I want to share this experience with the hope that you would look to your purse and donate a small amount to a Muslim prisoner.
In prison, we were restricted in regards to the amount of money we were allowed to spend every week. As I was (strangely) a “high-risk” prisoner, I wasn’t allowed to claim my enhancement level and remained at “standard”. This meant that I could spend no more than £15.50 a week.
With that money, I would have to buy plenty of drinks. I would also have to buy food (as that was extremely limited in Holloway), phone credit and anything else that was necessary- such as batteries, or flip flops or clothes. In prison, you can only buy from the list that you’re given. The prices of every item are set at the RRP price. For some reason, I always felt like it was even more than the actual RRP price itself.
So my weekly groceries would be 2 or 3 bottles of drinks, phone credit (to try and speak to family at least 5 mins every day), a packet of bourbon biscuits and Vaseline (or floss, or batteries, or hair clips- whichever is most necessary). Alhamdulillah.
During Ramadan, I received the most shocking news that I ever heard in my life. I had spoken to my mother on the phone who frantically told me that my dad was rushed to the hospital for breathing problems and extreme stomach pain. Following a CT scan, they had discovered a hole in my dad’s stomach. Subhan Allah. I don’t have much knowledge on illnesses so this was the first time that I had heard of such a thing. Wallahi my heart was shattered. I just wanted to run out of the prison to be there for my dad. This was the first time I couldn’t attend the hospital with him. And it was the hardest.
I was then locked up in my cell- as usual. As I was a “high-risk” prisoner (anyone convicted under TACT is automatically considered high-risk), I wasn’t allowed to share rooms with anyone. So on average, I’d spend at least 22 hours a day, alone.
But being locked up that day and night was the most difficult thing I ever experienced. Every moment, I wondered what my dad was going through- if he was okay. I did not stop making du’aa’. I would make du’aa’ non-stop. I didn’t care what I was getting for iftar that night (as I normally would wonder about that)- I just wanted to know if my dad was okay. The officers, of course, wouldn’t let me call my family to find out anything. On the contrary, they took my sister's number off me to tell her that if any “news” came- for her to tell them first and not me. They said this to me many times and each time, I deliberately turned deaf to what they said.
I [B]knew[/B] that Allah is Al Mujeeb. He is the Reliever of distress. He Says, “Be” and it is. And I believed that with all my heart. As I sat on my metal bed, I did not stop making du’aa’. It was the only thing I could do. When I wasn’t making du’aa’, I was praying. When I wasn’t praying, I was making du’aa’. The only time that I would pause in supplicating was when I started to find it difficult to breath. I’d pause, use my inhaler (completely forgetting that I may potentially be breaking my fast this way), and would then start to make du’aa’ again.
My heart was just torn. Especially knowing that I couldn’t be there by my dad. My dad just wanted to see me and wanted me home. What if I’ll never see him again? I couldn’t even fathom the thought. I knew the prison wouldn’t let me visit my dad at all since they had refused my tag and didn’t release me earlier as I was considered to be a “high risk”. Ya Allah. For the crime of downloading AQ magazines.
Wallahi, I believed that Allah will grant me good news. I had extreme high hopes.
The next morning, as soon as I was unlocked to collect breakfast, I ran to the phone. I called my family and asked about my dad. Alhamdulillah, alhamdulillah, alhamdulillah it was good news. They identified the problem and offered treatment for it. Allahu akbar. I cannot express the relief and happiness I felt. Alhamdulillah.
There’s a particular reason why I’m mentioning this, though. The moment when I had heard about my dad’s illness, before I was locked in again, I managed to speak to my dad on the phone. He asked how I was and subhan Allah, even in that condition, he asked me if I needed any money. Ya Allah. May Allah bless our fathers. Even if I did need money, I would prefer living on water than to ask my dad for money with him being in that condition. But alhamdulillah, I really and truly didn’t need a penny from my dad. Do you know why? Because someone had donated £60 to me to spend for Ramadan.
The person who donated that money wasn’t a well-known organisation. He didn’t have a big name. But in my view, he was worth a hundred of them. (Wa la uzakee ‘al Allahi ahada). He didn’t only send money to me, but he’d sent some to my other beloved sisters in prison too. None of us had asked him for a penny. We would never do that. But this brother couldn’t help but shine in times of hardship. May Allah reward him abundantly.
This is how the money he gave helped me. It enabled me to buy drinks and cereal and/or biscuits for Ramadan.
Allah Knows how much his donations helped my other sisters in prison.
I encourage myself and others to find it in our hearts to donate to a Muslim prisoner this Ramadan. They are our brothers and sisters living amongst us in conditions that the Chancellor of the Exchequer himself described (though indirectly), as inhumane... Hence the recent closure of Holloway, for example.
May Allah guide us, forgive us and purify our hearts. May He enable us to do good deeds so that we may be nearer to Him in Jannah, ameen.
In prison, we were restricted in regards to the amount of money we were allowed to spend every week. As I was (strangely) a “high-risk” prisoner, I wasn’t allowed to claim my enhancement level and remained at “standard”. This meant that I could spend no more than £15.50 a week.
With that money, I would have to buy plenty of drinks. I would also have to buy food (as that was extremely limited in Holloway), phone credit and anything else that was necessary- such as batteries, or flip flops or clothes. In prison, you can only buy from the list that you’re given. The prices of every item are set at the RRP price. For some reason, I always felt like it was even more than the actual RRP price itself.
So my weekly groceries would be 2 or 3 bottles of drinks, phone credit (to try and speak to family at least 5 mins every day), a packet of bourbon biscuits and Vaseline (or floss, or batteries, or hair clips- whichever is most necessary). Alhamdulillah.
During Ramadan, I received the most shocking news that I ever heard in my life. I had spoken to my mother on the phone who frantically told me that my dad was rushed to the hospital for breathing problems and extreme stomach pain. Following a CT scan, they had discovered a hole in my dad’s stomach. Subhan Allah. I don’t have much knowledge on illnesses so this was the first time that I had heard of such a thing. Wallahi my heart was shattered. I just wanted to run out of the prison to be there for my dad. This was the first time I couldn’t attend the hospital with him. And it was the hardest.
I was then locked up in my cell- as usual. As I was a “high-risk” prisoner (anyone convicted under TACT is automatically considered high-risk), I wasn’t allowed to share rooms with anyone. So on average, I’d spend at least 22 hours a day, alone.
But being locked up that day and night was the most difficult thing I ever experienced. Every moment, I wondered what my dad was going through- if he was okay. I did not stop making du’aa’. I would make du’aa’ non-stop. I didn’t care what I was getting for iftar that night (as I normally would wonder about that)- I just wanted to know if my dad was okay. The officers, of course, wouldn’t let me call my family to find out anything. On the contrary, they took my sister's number off me to tell her that if any “news” came- for her to tell them first and not me. They said this to me many times and each time, I deliberately turned deaf to what they said.
I [B]knew[/B] that Allah is Al Mujeeb. He is the Reliever of distress. He Says, “Be” and it is. And I believed that with all my heart. As I sat on my metal bed, I did not stop making du’aa’. It was the only thing I could do. When I wasn’t making du’aa’, I was praying. When I wasn’t praying, I was making du’aa’. The only time that I would pause in supplicating was when I started to find it difficult to breath. I’d pause, use my inhaler (completely forgetting that I may potentially be breaking my fast this way), and would then start to make du’aa’ again.
My heart was just torn. Especially knowing that I couldn’t be there by my dad. My dad just wanted to see me and wanted me home. What if I’ll never see him again? I couldn’t even fathom the thought. I knew the prison wouldn’t let me visit my dad at all since they had refused my tag and didn’t release me earlier as I was considered to be a “high risk”. Ya Allah. For the crime of downloading AQ magazines.
Wallahi, I believed that Allah will grant me good news. I had extreme high hopes.
The next morning, as soon as I was unlocked to collect breakfast, I ran to the phone. I called my family and asked about my dad. Alhamdulillah, alhamdulillah, alhamdulillah it was good news. They identified the problem and offered treatment for it. Allahu akbar. I cannot express the relief and happiness I felt. Alhamdulillah.
There’s a particular reason why I’m mentioning this, though. The moment when I had heard about my dad’s illness, before I was locked in again, I managed to speak to my dad on the phone. He asked how I was and subhan Allah, even in that condition, he asked me if I needed any money. Ya Allah. May Allah bless our fathers. Even if I did need money, I would prefer living on water than to ask my dad for money with him being in that condition. But alhamdulillah, I really and truly didn’t need a penny from my dad. Do you know why? Because someone had donated £60 to me to spend for Ramadan.
The person who donated that money wasn’t a well-known organisation. He didn’t have a big name. But in my view, he was worth a hundred of them. (Wa la uzakee ‘al Allahi ahada). He didn’t only send money to me, but he’d sent some to my other beloved sisters in prison too. None of us had asked him for a penny. We would never do that. But this brother couldn’t help but shine in times of hardship. May Allah reward him abundantly.
This is how the money he gave helped me. It enabled me to buy drinks and cereal and/or biscuits for Ramadan.
Allah Knows how much his donations helped my other sisters in prison.
I encourage myself and others to find it in our hearts to donate to a Muslim prisoner this Ramadan. They are our brothers and sisters living amongst us in conditions that the Chancellor of the Exchequer himself described (though indirectly), as inhumane... Hence the recent closure of Holloway, for example.
May Allah guide us, forgive us and purify our hearts. May He enable us to do good deeds so that we may be nearer to Him in Jannah, ameen.
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