I was experiencing this unseen love, between God and me, which many people would expect, given that we turn to Allah in hardship. But what was mind-blowing was the human love that suddenly overflowed in my direction. That even I had not anticipated. In God’s mercy and loving kindness, He not only makes His Love tangible, but He gives His Love through actual people. And the best of people through whom He showers His love is His Beloved (S).

A Prayer for Hagar

And I wrote all of the above to provide context to a poem inspired by Hagar (R). But before the poem, there is Prophet Ibrahim's (S) prayer. I've read this prayer countless times before, but it wasn't until this time that it came to me, that his prayer embodied Radical Love, and I couldn't wait to share with you. And I had to before this sacred month left us. My way of saying, I love you.

Mother Hagar,

After drinking from your sacred bosom,

Walking your sacred struggle,

The pilgrims have left you,
Returning home,

But home is where the heart is,

We are still thinking of you,

Remembering you,

Every time we hear your story, we worry for you,

Who will feed you, sustain you?

Then we remember,

Prophet Ibrahim (S) left you,

But his first prayer was for you,

A man of heart,

Sustenance was the last thing he worried for you!

“Our Lord! Verily, I have settled some of my progeny in a valley without cultivation by Your Sacred House, our Lord, that they might perform the prayer. So cause the hearts of people to incline toward them, and provide them with fruits, that haply they may give thanks.”

Prophet Ibrahim’s prayer embodies Radical Love through and through,

Who would expect to find love where there is hardly life?

But Prophet Ibrahim knew,

Devotion to God was his first concern,

“That they might perform the prayer,”

Divine Love would spill over from the cup of devotion,

He knew.  

And how does Divine Love manifest here on earth? In human hearts--Prophet Ibrahim’s dua’ for his family--and then fruits. This is the prayer for true happiness, he knew.  

My First Radical Love Poem

So now that I’ve explained Radical Love, it won’t surprise you that my first Radical Love poem is for her. In the embrace of a sister beloved, I remember Hagar.

May 2013, The year I prayed to be Hagar (Smile)

“Being with Hagar”

Fullness flowing everywhere,
My hand in her hand,

My slender arm wrapped in her fullness as her baby sucks the milk that Allah gave,

Our hearts occupied with the remembrance of Allah,

Our eyes on the Awliya’ Allah,

Our bodies at the house of Allah,

All other desires,

The remembrances of all other beloveds,

They stream down into this single gushing river,

This love came out of dying,
Out of intense longing,
It came when my heart was broken,

And I could only turn to God,

It came when I became Hajar,

Left in the desert with only God to fall on,


This love came like Zamzam,

Out of nowhere, making it utterly Divine,
It is the love that pilgrims drink from,
Pure because the source is Pure,

Allah is the Holy One,

Blessing this love,

Elevating this love,
Giving me life,

Turning me to Allah and His Beloved,

Through him, Sallalahu alayhi wasssalam,
Through the Beneficent King, the Holy One,
Through her, may Allah bestow peace on Hagar,
I have tasted the sweetness of Iman,

And have been led to the path of Ihsan,

Where I am living and dying,

For the Face of Allah.

April 2017, Goree Island, Senegal

*Please pray for me and my book tentatively titled, Radical Love: Sufi Reflections on Heartbreak and Happiness.

The Mother’s Sacred Sa’i: Lessons from Hajar (R) on Balancing Work and Family

By Bint Jobaida

My toddler squats her legs and does a little shimmy. She looks like she is doing a yoga pose and I can’t help but join the fun. My eight year old runs around like she’s on fire, looking for a pool of water to dive in.  She says, “You’re the best mom” and “I love you” like she is saying hello. My eleven year old is a wise little owl who likes to write poetry at night. I look at her and wonder, What will she be when she grows up?  I notice these things because I’m on leave from my full-time job at a small liberal arts college. I love tuning into my kids, especially as they, and I, get older, but the decision to stay home this year was not an easy one. I feel torn, like most of my peers, by the sa’i (a ritual passage or walking) between home and work.

When I was going back and forth between work and home last year, I turned to the story of Hajar for guidance on how to balance the demands of motherhood with the challenges of working to provide sustenance. At the core of Hajar’s story is a model of working hard, staying close to one’s child(ren) and trusting in God’s bounty. Hajar’s work of running between Safa and Marwa, or sa’i, is eventually rewarded with the spring of Zamzam appearing next to her son Ismail. Her story provides a hopeful narrative of motherhood leading to community and prophecy. Hajar shows us that the struggle of women who work and take care of their children is made possible by turning to God and asking Him for the resources that will sustain the mother, child and the community.  

Hajar’s Story

Hajar joined the household of Ibrahim and Sarah after they visited the King of Egypt. She was given as a gift to Sarah because God protected Sarah from the King’s sexual advances by freezing his hands, making him fearful of her power. Ibrahim and Sarah had difficulty conceiving a child so Sarah permitted Ibrahim to marry Hajar in the hopes that he might have an heir. This led to the birth of Ismail, whose progeny would be Muhammad (sws). Soon after, Ibrahim was given a revelation from God to take Hajar and Ismail away from the household of Sarah.

Ibrahim takes Hajar to a desert where there appears to be no one and leaves her there with Ismail. You might wonder, as did Hajar, why Ibrahim would leave Hajar in the middle of the desert when she had just given birth to his son? This brings a turning point and a spiritual trial for Hajar, who must figure out why she is alone and what she must do in this barren land. She is confused by Ibrahim’s decision to leave her and questions him, “Did Allah command you to do this?” to which he replies, “Yes.” She then says, “Then certainly, He will not abandon us.”  

Ibrahim had a history of taking an unfamiliar path to illustrate his faith in Allah, even if it meant putting himself or his family in what appeared to be impossible circumstances. He repeatedly relies on Allah to fashion a protection between him and his loved ones and trusts that some divine providence will come forth from the uncertain circumstance. This is seen in the story of his struggle against the idol worshippers as well as later in his willingness to sacrifice Ismail. This also creates a similar pattern of faithfulness and willingness to submit in his wife and children. When Hajar hears that the command is from Allah for Ibrahim to leave her in this location, she feels at peace and accepts it.

Hajar’s faith in Allah plays an important role in helping her survive the desert environment with a baby. When their provisions run out, Hajar begins to run back and forth between Safa and Marwa until the seventh pass, when a spring of water appears next to the baby. Some narrations say that Ismail, with the help of Angel Jibreel, kicks at the earth to discover the spring. The water draws birds and the birds attract a nearby caravan that decides to settle down near the spring. Soon, Ibrahim returns as well to live with Hajar and Ismail and to build the Ka’ba. This happy ending came as a result of Hajar’s and Ibrahim’s faith in Allah (swt).

Lessons from Hajar’s Sa’i for Working Mothers

I would like to draw some lessons from Hajar’s sa’i and her trust in Allah for the contemporary working mother.  Hajar’s story is compelling because she has to move away from her child in order to find sustenance for her child, but then is able to come and be with her child when the sustenance appears next to the child. Hajar's reality is the same as that of many working mothers today. Working mothers can go only so far as we feel comfortable leaving our children, but we find relief when we are with our children enjoying the provisions that Allah alone provides.

Hajar's story offers a lesson on how to move (apropos, since her name means migration) in this situation. First, she shows us that there will be times where the struggle for sustenance is borne by the mother alone and she can and will work hard to find sustenance for her children by making the sa’i between work and home. Second, Hajar reinforces the natural instincts of women to care for and be close to their children by performing the sa’i and then returning to the child. Third, Hajar's effort in running between Safa and Marwa were a necessary precursor to the wellspring eventually sprouting near the child. And maybe most importantly, the wellspring, which symbolizes Allah’s bounty, produces a community that supports the child and the mother.

The Sa’i of the Single Mother

I have seen the lessons of Hajar in the case of my own mother who was a widow at the age of 28 with two children. She found herself in the United States alone without her parents or her siblings. My mom ran between two places, the US and Bangladesh, after my father passed away. She was uncertain about what to do. Should she live off the charity of her family or stay in the US and make a life for herself and her children as her husband and she had dreamed?

After making several sa’is between the two countries, she chose the place she thought would bring resources for her children. And she was right. She found herself strengthened by faith in God and a beautiful community to help raise her children in. Her faith grounded her in a time of crisis and she found helpers and fellow immigrants who gave her rides, taught her how to drive and helped her get on her own two feet. My mom's chosen career of a home childcare provider also allowed her to keep an eye on us and provide for our family. Eventually, my cousin joined her and helped her financially and helped my brother and I become self-sufficient. Hajar's lesson of working when you need to, staying close to your children and having faith resulted in my mom's greatest wellspring, her children’s future success and the creation of a community.  

The Sa’i of the New Mom

I also found comfort in Hajar's story when I had my third child in January 2016 and returned from maternity leave to work at a small college in a predominantly white, rural part of Northwest Pennsylvania.  I had never been so far away from my family when I had my two previous children. I felt a bit like Hajar, left in the desert alone with my children. As a new mom, I felt a strong physical pull to be near my daughter and to nurse her and take care of her. Hajar’s sa’i symbolically represents the internal and external pressures new working moms face. Their bodies are transitioning into a new place of providing sustenance for a baby, but then they are met with the demands of the workplace where they must also produce.

When I started the sa’i between work and home again, I felt Hajar’s fear, distress and fatigue as I ran from work to home, stopping to nurse my baby in between sa’is from breasts that were not producing enough milk. So I decided to do the unthinkable, admit that I couldn’t work full time while nursing. I asked for a leave of absence from work and focused on nursing myself and my daughter.  And similar to Hajar, I found the spring of Zamzam appear next to my child, a signal that I could now rest and tend to her needs and to my own needs. When I was with my daughter, I felt a sense of peace and rightness with the world and a feeling of rida, contentment.  

What happened next was amazingly similar to Hajar’s story. My boss was very understanding and my colleagues stepped in to take care of my classes. I was able to negotiate returning to work half time in the next semester and a leave of absence the following school year. This would help me adjust to having a baby and make some important decisions about whether working full time was the best use of my time at this stage in my life. I was grateful to Hajar for modeling what it means to struggle with the difficulties of providing for one’s children, while also staying close to them and having faith that God alone provides.  

Hajar’s Sa’i as a Lesson for Contemporary Mothers

I want it to be clear from these stories that all moms experience the sa’i, whether they stay home, work part-time or are the primary breadwinners of their families. This reflection is not about the question of whether to work or stay at home, but rather where your intention is when you choose to work. Is it to please your Creator and recognize that material and spiritual sustenance come from Allah alone? Or is it to make money and provide material comforts for you and your family? These are hard questions to ask ourselves, especially when we feel overburdened by the many demands placed on us.

Hajar’s sa’i allows us to reflect on these questions and to see what she did when placed in a position of being the sole provider for her family. She did the work of going between safa and marwa, all the while praying to Allah (swt) to send His mercy to them. She realized that she must teach her children lessons of how to work, while also recognizing our Creator as the source of all things. If you follow Hajar’s example, you transform your relationship to your Creator and to your children, which ultimately gives them a source of support that will never run dry.

I want to end with the reminder that Hajar is a model for both men and women, and the sa’i is a symbol of any struggle we face when we are looking for divine mercy. I hope that my reflections have helped in some way as you make your personal sa’i to be more connected to Allah (swt), the source of all sustenance. I pray that this Hajj and Eid are a source of reflection and learning for all of us as we experience, witness and remember the many sacrifices Ibrahim (s), Hajar (r) and Ismail (s) made for this ummah. Without their faith in what is possible when you rely on Allah (swt), Muhammad (sws) and his ummah would not be in existence today. May Allah (swt) make us among the followers of Hajar, Ibrahim and their descendants. Ameen.