Umm Salih

I am still traumatized by the video of the woman holding her slain son's body in Jos. It broke me.

I've not been able to put into words how I feel for these people who have never known peace because their government cannot resolve geographical disputes laced with tribal and ethnic lines.

I can't reason with you if you're one of the people who are satisfied with the way Nigeria is being governed.

People are being murdered, burnt alive, kidnapped, r***d and brutalized in record numbers.

Please check the statistics! No war, no famine, no invasion, and we have one of the highest mortality rates in the world!

Is it a crime to be a Nigerian?

There is something deeply disturbing about the ease with which some men dismiss the need for female Muslim doctors, as though women’s bodies, dignity, and lived realities are abstract debates rather than urgent, human concerns.

Then you see a case like this. A doctor records himself licking his lips while speaking about inserting a catheter into a young female patient while the music in the background reportedly screams spreading of legs, reducing an intimate medical procedure to something suggestive and unserious. It is not just unprofessional. It exposes a mindset that many women quietly fear but are often told to ignore. And still, in the face of this, there are men who stand comfortably in public religious spaces and argue that female doctors are unnecessary.

How can anyone witness the realities of women’s healthcare and still hold that position without shame?

This is the reality of women, navigating systems where privacy is not guaranteed, where vulnerability is real, and where trust is fragile. In some hospitals, even non-medical staff move freely through spaces where women are exposed during treatment. There are accounts of male cleaners lingering in operating areas, taking advantage of moments when women are at their most defenseless. These are lived experiences.

At the very least, men should feel a sense of protective anger knowing that their mothers, wives, sisters, and daughters could be subjected to this. Even without invoking compassion, even without invoking respect, basic human instinct should be enough to provoke outrage. Yet what we often see instead is indifference, or worse, resistance to solutions.

Why are we still debating whether Muslim women should enter professions like medicine?

Why is the conversation stuck at whether women belong in the home, while women are struggling to access safe and dignified healthcare?

If the concern is truly about modesty, then the logical response is not restriction. It is provision. It is building systems where women can be treated by women. It is investing in female education, creating pathways, offering scholarships, and establishing women-led healthcare spaces that align with our values while addressing real needs.

But that requires effort. It requires collective responsibility. It requires moving beyond rhetoric.

In places like Nigeria, where maternal mortality remains alarmingly high, the stakes are too high. Women are dying. Muslim women are encouraged to bear more and more children, yet the same energy is not directed toward ensuring that they survive childbirth safely. There is relentless opposition to family planning, but far less urgency when it comes to improving maternal healthcare systems. That imbalance should trouble anyone with a conscience.

There are rural communities where women delay or avoid seeking care simply because there are no female doctors available. Some will only go to a hospital if they know a woman will attend to them. Others return home untreated, not because they are careless, but because they are trying to navigate their values within systems that do not accommodate them. By the time their conditions worsen, it is often too late.

And still, the outrage is not loud enough.

Instead of mobilising resources, forming initiatives, and supporting women who want to enter these fields, energy is spent asking whether they should be allowed to try at all, often measured against staying indoors or being a housewife. Unfortunately, some women seek the opinions of religious figures before making decisions that do not require such validity. As though the validation of a distant authority is more important than the immediate needs of the community.

When did personal responsibility for community development become so easily dismissed?

The role of a teacher is to provide knowledge and principles, not to control every decision of a person’s life. When individuals are conditioned to seek approval for every step, even in matters that clearly serve the public good, something has gone wrong. That kind of dependence smells like control.

And it has consequences.

Women who want to contribute meaningfully to society are held back, not by lack of ability, but by unnecessary barriers, not necessarily markers of piety. Meanwhile, the problems they could have helped solve continue to grow.

At some point, the community has to be honest with itself. This is not working.

If we truly care about modesty, dignity, and the wellbeing of women, then we should be at the forefront of building systems that protect them. We should be supporting women to become doctors, specialists, and healthcare providers. We should be funding institutions that ensure women are treated in environments that respect their values.

Anything less is negligence.

This doesn’t mean that this is the only sector where women are needed, but it is the subject of this conversation.

And for women who feel uncertain about pursuing paths that could benefit other women significantly, the reality is simple. Waiting for universal approval will only delay progress. As long as what you are doing is within the bounds of the Sharī’ah, and it serves a clear good, then it is worth pursuing.

No one else is going to build these systems for us.

And the cost of waiting is far too high.

Steve Jobs once said, “Your time is limited, so do not waste it living someone else’s life.” I think about this often when I observe Muslim women, especially online.

I have seen many Muslim women hold themselves to imaginary standards. They are aware of where they are struggling, but instead of speaking up or seeking help, they try to fit into an image that does not exist in real life. They spend energy maintaining appearances rather than addressing what actually needs attention.

On social media, this often shows up in subtle ways. Some women shape their opinions and conversations to appeal to men they have formed online friendships with. They adjust their tone, soften their views, and speak only in ways they think will be accepted. Over time, they shrink themselves without even realising it.

Others become devoted followers of older or more established Muslim women online. Admiration slowly turns into comparison. They want to be in the same position, hold the same views, and never appear too different. In the process, they suppress their own curiosity and intellectual growth. They focus more on being socially acceptable and religiously aligned in appearance than on thinking deeply and honestly for themselves. Much of this comes from a strong desire for validation.

Growth requires stepping away from that need for constant approval. You need to decentre the acceptance of others so you can develop your own thinking. You need to read beyond other people’s opinions so you can form your own. This is how creativity develops. This is how dignity is preserved. This is how self-esteem is built from the inside, rather than borrowed from external validation.

You cannot grow fully while living someone else’s life. You need to take ownership of your own.

If you are a Muslim woman who wants to think more clearly about your life, your choices, and your finances, I invite you to join my upcoming Financial Literacy Workshop on 10th and 11th of January, 2026 at 12pm Nigerian time.

Register here: https://selfany.com/FLW

There are 30 early bird slots available. Once they are filled, regular pricing will apply. Early bird registration also allows me to refine the workshop content to suit the specific needs of participants.

I look forward to seeing you there.

My name is Wazirat, and I teach financial literacy to Muslim women.

Wazirat Sanni, LLB, BL
Lawyer
Financial Educator
Islamic Financial Advisor and Planner
Halal Investment Consultant

If this resonated with you, feel free to share it with a woman who might need to read it.

There is something surprisingly valuable about negative feedback. It means someone slowed down enough to notice you.

They listened, processed, and cared enough to point out what could be improved.

A life where everyone nods, smiles, and agrees without thinking leaves you stuck in the same place, repeating the same patterns with no challenge to refine you.

Many people crave approval, but approval without honesty is the fastest way to stagnate.

The sting of correction fades. The clarity it brings does not. Growth often begins in the uncomfortable moment when someone says what you did not want to hear but needed to.

This is why the people you keep around you matter. Surround yourself with minds that think deeply, observe carefully, and speak with sincerity.

These are the voices that sharpen your ideas, stretch your thinking, and protect you from blind spots you cannot see on your own.

Not every critic deserves your attention, but thoughtful feedback is a gift. Hold onto those who offer it. They are the ones who help you grow.

Create a safe space for your women

A community cannot rise if its women are afraid to breathe inside it. I learned this from watching how different environments shape the confidence, faith, and potential of women.

When a woman enters a space where she is listened to, her voice grows steady. When she is taught with respect, her knowledge becomes useful. When she is protected from mockery, her questions open doors for growth. And when she is given a place to rest, her heart becomes strong enough to carry others.

Safe spaces are not complicated. They are built through kindness, humility, and clarity. They are spaces where women are not shamed for wanting to learn.

Where their modesty is honoured instead of policed without compassion. Where they can express confusion without being treated as weak. Where their ambitions are nurtured instead of dismissed. When you create this kind of environment, you are not just helping a woman. You are strengthening entire families, entire neighbourhoods, entire generations.

One of the greatest trust the Sharī’ah places in any community is its women. Protect that trust. Invest in it. Honour it. A safe space for women is a safe space for the future.

There are moments you scroll past another aesthetic clinic video and your heart sinks a little. Not from judgment, but from sadness.

You see a face that was already beautiful, already whole, already carrying a softness that didn’t need fixing.

Yet the world convinced her otherwise. The comments cheer, the clinic celebrates, and she walks away believing she upgraded herself when all she did was allow strangers to profit from her insecurity.

There is no finish line in the race to modify what Allah already perfected in proportion, function, and wisdom.

The more a person chases flawless skin, flawless features, flawless symmetry, the more the goalpost shifts. No human being has a perfect everything, and the people selling perfection know this better than anyone.

So they create dissatisfaction first, then offer a solution with a price tag. A cycle that never ends.

A business model that thrives on convincing you something is wrong with the face Allah honoured.

If a concern can be managed through clean living, healthy habits, and simple care, and it is not a medical issue, then the rest is often nothing more than capitalism packaged as self love.

You were created with dignity. Do not let the world convince you that you must edit yourself to deserve it.

“Oh! You look sad. Are you sad?”

“Yes.”

“Why are you sad?”

“I’m sad that I wasted my younger years instead of memorizing the Qur’ān.”

“Oh dear!”

‘Yes, I’m also sad thinking that if only my parents had enrolled me in Madrasah when I was younger, I’d have memorized the Qur’ān completely.”

“Okay, I hear you. Does this mean that you’re now memorizing the Qur’ān and being consistent upon it?”

“Erm. Actually…(silence)”

“My dear, you cannot be one of those who say all of the above, who are now adults but continue to waste the time they have left.”

“Hmmm, true.”

“You’ve seen the breakdown that one ayah a day means you will finish your memorization in 17 years?”

“Really? But that’s a long time.”

“Well, you’ve spent close to 17 years as an adult or at least as a teenager.”

“You’re right.”

“It seems like a long time but the goal is not actually just one ayah throughout the course of your journey, but as a start. You’ll slowly increase your portion as the days and weeks go by.”

“Na’am”

“Also, 5 verses a day will get you to the finish line in 3 years, bi’awniLlāh!! So, imagine that!!”

“SubhānaLlāh”

“Na’am. Let us assume that you have never heard this before. Well, now you have and in three years time, you’ll never be able to blame this on your parents again.”

“Hmn”

“Now it’s in your hands!Will you start today or will you keep blaming your parents who did the best of what they knew?”

“In shā Allāh, I will start tomorrow.”

“No, today. Start today. Start now.”

وبالله التوفيق والنجاح


‘_Wishing you the best in your Qur’ān journeys_’

I was speaking with one of my sisters yesterday at our daily Qur’ān circle, and she asked a question that sits at the heart of every believer’s struggle: What do we need to do for Allāh to open the doors of success for us in our memorisation journey? I’ve heard this question many times in different versions, and I’ve asked it myself in moments when I was desperate for Allāh to open something for me.

We know Allāh doesn’t need a reason to give. He gives to whom He wills, how He wills, whenever He wills. But Allāh also shows us patterns. The Qur’ān, the Sunnah, and the stories of the earlier generations reveal recurring paths, recurring causes, and recurring consequences.

Allāh tells us about someone who sought forgiveness sincerely and then He granted them relief. Someone who humbled himself and Allāh raised him. Someone who was patient and granted victory. Someone who stayed far away from sins and He grants them tranquility. Someone who relied on Allāh and was granted provisions unimaginable.

These patterns teach us that when a believer bravely starts a journey, takes on a task, or pushes through an unfamiliar path, certain outcomes tend to follow. Not replacing tawakkul, but rather complementing it. We do what is optimally possible, but we also blindly hope in Allāh. Hope is mandatory.

As you study these patterns, you notice something: Allāh grants unbelievable openings to those who embody certain states. The person whose trust in Allāh does not shake. The person who is tested but remains patient. The one who cleans his heart, purifies his deeds, and constantly returns to Allāh. The one who remembers Allāh in their private moments. The one who protects their tongue, their eyes, distancing themselves from bad company, and surrounding themselves with what Allāh loves. The one who sacrifices pleasures, comfort, and distractions for His sake.

And this is where the real question appears: What are you willing to sacrifice?

Because when you take on a journey that is not ordinary, you cannot expect ordinary habits to carry you through. A mother with 5 little children who wants to memorize the Qur’ān. A student buried under academic pressure who wants to travel for knowledge. Someone who wants to thrive spiritually, financially, academically, emotionally.

These paths require something extra. The time you have is the same time that others have. The difference is sacrifice.

Sacrifice is the key. What pleasure, what habit, what comfort, what attachment are you letting go of for Allāh? What are you removing from your life so that something greater can come in? What are you stopping yourself from doing? What are you pushing yourself to start doing?

Your sacrifice becomes a form of tawassul. You say, O Allāh, I let this go for Your sake. I took this step for Your sake. I restrained myself for Your sake. I started, I left, I changed, I returned… all for You. Open this door for me. And Allāh never wastes what is done for Him.

This is the level beyond just fulfilling obligations and avoiding prohibitions. When you want to grow, you may have to let go of what is halal but unnecessary. What is permissible but distracting. What is mubah but unhelpful. You push yourself into the voluntary deeds.

You add extra prayers, extra remembrance, extra charity, extra patience, extra sincerity. Allāh grants the believer success through his obligations, but He grants love, openings, and beautiful closeness through his voluntary deeds.

So before that journey begins, ask yourself sincerely: What am I sacrificing for Allāh? What am I offering at the door before asking for it to be opened?

Because when you sacrifice something for Allāh, He replaces it with what is beyond imagination. When you choose Him, He chooses you. And when you walk toward Him, He runs toward you.

That is the pattern. And it has never failed any servant who walked it sincerely.


Wazeera Sanni

Do you want to finish Baqarah regularly but find the daily recitation hard to maintain? Here is a simple way to stay consistent without overwhelming yourself.

Surah Al-Baqarah carries blessings, protection and healing. Its verses appear in the ruqya verses and in the waking up and nighttime adhkar because of the protection and good they bring.

Many people want to recite it regularly but struggle to keep their balance when life gets busy especially with other Qur’ān related goals, Tilāwah, and revision to be kept up with. My friends and I had the same challenge. Rather than pushing for a full daily recitation for Baqarah, we decided to break it into steady, manageable parts.

Al-Faatihah to the end of Al-Baqarah is 49 pages in the regular Mushaf. Reading 7 pages each day completes it in one week. Seven pages are light enough to fit into even the busiest day. This keeps the rhythm steady, the heart connected and the habit alive. It also removes the pressure of “all or nothing” that often makes people give up completely. This has had immense impact on our overall wellbeing and tranquility.

You can apply this idea to any act of worship. Whenever something feels heavy, divide it into smaller portions that you can manage with ease and stay consistent with, then slowly increase the portions. One sister told me she struggled with some morning adhkār repeated 100xs, so she splits them and completes them in parts throughout the daytime. It kept her consistent and helped her grow gradually until she could do them all in the morning.

If this benefits you, share it with someone who needs a gentle method to stay consistent in their worship.

Part Two: Supporting a Friend or Colleague Experiencing Loss: A Student’s Guide

1. Allow space for grief
Give them permission to feel and express their emotions. Let them cry, talk, or simply sit in silence. Avoid trying to minimize their pain or offering quick-fix solutions. Being present and acknowledging their feelings is often more helpful than any words.

2. Listen actively
Be an attentive listener. Sometimes just having someone hear them without judgment or interruption can be profoundly healing. Show empathy by validating their emotions rather than trying to “solve” their grief.

3. Offer practical help
Support can be as simple as preparing meals, helping with errands, managing deadlines, or accompanying them to necessary appointments. Small gestures of practical help can lighten the load when someone is overwhelmed.

4. Provide gentle reminders and encouragement
Remind them that grief is natural and that healing takes time. Encourage healthy coping habits like maintaining routines, getting rest, and seeking support from friends, family, or professionals.

5. Check in consistently
Grief can intensify when initial support fades. Continue to reach out, even weeks or months after the loss, to show that you care and that they are not alone.

6. Respect individual coping styles
Everyone processes loss differently. Some may want to talk, others may withdraw. Respect their way of coping while remaining available and supportive.

7. Encourage memorials or meaningful actions
If appropriate, suggest ways they can honour or remember the person they lost, through rituals, community service, or acts of kindness in their memory. This can give purpose and comfort.

8. Know when to seek additional support
If grief becomes overwhelming, persistent, or starts affecting their daily functioning, gently suggest professional help from a counselor, psychologist, or student support service.

Knowing help is available can be lifesaving.

And if you are around someone experiencing grief and loss, read these guides:

Part One: The Nigerian Law School Su***de Concerns
https://m.facebook.com/story.php?story_fbid=122097407325161767&id=61584853017773

Part Three: How To Support a Muslim Experiencing Grief and Loss
https://m.facebook.com/story.php?story_fbid=122097410961161767&id=61584853017773

Part Three: How To Support a Muslim Experiencing Grief And Loss

1. Denial, familiarity, and acceptance

Let them pass through the phases of grief. Allow them to cry, mourn, and express the depth of their loss. Hold them, see them, acknowledge their pain. Do not diminish what they feel. The Prophet cried when his children passed away and when he lost his grandchild and his adopted son. Islam recognizes that pain is real. Let people grieve while reminding them that you are with them through it.

2. Spiritual comfort and reminders

Share gentle reminders from the Qur’ān and the Sunnah, such as “Indeed, to Allāh we belong and to Allāh we shall return.” This frames loss within our journey back to Allāh. Encourage them to make du’ā for their parents and ask Allāh to forgive them and grant them mercy. Children’s prayers reach their parents even after death, and this gives the heart something to hold on to.

3. Practical support

Show up with real help. Prepare meals, assist with funeral arrangements, help with paperwork, or sit with them so they are not alone. Islam teaches the community to carry its members through heavy moments, and practical help is part of that. Don’t burden them with feeding you or organising events for the departed. Show up for them practically.

4. Patience and understanding

Give them room to grieve without rushing them. Sabr does not mean suppressing emotions. It is staying connected to Allāh while enduring hardship. Check on them often because grief sometimes becomes heavier after everyone else has moved on.

5. Honouring the deceased

Encourage them to honor their parents’ memory through sadaqah jariyah, or if possible, performing Hajj or Umrah on their behalf, or continuing acts of goodness in their name. This gives direction and keeps the spiritual connection alive.

A final reflection

All of this brings us back to the core issue. Systems shape people, and when those systems fail, individuals carry the scars for years. Nigerian law school is not just academically demanding, it is emotionally and spiritually heavy.
Without proper support, guidance, and structures that prioritize human well-being, tragedies like this will not stop. Institutions owe their students safety, compassion, and a sense of belonging. No one should feel alone in a place filled with thousands of people. No one should ever reach the point where one exam feels like the end of their life.

This is a call for reform, a call for humanity, a call for institutions to remember that their students are human beings with hearts, burdens, and breaking points.

Wazeera Sanni


Part One: The Nigerian Law School Su***de Concerns
https://m.facebook.com/story.php?story_fbid=122097407325161767&id=61584853017773

Part Two: Supporting a Colleague Experiencing Loss: A Student’s Guide
https://m.facebook.com/story.php?story_fbid=122097407325161767&id=61584853017773