We Muslims are generally emotional people. The circumstances we live in push us towards being emotional, and thus this emotionality is reflected in our actions. Sacrifice (Qurbani) is precisely such an action for Muslims. To offer something valuable for the sake of Allah is deeply related to this. Beyond being a divine command, the reason why a heart does not become hardened while slaughtering an animal is because of the sweet feeling of submission left in the heart when one offers that animal sincerely to the Lord.
Therefore, within the scope of our 2024 Qurbani efforts, we set out to deliver the greetings and trusts of Muslims in Turkey to the sorrowful land of Palestine and to the impoverished lands of our Ummah, Somalia and Togo. As for myself, I was heading to Somalia, one of Africa’s developing countries, accompanied by two of my esteemed elder brothers. We set out to obey Allah’s command, to transcend the borders between us and our fellow Muslims, and to share our sacrifices. This writing contains my personal impressions of this sacred journey and my reflections on Somalia.
On the night of June 14 leading into June 15, I met my companions in Fatih, a district of Istanbul that still strives to preserve the essence of the city in its streets, and we set out towards Istanbul Airport, which would serve as our bridge to Somalia. For someone like me who had never traveled abroad or crossed continents for the sake of Allah, the excitement of this journey had filled me from the very moment I learned I was going to Somalia, and it continued as we waited at the airport. Until our departure time, we inevitably became part of the hustle and bustle inside the terminal. After passing through all the required checks, the first part of our journey began. After seven hours, we landed in Ethiopia, one of Africa’s unique countries, to transfer to Somalia. Forty minutes later, we took off again towards Somalia, towards those who were awaiting us, towards our Muslim brothers and sisters. After two hours, we landed at Aden Abdulle International Airport — we had arrived in Somalia. Everything began when we stepped off the plane and the hot summer breeze touched our faces. Eyes turned toward us, and thus our Somali adventure truly began.
At the entrance of the airport, I offered my first greeting to Uncle Tawfiq, who was waiting to welcome us. It struck me then: in a world where the earth itself is a mosque, believers are indeed its pillars. That was exactly how I felt when I greeted the people at the airport and received Islamic greetings in return. The sense of being part of one Ummah filled every fiber of my being. After completing the exit procedures, we set out for the hotel that would host us for five days. My first astonishment in this land came when I saw the abundance of three-wheeled covered motorbikes — tuktuks — which I had thought were only common in the Far East. Our driver, Saddam, attempted to take three different roads to reach the hotel, but two of them were closed off by African Union soldiers, who were heavily active in this region. Somalia’s domestic politics were highly unstable, and with weak central authority, the only areas declared secure were downtown Mogadishu and the so-called Green Zone around the airport, guarded by the African Union. My surprise at the two armed guards assigned to us diminished as we approached the hotel. At every checkpoint, we were stopped, and from these security measures, I understood the importance given to Mogadishu.
Once we safely arrived at the hotel, I took my key and entered my room. As I turned the key, I heard something that would never fail to amaze me throughout my stay in Somalia: the sound of the Qur’an rising from every street. Loudspeakers carried Islam to the streets. The sound did not end with prayer but continued with collective recitations of blessings upon the Prophet, filling our hearts with peace. I stood at the window until the prayer ended, only then remembering the danger of mosquitoes and quickly closing it. At first, my room seemed far beyond what I expected of Somali conditions, but then I realized this reflected Somalia’s potential to grow, and its people’s determination to serve guests in the best way possible. After a brief rest, I went back down to the lobby to discuss the final details of our Qurbani work and order something to eat. At that moment, our translator and companion for the Somali journey, Brother Abshir, joined us. At first, I thought he had a cold personality, but as I spent more time with him, this impression completely changed, and I grew to admire him. After finalizing the preparations, we retired to our rooms to await the sacred days.
When my alarm woke me on the morning of Eid, my first thought was that, for the first time in my life, I would perform Eid prayer in a different land. Filled with excitement, I prepared myself and used mosquito repellent — which would become part of my daily routine in Somalia. With everything ready, including the equipment I would use to record the sacrificial moments for our donors, we set out for the Qurbani site. Along the way, I saw armed men in different uniforms everywhere, each representing a different faction or force. Security had become one of the most important industries in Somalia, a clear sign of the country’s weakness in that area. As we approached the Qurbani grounds, I gazed at Mogadishu through the car window, drawing my own conclusions. Then we arrived.
The place was just as I had imagined Africa. I felt all eyes on me. Hundreds of men, knives at their belts, stood in line to take part in the sacrifices, and local women, wearing plastic bags fashioned into skirts and tops to avoid getting dirty, also stood ready. Almost all wore football jerseys — something I realized was a cultural hallmark across Africa.
It was time for one of the most important responsibilities of Eid. The mosque where we performed the Eid prayer had no carpets — something I later realized was common across Somalia’s mosques. After the imam’s salam, we walked to the Qurbani site, where we carried out one hundred sacrifices entrusted to us. These experiences became some of the most meaningful of my life. At the end of the day, we shared food with the seventeen brothers who had assisted us, and then we set out to visit the camps, where we would later spend unforgettable moments with the children of Somalia — children who represented the vast majority of the population, displaced by drought and poverty.
By the time we reached the camp, it was nearly time to return. Still, we managed to deliver the entrusted Qurbani meat to the women waiting for us beneath the shade of a large tree. Their hopeful gazes remain etched in my memory. We handed them the portions, not just on behalf of our donors, but on behalf of the entire Ummah. As time ran out, we bid them farewell and returned to our hotel. On the way back, I realized just how significant Mogadishu was to Somalia, witnessing countless checkpoints and security inspections. I also came to understand why the Somali intelligence unit, NISA, which had not been trained by the Turkish military, acted with such severity toward people and even other soldiers. That night, after speaking with my family and describing all I had seen, I sorted the videos of the sacrifices to send to the donors and concluded the first day of my Somali journey.
The second day began with tea that I did not enjoy much, though tea is important to us Turks. In Somalia, however, coffee was the staple — and the coffee they offered us turned out to be the best I had ever tasted. Soon, it was time to move again, and we returned to the camps. The camps were truly the homes of the children. They were born there, raised there, and often died there. Words cannot capture the moments I shared with them. We played games, laughed, and thanked Allah for bringing us together. The children, raised with the Qur’an, completed the verses we began to recite and read aloud for us. Their teacher, the camp imam, had carried the burden of the camp since arriving there after devastating floods. He was teaching nearly 500 children in a tiny space, preparing his paradise with Allah’s permission. After our time with the children, we asked the imam what support he needed, and he humbly mentioned that their madrasa, which also served as a mosque, needed repairs. We promised to help and bid farewell to him, the children, and Alasugi Camp — meaning “What is Expected from Allah.”
Later, we toured Mogadishu. We visited the mosque built by Ottoman commander Abdülaziz Pasha in the 16th century to aid the city against Portuguese threats, and we saw the old lighthouse that once overlooked the Indian Ocean. Realizing that centuries ago our ancestors had come here, and now I was walking the same ground, filled me with joy.
The third day was both the most beautiful and the most challenging. We hurried to the slaughterhouse and completed the sacrifices entrusted to us. Then we set out for Dibane Camp, meaning “Sacrificed to Allah.” The faces of the children, women, and elders waiting for us remain vivid in my memory. I finally understood what it meant to “be awaited.” A Muslim must be awaited — by the oppressed, the downtrodden, and the needy. Until the day injustices end and a brighter world begins, we must be present for them.
The fourth day was our last. Having fulfilled all our duties, we dedicated the day to Somalia itself. We attempted to visit several historical sites, though many were closed due to security concerns. Finally, we visited the Turkish Embassy — the largest Turkish embassy in the world, located in Mogadishu. Seeing it on the shore of the Indian Ocean filled me with pride. From there, we went directly to the ocean. When I first laid eyes on it, I immediately realized the ocean was very different from the sea: its color, its smell, its vastness. We enjoyed its beauty for a while before returning to prepare for our departure.
Thus, our Somali journey came to an end. As I waited at the airport, I reflected on the profound impact of these five days. At 19 years old, I was grateful to Allah for granting me such an experience. I thought about how valuable Somalia truly is and how hospitable its people are. My first stop in the geography of the Ummah had left me with unforgettable memories. With the hope of one day reuniting with the children there, I boarded the plane. Along the way, I made resolutions not just for Somalia but for the entire Ummah. In the end, I realized that we must all, hand in hand with the children of the Ummah, spread goodness — Allah’s command — across the world that has been made a mosque for us.
Muhammad Yasin Gidici – Somalia, 2024