Muslim Prince SHOT by ISIS, MEETS Jesus and RETURNS REVEALING the TRUTH About SALVATION – NDE
My name is Bakir. I’m 34 years old. And on January 22nd, 2017, I was clinically dead for 11 minutes after ISIS bullets tore through my chest in the Iraqi desert.
What I experienced during those 11 minutes of death shattered everything I believed about God, salvation, and eternity.
I met Jesus Christ face to face, and he revealed the truth that will shock every religious person on earth.
I was born into a world of ancient privilege and modern danger. My father ruled one of Iraq’s most respected tribal territories.
A man whose bloodline traced back through centuries of kings and princes who had governed these desert lands long before modern nations existed.
Our palace in Baghdad was filled with priceless artifacts. Our family name commanded respect across the Middle East.
And our wealth seemed as endless as the oil beneath our ancestral sands. But more important than any material blessing was my spiritual heritage.
I was raised as a devoted Muslim from the moment I drew my first breath.
My childhood was structured around the five pillars of Islam with religious precision that would have impressed the most devout scholars.
Before I could properly walk, I was kneeling on prayer rugs facing Mecca, learning to recite the words that connected me to Allah.
By age of seven, I was memorizing verses from the Quran with the Islamic tutors who had traveled from the finest universities in Cairo and Damascus.
By 16, I had memorized the entire Quran in Arabic, an achievement that filled my father with pride and convinced me that Allah had chosen me for special favor.
Every aspect of my education reinforced my Islamic identity. I studied at the most prestigious Islamic academis in Baghdad where I learned not just religious doctrine but Arabic literature, Islamic history and the complex theology that separated true believers from those who merely claimed faith.
I could recite hadith traditions from memory, debate fine points of Islamic law, and lead prayers with the confidence of someone who believed he understood God’s will perfectly.
I thought my royal blood and religious devotion guaranteed me Allah’s favor in this life and paradise in the next.
The daily rhythm of Islamic worship became as natural as breathing. Five times each day, no matter what political meetings my father was conducting or what social events demanded my attention, I would pause everything to perform my prayers.
Dawn prayers before sunrise, midday prayers during the heat of afternoon, evening prayers as the sun set over the Euphrates River.
Each prayer session was preceded by ritual washing followed by precise movements and recitations that had been performed by Muslims for over 14 centuries.
I never missed a single prayer in 30 years of life. My annual pilgrimages to Mecca began when I turned 18 following my father’s tradition of combining spiritual devotion with political networking.
Standing before the Cabba, performing the sacred circuits with millions of other pilgrims, I felt the weight of Islamic history and the certainty that I was following the one true path to God.
The Hajj experiences reinforced my conviction that Islam was the final revelation, that Muhammad was the last prophet, and that anyone who rejected these truths was destined for hellfire.
Charitable giving was not just religious obligation but family honor. We distributed millions of dollars annually through zakat requirements and additional charity that demonstrated our commitment to Islamic principles.
I funded mosque construction supported Islamic schools and provided for poor families throughout our region.
These good works felt like investments in eternal security, deposits in a heavenly account that would guarantee my salvation when I stood before Allah’s throne of judgment.
But while I was perfecting my religious devotion, a darkness was arising that would threaten everything my family had built over centuries.