Journey to Turkey (1)

I departed from Oxford at a quarter past seven on a cold, still morning, preparing for a new journey to Turkey. I was to participate in the Fifth International Symposium on Islamic Culture and Civilization, organized by the Faculty of Theology at Kocaeli University on the 8th, 9th, and 10th of May, 2026, under the theme “Muslim Minorities.” This journey was not merely a transition from one country to another, nor a crossing of skies, but rather a shift in thought and emotion, a renewal of an old contemplation that resurfaces whenever one encounters the diverse faces of civilization and the varied images of life and human conditions.

I descended to Heathrow Airport in London, arriving at nine in the morning. After completing the lengthy procedures, which are not without their burdens on the soul, I sat in a corner, occupied with some work. Yet, my thoughts overpowered my work, cascading into my mind like clouds on a turbulent day.

How often do thoughts of death visit me! And how intensely does its awe grip me, causing my soul to tremble violently! I observe people claiming knowledge and feigning wisdom, only for the veil of delusion to lift at the moment of death, revealing that much of what they deemed knowledge was but veiled ignorance, and that much of what occupied their lives was futile and of no benefit.

I then reflect on my past, recalling the years wasted in false illusions, heavy laziness, and a heedlessness of the value of time. It feels as though my heart bleeds, not merely for lost youth, but for what could have been achieved had the soul recognized life’s worth and the sanctity of time. For life, despite its hardships, is a great blessing, and one could transform a single minute into an extended lifetime of happiness, knowledge, and work.

We boarded the plane around eleven, and I attempted to review some of my writings on exegesis. However, my thoughts did not linger long on reading, instead drifting to the state of Islamic schools in India, which have descended into chaos and weakness.

These schools have proliferated without order or planning, spreading like locusts across the land, with most lacking a clear educational framework or a sound scientific vision. Their primary concern is erecting buildings, decorating walls, and boasting of structures, vehicles, and hollow appearances, as if education were a visible ornament rather than a cultivated intellect and refined soul.

I feared the impact of all this on minds and hearts, as humanity is degraded from its lofty station, filling minds with superstition, and overwhelming souls with fanaticism, hatred, and envy. People are diverted from the pure sources: the Book of Allah and the Sunnah of His Prophet, to barren sectarian debates and contrived human opinions that only narrow the intellect and harden the heart.

Moreover, these institutions—save a few—have turned away from sciences and arts with great aversion; there is no care for literature, history, philosophy, geography, or economics. Instead, they are filled with memorized words, repeated speeches, and noisy graduation ceremonies, leaving students unprepared for life and unable to carry the message of knowledge correctly.

I pondered within myself: Is there no one in the nation to awaken these institutions from their long slumber? Is there no one to return them to the living springs of the Qur’an, to reflect on its verses and understand the Prophet’s صلى الله عليه وسلم traditions in a way that revives both mind and heart? For within this book lies the spiritual and intellectual power capable of awakening an entire nation from its slumber, if it sincerely seeks guidance and truth.

I prayed the combined and shortened Dhuhr and Asr prayers on the plane, then had a light meal. Beside me sat a young man engrossed in watching films, who later ordered wine, drinking it with evident pleasure until intoxication took hold of his mind. I looked at him and silently thanked Allah for the blessing of Islam, thinking to myself: Were it not for Allah’s grace, we would not have been guided. If people were left to their desires, they would be lost in the labyrinths of lust and heedlessness.

The plane landed at Istanbul International Airport at a quarter past five in the evening. Upon exiting the airport, I was greeted by some brothers, one of whom spoke Persian, with whom I conversed in a manner that eased the weariness of travel. We then drove to Kocaeli, traveling alongside the Sea of Marmara, whose waters stretched in majestic stillness, like an endless blue page.

We crossed the Sultan Selim Bridge, whose grandeur appeared to me as a testament to humanity’s challenge to nature; engineering that combines precision and majesty, reflecting the extent of human capability in mastering matter when intellect and knowledge align.

We arrived in Kocaeli at half-past seven in the evening, settling in a hotel overlooking the sea. The city was tranquil that evening, enveloped in a gentle serenity. Kocaeli, a Turkish province east of Istanbul, stretches between the Sea of Marmara and the Gulf of Izmit, connecting eastward to the edges of Sakarya near Lake Sapanca, and extending southward towards Bursa and Yalova. It is a city that blends nature and industry, civilian and military ports, becoming significant in Turkey’s economic and maritime life.

Thus concluded my first journey to this city, yet I felt I had traversed not only a physical distance but also a distance in thought and emotion; for travels are not merely the movement of bodies, but before and after that, the transition of minds from one horizon to another, a renewal of one’s perspective on oneself, the world, and life.