My Muslim and Christian Past

My father was a Fulani Muslim. He went to the mosque most Fridays, wore a Hula and Babanriga and prayed on his ornate prayer mat. I had a muslim name, went to muslim classes and spoke Hausa. Although educated in London, my father retained his Islamic identity and brought us up in his faith, although it was never imposed on us.

Example of a Hula and Babanriga

My mother converted to Islam when she and my father were married, but she still retained her Christian belief and even took us to church sometimes.

Now I'm a Christian. Looking back at my childhood, being a Muslim was easy, and converting to Christianity even easier: one day, in my teens, I was convinced about Christianity after a talk with a family friend. Actually living and making decisions as a Christian hasn't been easy, but religion to me in the past was a simple matter of preference and conviction.

However, the ongoing religious conflicts between Muslims and Christians in places like Jos and other predominantly Muslim Northern states like Kaduna often surprises me. From my family's experiences of living in Kaduna,  the tension prevalent between both faith groups was markedly less obvious until maybe the mid-90s.

A cousin told me of how she and the other neighbourhood kids - both Muslim and Christian - used to all queue up to have a turn on the one swing in their area, which was owned by a wealthier family who allowed the neighbourhood kids access to it most days after school, and walking to school with both her Muslim and Christian friends, and of watching Indian movies with her Muslim next door neighbours. No religious problems there. That was in the 80s when Ibrahim Babangida, a muslim, was Nigeria's president.

President Ibrahim Babangida (1985 - 1993)

I guess today things will be different. I hear of churches being burnt and Christians being beaten, killed and buried in mass graves. The Christians are retaliating too, with Muslims being hunted down and killed en masse. I hear Christians are moving out or being driven out of northern towns and of the general unrest amongst the two religions.

The violence perpetuated in the name of God (although ethnic and social differences are behind a lot of the violence too) is atrocious, widespread and upsetting. But I always remember the harmonious stories of Kaduna, a time when muslims and Christians lived side by side in peace, shopped at the local markets and queued up to buy kose from the same woman seated behind a huge Wok placed on massive stones in which was frying the popular delicacies made from Black-eyed Beans.

A mass grave of Christians killed in religious violence in a village near Jos, Nigeria

Perhaps this is an idealised version of a time long gone, but it's still sad to think that, as a legitimate product of parents and extended family who lived in Kaduna happily for years, I may not receive a warm welcome if I was to visit now because I am a Christian.