Dear Unborn Son,
In the stillness of the night, where shadows dance with whispers of dreams, I find my heart yearning for you, yet to arrive in this world. As I pen this letter, adorned with ink and tears alike, I hope to share not just my words, but the essence of my soul, a legacy wrapped in humility, love, and resilience. When a kennel of palm fruit falls into oil, it goes to his family. Therefore, when you are born in my presence, know your name and know who your father is. Muhammad is your name.
You are named after the holy prophet Muhammad S.A.W.; this is because I made a promise to Allah to name my child after him; this must be fulfilled. Your blood is so pure to unite Muslims around the world against the Antichrist. But his army is always looking for your father everywhere. You must firmly hold onto the Holy Quran and read it as given to me by your grandfather. I might not live long, but I have come to fulfill a promise I made to God while in my mother's womb. The peanut doesn't roast itself on fire; don't ever fear things you'll see from childhood. You have the eyes to see them—human or nonhuman, you have a calling in this world.
My name is Modou Lamin Age-Almusaf Sowe, a name that echoes through the quiet streets of The Gambia, not always for fame or applause but often as soft whispers—anointing my being as both a tormented author and a seeker of truth. My journey as a creative writer began in the vibrant hues of my childhood, a tapestry embroidered with the threads of joy, sorrow, and a persistent warfare against the unseen forces that sought to uproot me from my essence. Millions of intellectuals, men of honor and virtue have been born in this world for many years. You're not one of them. You're only a big fool. A laughingstock and a poor servant of Allah.
Throughout my life, the devil and his allies have brought forth trials that at times rendered me weary, yet I found solace in words—the balm that soothed my anxieties and gave flight to my thoughts. I have often resisted the dazzling allure of the Illuminati, cyclical whispers enticing me to sell my soul for mere fame. But you, my son, represent purity, the untouched canvas that seeks no brush of treachery. I want you to know that true artistry lies not in the embraces of the wicked but in the strength of one’s integrity.
I repeat: your name is Muhammad Age-Almusaf Sowe. Almusaf is your middle name; let the Arabs tell you what it means. At the age of 7, go to Gunjur and ask for the grave of the late Oustas Bun Jeng. Pray for him and his family. But also go to Senegal and ask for the tomb of Cheikh Ahmad Bamba. Pray for him and his family. Visit the family of Baye Niass, Serigne Babacar Sey, and pray for all of them. You must learn the Quran in Senegal first before going to Mauritania. Your destiny shall begin in Mali. You will meet your real image in Ethiopia. That is where your mission will get intense. As Menelik was to the Queen of Sheba and King Solomon, you are to Ethiopia nothing but a passing stranger. Get married there and move to Jerusalem. That is where you will meet Jesus. I repeat, you must marry an Ethiopian and must live in Jerusalem. The gates of heaven and earth await you in Israel. Read the book of Ge'ez and read everything you could find in this world. Read the Bible very thoroughly and read very well. You are not a Tijani, a Mouride, or any other sect; you are an ordinary slave of Allah who worships him alone. You are a Muslim, nothing but only a Muslim.
Just before the heartbreak came crashing in waves in 2018, I had loved deeply, only to watch that love slip through my fingers like grains of sand. The loss bore a shroud over my existence—three long years haunted by a haunting melancholia, a darkness that wrestled with my spirit relentless every night. I nearly lost my life in that tumult, yet in that abyss, a flicker remained—my pen, my refuge, my voice to reconcile the dissonance.
Upon my return to The Gambia in 2019, I was a weary young man, a traveler draped with scars and stories. Two weeks later, the ground of my being cracked once more—the gentle spirit of my mother departed. Pain piled upon sorrow, yet from the ashes of grief, I learned an invaluable lesson: life does not wait. Despite my heart seemingly drowning in dismay, I mined strength from my sadness, and I mustered a fortitude I never knew existed. The fortitude of remembering Allah-- my Lord and your Lord.
Oh, little son, I dream of the family we will forge together! More than merely a male legacy, I envision our hearts intertwined, forged in the fires of truth and compassion. Each paragraph I write is inspired by the intricacies of love—love for family, for art, and most importantly, for our bonds with the Divine. My reflections weave together philosophy and poetry drawn from the depths of religious understanding, forming a rich narrative that seeks the oneness of creation.
While I have earned respect and praise in distant lands—appreciated by those who may never meet me, your father remains unsung in The Gambia, a paradox still unexplored. Yet, I do not envy the limelight, for I find contentment in the simplicity of truth. I forgive easily, wearing kindness as my mantle, a testament to my belief that love can conquer the fiercest battles.
In my humble existence, one question lingers—where, oh loving Creator, is my life partner? In my reflections, I hope for you to carry the torch of my ink, and embrace the divine gift of writing. I want you to know that true power is not held in wealth, but in the impact one can have on another's life through words. My poetry is a weaving of my soul, rich with the essence of the human condition—reminding us that every heartbeat resonates with stories waiting to be unearthed.
As I write these lines, I can feel your energy flickering in the heather. In you, I see the continuation of my legacy—the breath of your existence kindling a fire within me, pushing boundaries and elevating the narrative of our people. My hope is that you will find solace in literature, using it as a vessel to channel your thoughts and dreams into the world.
I dream of holding you in my arms, of teaching you to write your first word, your first poem, and helping you embrace the humility and strength needed to navigate both the beauty and harshness of life. You will learn that the world is vast and complicated, filled with turmoil and grace, and that your pen can serve as a bridge between despair and hope.
As you grow, remember the power of love, my dear son. Engage with the world around you empathetically, and transform struggles into narratives that inspire others. Stand firm in your convictions and wield your words with responsibility. You may face nights long and dark, but it is precisely in those moments that the light will shine brightest. Through your writings, speak on behalf of the voiceless, transgress barriers, and know that your heart should pulse in rhythm with love and understanding.
To you, my child, I draw a map of the struggles I have known and the dreams that remain yet unfulfilled. I urge you to step into this world with eyes wide and spirit unbroken. You are a treasure, an eternally cherished being whose essence will always seek to unravel the beauty of the universe. Someday, while I may meet the end of my journey, know that I will live on through you—my hopes, my philosophies, my words living eternally within your life.
The jinns are your servants; Satan is your enemy and all his progeny. They will hunt you everywhere from the day you are born till the day you die. You have the power to restore justice and righteousness back on this earth with the help of Jesus. He will be your helper. The whole world will see him as a madman, but you will be the first person to recognize him. He will never return on this earth as a prophet. Oh, my beloved son. Listen very carefully because my time is very limited. Worship Allah, not anyone else. Don't ever worship the Arabs and their culture and religion. There is evil everywhere in the world. Even when you run and hide inside the Kaaba, they will hunt you and bring you out to kill you. Fight in the name of Allah and die in his name. He is enough for you.
Until that glorious day arrives when you bless my life with your presence, I will continue to write, to fight against the darkness, and to pray for you while working toward the life I’ve envisioned for us. May the universe conspire in our favor. May love guide you as you journey through life, and may you always find comfort in the stories that await you.
I want you to make enough Zikr and always follow the teachings of Muhammad S.A.W. He is your role model, and Allah is your protector. Your father's family is from Jesus, and your mother's blood is the bloodline of the prophet Muhammad S.A.W. Do not be afraid; do not fear; Allah is with you at all times.
With all my love,
Your Father, Modou Lamin
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