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Writers Articles And Opinions |
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30 June 2010 By Abdullah Ahmed Daniel Joseph Maldonado
Sheikh–ul–Islaam Ibn Taymiyyah said
“What can my enemies do to me? My Paradise is in
my heart; it goes with me wherever I am. If they kill
me, it is martyrdom. If they exile me from my land, it
is a vacation in the Path of Allah. If they imprison
me, it is to allow me a private devotion with Allah”
The true Muslims of today are few
and far between, we truly have become like the scum on
the water as told to us by Rasoolullah (saws) when he
said…
“It would so happen that the
nations of the world would gather to fight against you
(Muslims), and would invite one another (to attack
you) just as the hungry invite one other to dinning.”
A man asked, “Shall we (Muslims) be in very small
number and the Kuffar in great number at that time?”
The Prophet replied: “No, the Muslims would be in a
great number at that time. But they would be like
trash floating on the water. The Kuffar would cease to
fear you (Muslims). And your hearts would develop ‘Wahan’”.
Someone asked, “What is Wahan” the Prophet said: “Love
of the world and hatred for death.”
Reported by Ahmad and Abu-Dawud
It is hard to
find good examples of Muslims today, yes we find many
in the past but today few and far between and
therefore when we do they should be precious to us, a
treasure to be shared amongst the believers as an
example of the character of what is Inshallah a
successful believer, something to aspire to follow,
showing us it is possible to follow the example of
Rasoolullah (saws) even in these difficult times.
Daniel Joseph Maldonado is to me
just such a person.
An American convert, was arrested
in January 2007 by the Kenyan army and handed over to
the authorities in the U.S.. In April 2009 he was
found guilty of receiving training from a foreign
terrorist organization, and in June 2009 he was
condemned to ten years imprisonment. The following
report the brother describes from his prison in
Houston’s Federal Detention Center to al-Istiqamah.com
the events around his migration to Somalia, the tragic
death of his beloved wife Umm Musa, and his arrest in
Kenya and imprisonment there and in the U.S..
In the name of Allah, The
Beneficent, The Merciful. Praise be to Allah, Please
and Blessings be Upon Muhammad.
Assalamu Alaikum wa Rahmahtullahi
wa Barakatuhu.
Migration
with Umm Musa (May Allah accept her):
Once my wife (may Allah accept her)
and I found out that an Islamic State was established
in Somalia, especially after the taking of Mogadishu,
we decided to go and make Hijra (migration) from
Egypt. Immediately we made plans and tried to sell
everything in our apartment. After being offered about
$7,000–$8000, Umm Musa (May Allah accept her) made
such a beautiful statement. She said, “You know that
everything (in the apartment) is worth more than that
Daniel…But what Allah offers me is better!” So she
gave away everything in the apartment to someone to
distribute to the poor in a small village. If that
wasn’t enough, we had about $2,800 cash after we had
gotten tickets etc. She decided to give $2,000 to a
close friend in deep debt, so as to reap as many
blessings as possible for the trip ahead.
None of the above do I attribute to
myself and Allah is a Witness over what I say. With
only $800 we left for Somalia…Did that stop her? No,
she still gave to those in need! To this day, I don’t
even know half of the good she did. Such was her
custom to keep it hidden.
Something worth mentioning, we
ended up staying in the airport [at Dubai] for three
days, waiting for a flight. What did Umm Musa say
about going out in Dubai? She said, “I lived with poor
people in Egypt; I am going to live with the poor in
Somalia. Dubai will be a fitnah (trial)” Thus we slept
in the airport. I can still see her (thinking back)
nodding off while nursing the baby under her abaya
(coat-like burqah) in secrecy.
She became extremely devout;
everything about her changed for the better. Her faith
was stronger than I have ever seen! She became so
pious, and put all her trust in Allah to the point I
felt I was no longer even on the same level as her…Not
even close!
While I was away from her and the
children, I would try to call her and them as much as
possible. We would constantly entertain Allah’s praise
and express our deep love for one another. Her
patience was truly amazing!
After the bombing of Mogadishu
airport, I advised that she and the children leave to
the South to meet me as soon as possible. I remember
asking her, “Did you hear it [the bombing]?” She said,
“Yes”. I asked, “Were you scared?” She simply said,
“No”.
I met her and the children in a
town between the area she had left and the area we
would head to before she would leave the country. She
had dirt all over her abaya from the difficult trip;
her eyes were tired and weary. I approached her and
said, “I swear, I have never seen you more beautiful
than today!”
So we went further, South. We would
stay in a house with many other families before we
left (the next morning). After Fajr (the pre-dawn
prayer), the sisters started preparing to evacuate.
Umm Musa refused to go. After some of us spoke to her,
she – while weeping – listened and prepared to leave.
Knowing that the
Ethiopians were coming and the women were about to
leave, she though that there was a great possibility I
would be killed. So we had a nice, long beautiful talk
as she prepared. We expressed our love and admiration
for each other. She thanked me by saying: “You are the
greatest teacher I have ever had. You are the only man
who has stuck around in my life. (Her father and
grandfather etc were never around for her. She grew up
in a house of women.) You are a real man. I love you
so much.” She was weeping. Then she said something
that I will never forget:
“Forgive
me…I could not ask Allah to make you a martyr. I love
you too much to see you go… So I asked Him to make me
a martyr instead!”
After much loving talk, the S.U.V.
(off-road-vehicle) started to ride away. Her eyes were
watering as it pulled off… Seeing it was slowly
pulling away past me, I said: “Peace be upon you, oh
women of Paradise insha’Allah!” She asked why I said
such. I said “If any women are the women of Paradise,
it is you, the women of the migrants.”
The S.U.V. pulled away and she
recited a verse from Quran as they drove off… It was
Eid. That would be the last time I would see my
wife….May Allah accept my beloved and join me with her
in Paradise with our children. Ameen.
Surviving in
the Jungle
After my family had left for the
border, I departed with the brothers. To make a long
story short, we were surrounded by helicopters
attacking all units around us from mid–afternoon to
maghrib (sunset).
The next day we were ambushed…many
died in that ambush…For those who survived along with
me, we ended up wandering in the jungle with literally
nothing to eat! Our water ran out as well… The
following day we were so very thirsty, we would lick
the dew of the leaves in the jungle! It was two days
since our last drink. We would make du’a
(supplication) for water while walking… After not
finding water, we reminded each other that we should
seek forgiveness, for the one from sin will have his
du’a answered. Sure enough, about a mile ahead was
some water. I can remember all of us weeping and
thanking Allah while prostrating. I can still hear one
of them panting while saying “Allahul Kareem” (Allah
is the Most Generous) over and over again. We would
sit on the edge of this waterhole with a shell we’d
found and use it as a cup. One would fill it and pass
it to another who would pass it to another. There were
to be many days like that…
For two weeks we did not eat at all
except for one time at the very beginning of our
wanderings. One day we came out to a Savannah area; it
looked like something out of Lion King! We were
careful, as helicopters were still in the sky and we
were obviously being hunted by them. We would stay
along the edge of the jungle area until we felt it was
safe to actually go out into the long-grassed Savanna.
Suddenly one of the brothers caught
a baby gazelle that seemed to just stand there,
waiting for us. A brother took out a simple razor from
his pocket. He pointed the animal towards the Qibla
(direction towards Makkah) and we slaughtered it
according to the noble shareeah (Islamic Law). We had
one lighter (which later broke), a few packs of season
that my wife had given me, and garlic that we used for
antibiotics. We praised Allah and ate. After this we
would not eat anything except leaves and an occasional
snail for two weeks. Keeping our tongues wet with the
remembrance of Allah did more for us than the
occasional waterhole…and they were few. For those two
weeks we would go a day, sometimes two, without water.
We walked and walked, malnourished and thirsty. We
became so malnourished that our skin began to feel
tight around our ribs.
We came to another open area one
day, but this one had much water. In fact, there was
the jungle behind us and miles of shallow water in
front of us. We needed to make it to the other end
where the jungle began again. We walked through this
chest-high water from mid-afternoon to the next
morning…It was extremely hard on us, seeing that we
could not rest or sit down, because the water was
chest-high! By the time we got out, it was almost Fajr
time. I don’t think that I have ever been so cold in
my life! I remembered that Umm Musa (may Allah accept
her) had given me these packets that warm up when you
open them. So I used them with the brothers. Strange,
I remember asking her: “What in the world would I need
hand-warming packets for in Africa?” She simply said:
“You never know…”
A bit before this incident, I had a
dream of her. (I didn’t know she had passed away). She
was wearing a blue silk hijaab and her face was
uncovered (she always appeared veiled outside). This
hijaab stretched out as far as I could see. I had to
climb up it! I then lay next to her, stared into her
eyes and said: “I love you…” She replied “I love you
sixty three times.” To this day, I wonder about the
meaning of that dream.
Some nights later, a brother told
me that he had a dream about my family — although he
had never met my wife. Mind you, I didn’t know about
her death yet. He said that my wife was at a long
white table that had such beautiful food on it. My
children were running around playing. My wife then
said to them, “Patience, patience he will be with us
very soon.” In retrospect, I find these dreams to be
amazing.
Arrest and
Imprisonment in Kenya
So it is that we would, after
thirsting and starving for two weeks, find a small
village in Kenya. Being that the villagers were
Muslims, some spoke Arabic. They fed us and gave us
water. I remember walking into the village with all
the brothers and falling prostrate to Allah crying and
thanking Him for what seemed like an hour!
We were brought to a Masjid
(mosque) where we could finally rest. After getting
bombed, shot at with bullets whizzing by my head,
having friends die, starving and sleeping in ant and
tic infested areas, I barely noticed a rat in the
masjid crawling on my leg. One brother shouted, “Akhee
(brother), there’s a rat!” I brushed it off myself
like you would a fly; I was so exhausted.
Suddenly someone yelled out
“Soldiers!” The Kenyan military stormed in, pulled us
out, laid us on the ground and beat many of us. Then
we were thrown half-naked onto a truck on top of each
other, to be driven through the jungle to the next
town, in the freezing cold night. Thrown out of the
truck, we were pushed around, beaten some more,
laughed at, humiliated and filmed, then thrown into a
dark, dirty cell. Four walls and a bucket, that’s it.
Suddenly a Yemeni brother and I started singing
“Ghurabaa” (The Strangers). We even wept. That night
we would be pushed around, beaten and interrogated by
the Kenyan police.
The next morning, we were woken up
to be cable-tied, blindfolded, mocked and thrown into
a truck that brought us to a helicopter. We were
thrown off the truck onto the ground and put on the
helicopter, then taken to an airport and put on a
plane. The whole flight we were mocked and threatened
whilst blindfolded and cable-tied. The brothers and I
heard a sister on the plane with kids. One brother
asked: “Are you okay, sister?” Suddenly one of the
police or soldiers came around and said, “Shut up!”
The he told her, “If you speak again, I will tape your
eyes shut.”
No one would utter a word
throughout the whole flight to Nairobi…Wondering if I
could sneak a peek to see what was going on, I noticed
that the baby and the little girl were my daughters!
Frantically, I would try to peer everywhere I could to
see if my wife was seated close by. All I could think
was: “Oh Allah! Where is she? She would never leave
the baby with someone else. Where is our son Musa?”
After landing, I would be pulled
off the plane with the others. I could not contain
myself. I asked the sister while being pulled off,
“Sister! Do you know my wife?” She quickly responded
“Yes!” I asked where she was, and the sister replied
“Your daughters are fine.” I exclaimed while being
roughly pulled off: “My wife and my son?” She again
stated: “Your daughters are fine; they are okay.”
[Note: More can read about this
sister and her imprisonment alongside Daniel’s
children in a report by Cageprisoners]
I was thrown to the ground on my
knees. I could hear cameras snapping and people around
me. One man came and asked where I was from. After
telling him, I said: “There is a woman on the plane
who knows my wife. Is my family okay?” He left, then
came back and said, “Your family is fine…”
The others and I were then shipped
off to a prison barefoot, malnourished and extremely
dirty. The cell was cramped with about twelve of us.
It was very dirty, with just one bucket to share as a
toilet. We would pass the time by praising and
remembering Allah. I never made so much dhikr
(remembrance) in my life. Every night, you could find
each of us standing in prayer on and off — as if it
were an intended rotation. The police would constantly
pull us out to interrogate us, one at a time, every
other day or night. Many of us were threatened with
death along with getting shipped back to Somalia and
being handed over to the Ethiopians! The days seemed
to last forever…When we would ask about our embassies
out of curiosity, they would quickly reply: “Your
embassies know you are here. They don’t care about
you.”
The Tragic
News Regarding My Wife…
One day, while sitting on the cold
hard floor, I mentioned my love for, and desire to see
my wife and kids. I expressed my worry about the
situation on the plane, although I was told all is
well. One of the brothers stared at me and then stated
that he needed to pray. I wondered; it was not prayer
time. He finished and then told the brother next to
me: “Tell him…” A tear rolled down my cheek… I knew
now what they were about to disclose. I leaned closer
to the brother, voice cracking, heart torn but
hesitant until confirmation. “Tell me what?! What are
you going to tell me?” I was crying.
He said: “We were told that an
American woman with three children got sick and died
on the way. They buried her as a martyr…I’m sorry
brother…”
I immediately stood up, tears
pouring like never before. My whole world felt as if
it had ended. I paced the cell and then leaned on the
wall crying, “Don’t, not here! Don’t tell me this
here! No…no… Oh Allah, Oh Allah…” One of the older
brothers embraced me and quietly repeated in Arabic:
“Patience my brother…patience; it is from Allah.” I
slumped down the wall on my back until I was seated.
Tears in my eyes, I looked up and noticed how everyone
was crying with me. I asked about my son; no–one knew
anything. I jumped up and yelled for the guard. He
proudly came to the door. I said, “I found out just
now that my wife has died. I need to know whether or
not you have all of my kids.” He said, “How do you
know that?!” He opened the door brandishing his night
stick saying, “You better get away from this door and
shut up before I crack your head open!”
The Hardest
Test
The hardest part of this whole
ordeal was losing my best friend, my wife, my beloved,
my soul mate, the mother of my children. May Allah
accept her, ameen. She once told me in Somalia that
she never felt so close to Allah and that she wished
for shahaadah (martyrdom). “Whoever wishes to meet
Allah, Allah will wish to meet him.” It is known that
whoever protects their life, property, family and
religion and dies while doing so is a martyr. She died
while doing all of the above! We know about the hadith
(Prophetic tradition) about the one who dies of fever
and sickness or plague. We all know about the one who
migrates for Allah and dies doing such. I cannot think
of a reason that she wouldn’t be shaheed (martyred).
She got what she asked for: body not washed for burial
[a martyr’s body is not washed for burial], buried in
the land she loved and did not want to leave.
You know, this comes as no
surprise, as I have never known Umm Musa (may Allah
accept her) to raise her hands (in supplication)
except that Allah gave her exactly what she asked for.
For instance, after the birth of our son, the doctors
said she would not be able to have children again, due
to many complications. Praise be to Allah! She gave me
two beautiful daughters — exactly what she wanted!
She was simple and extremely
humble, never making people feel beneath her. She was
not the scholarly type, but she practiced what she
knew. If you could prove it from The Book (Quraan) and
the Sunnah (Prophetic Way), she would not argue, but
submit to the proofs. She feared Allah so much! I
remember her telling me while crying as if she had
lost a beloved one, that she committed a grave wrong
when we first became Muslim. She explained that she
feared she would never be forgiven. I asked her what
it was.
She said that she once exclaimed
“Jesus Christ!” when angry or surprised. I asked,
“Were you calling upon him (in invocation)?” She
cried, saying “No,” explaining that it was just
something she grew up saying without meaning (as is
common among many a Westerner). I laughed in
admiration and told her not to worry, that she did
nothing wrong. Moreover, the fact that she feared
Allah so much that she worried over something that any
new Muslim would do, made her even better! I truly
miss her. May Allah accept her and reunite me with her
and our children in Paradise, ameen.
Interrogated by the FBI
In the days after the news of my
wife’s death I would be pulled out of my cell,
blindfolded, shackled, ear muffed and a bag put over
my head. I was put in a car and driven away. I could
hardly breathe… all I could think was: “They are going
to shoot me.” I believe I thought this because I could
feel the road change from pavement to dirt.
I figured: “Bag over my head, ear
muffs, blindfold, dirt road, threats a day before…I’m
dead.”
I just repeated the shahadatain
(Islamic testimonies of faith) again and again. I
would end up at a sort of safe house where the FBI
would question me. It became increasingly obvious that
someone had informed on me, as they knew everything.
But what bewildered me was that this “someone” had
lied about a lot of things, unless that was just a
tactic. Nonetheless, that misinformation was to later
be in my paperwork, stating that it was given by a
co-witness, a close associate of mine! The details of
the few truths made it clear who did some of the
talking. I understood then, that one of my beloved
brothers had turned on me… I forgive those that did,
as the conditions were unbearable. May Allah have
Mercy on them.
Reunited
with my Children
I was brought to another prison to
stay at and was joined by my two daughters! I asked my
four year old, while holding the baby, “What happened
to Mommy?” She said in a soft, yet very hurt voice:
“Mommy got hot with the fever… She went to Allah… They
put her in the ground…” I burst into tears and held
her, telling her: “I’m sorry. Daddy’s sorry…” Then I
asked her, “Where is your brother?” She paused and
said, “He ran away into the jungle… he only has one
sandal Daddy…” I asked the police if they had a little
boy in custody. They replied in the negative…
That night I was put in a cell
while my daughters were kept somewhere else. Perhaps
they were with the woman whom they were arrested with
or with female police officers across the street.
I thanked Allah, praised him and
asked Him for a miracle regarding my family being put
together. I called on Him saying, “You are the One who
gathers. Gather me and my family here!”
I later awoke to the sound of a
voice at the reception desk. It was a familiar voice,
a young boy explaining why he wasn’t in school. It was
the voice of my son! I jumped up and yelled his name
through the door. He ran past the police to the door
crying, “Dad? Is that you?” They opened the door and
he embraced me without any hesitation. We cried
together in each other’s arms… The police asked me:
“This is your son?” It became obvious that their
bringing him to that police station was unintentional.
I asked Musa what had happened. He
told me that his mother got sick and the brothers told
him that they were taking her to the hospital. This
was miles and miles deep in the jungle on the road to
Kenya. They clearly said this not to upset him.
Muhammad had been with the men bringing the women over
the border. He told me that jets had attacked them and
everyone fled. He said that he saw his “uncle” getting
his stomach blown out.
He explained that he got down, and
when they came again he ran into the trees. The
brothers called out to him, but he couldn’t find them.
He got lost in the jungle for two nights, surviving on
berries and dirty water that he’d found. He would
retrace his steps back to where they were camped. He
told me that everything was black and burnt. Even the
wheels on the car were melted. Musa found his way to a
village where “a man with a cow” took him in and fed
him. Later this man handed him in to the Kenyan
military. The next day, all my children were reunited
with me, alhamdulillah!
I had to tell my son about his
mother… I explained that I had something to tell him
that will be difficult. He stood there awaiting this
important news as if nothing was wrong. I said, “Your
mother has left this world my son.” He said, “No Dad,
they took her to the hospital.” I told him: “Son, they
said that to you so you wouldn’t get upset…I’m sorry;
your mother died.” He looked at me weeping, and
without a tear in his eye he looked towards the
heavens and said, “Allah has willed it. InshaAllah I
will see her in Paradise”
I could not believe how well he
took it; how faithful a reply! I hugged him and said,
“I’m sorry.” He told me, “It isn’t your fault Dad! You
did the best you could do!”
I am a 28 year old man who has been
through a lot, and my heroes are a woman who has left
this world and a nine year old boy…
Echoes of
Guantanamo–Style Treatment
Eventually, my children and I were
taken out of prison and put on a plane heading for
America. I had to sign papers to temporarily grant
custody to my parents seeing that I was “in quite a
bit of trouble” — as the FBI agent put it.
We landed at a military base where
my children would be separated from me. The agents let
us say our goodbyes. They assured me that my children
would be taken good care of, and sent directly to my
parents. They did keep to their word.
I would stay at that base for three
days. After starving in the jungle and being
imprisoned in Kenya, I felt like I was in a 5 star
hotel! The agents explained that I would be leaving
the next day and that the people transporting me would
be very strict. When these new agents came, they told
me I would not be allowed to pray at all, or use the
bathroom without the door being left open. I praise
Allah! I made salatul khawf (the Fear Prayer) instead.
The next day I was blindfolded, ear
plugged then ear muffed. I was shackled — hands
chained to my waist and ankles shackled as well. For
the duration of that 24 hour flight I could not hear,
see or touch anything… One could never imagine what
that’s like until one experiences it for themselves.
To pray, I would sneak my hand to wipe the bottom of
my shoe for the clean earth on it and make tayyamum
(dry ablution using mud or dust) in order to do
salatul khawf. I praise Allah! Never through this
ordeal did I miss even one prayer. And this is of the
benefits of knowledge, even if it is little.
Solitary
Confinement and Conviction
We landed in Houston and I was
immediately put in solitary confinement with literally
no human contact at all. I have been here ever since.
I pleaded guilty to “receiving training from a foreign
terrorist organization” in order that the second
charge of “conspiring to use an explosive device
outside the United States” be dropped. That charge
carried a maximum sentence of life imprisonment and a
fine of up to $250,000. I have been sentenced to ten
years in prison and fined $1000. If I stay out of
trouble in prison, it will only be eight years. Since
I am in a Federal prison, I cannot get parole. So the
least I will do is eight years, unless some
information comes up that could prove innocence etc. I
never went to Somalia to fight. I wouldn’t have taken
my wife and three small children into a war zone. The
situation just erupted while we were there.
I pretty much sit in a cell with a
bed, sink shower, toilet and desk for 23 hours a day.
I eat and receive all of my “sanitary items” in my
cell. I am only allowed outside for one hour a day,
the only exceptions to that being Friday and Saturday.
I spend my time reading Quraan or any other books on
Islaam and doing dhikr (remembrance of Allah). We were
put on this earth to worship Allah. As long as we are
able to do that, we have all we need!
Assalamu Alaikum wa
Rahmahtullahi wa Barakatuhu.
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