Category: Uncategorized
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Before streets and buildings, there was water. From Table Mountain, the Camissa River carried sweet waters that gathered peoples — Khoi, San, slaves, exiles — into a wider circle of becoming. Though buried under the city today, Camissa still flows, whispering memory beneath our feet.
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When flags become brands and uniforms cloak injustice, we must name what we see: a world where war hides behind legality and theft wears a tie. This blog is a poetic protest against global hypocrisy — from Gaza to gilded offices — and a reminder that resistance still rows quietly below deck.
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Once, ‘koesister mentality’ meant narrow thinking. But I steal it back, and sugar it differently: for me, koesister mentality is resilience after rising, sweetness after struggle, and barakat in every bite.
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From a family Gaajah in Florida North to the chorus of the Burdah at Houghton Mosque, Joburg’s dhikr carries both intimacy and grandeur. This Rabiʿ al-Awwal, in Heritage Month, I was reminded that memory does not belong to Cape Town alone. It stretches wider — across towns, valleys, mosques and homes — carried in the…
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This reflection flows from my Radio 786 series with Gadija Ahjum — Rooted Light, Series 2. In the month of Rabiʿ al-Awwal and Heritage Month, I write of Mawlud as memory in our veins and in our graves: sandalwood tasbihs from Makkah, rampies leaves cut by children, the riwāyah of Barzanji, and the moment we…
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“The farm is a mirror of us, and we are mirrors of the farm. Soil, water, mind, heart — they rise and fall together. And here lies another secret: beautiful people are hidden from the world, like seeds beneath the soil, waiting to rise.” 🌱✨
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Rabi al-Awwal has entered our skies. In Cape Town, remembrance is not reserved for the minbar — it pulses in the scent of rosewater, in quiet salawāt whispered in traffic, and in songs sung without instruments. This reflection explores three threads of Prophetic remembrance — as a guide in our struggles, a wellspring of longing,…
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A whirlwind week at the IslamicText Institute and Azzawia: from Arabic grammar drills and fiqh debates to the living practice of Mawlood. These are not just classes, but circles of light where knowledge, devotion, and community flow together.
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Ngũgĩ wa Thiong’o’s warning — “Take away our language and we will forget who we are” — echoes in the Cape’s own history. Kaaps, Arabic-Afrikaans, and the Ratib al-Haddad are more than words; they are living archives of faith, resistance, and belonging. When empire tries to sever the tongue, we stitch the seam back together…
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From whispered questions in the Haram to the green dome of Azzawia, these are the moments where the old way of learning still lives — teachers in a circle, books open, hearts leaning forward. In Cape Town, the chains of knowledge are not shackles but links that draw us closer to Allah.
Adli Yacubi 