Muslim Pilgrim Sees Jesus While Sleeping Near the Kaaba in Mecca
My name is Omar. I’m 27 years old. And until recently, I was living two completely different lives.
I need to tell you this story because keeping it inside is killing me. Some of you watching this will think I’m a traitor.
Others will think I’m confused. Maybe both are true. But what I know for certain is that I can’t pretend anymore.
Let me start at the beginning. Hello viewers from around the world. Before our brother Omar continues his story, we’d love to know where you are watching from and we would love to pray for you and your city.
Thank you and may God bless you as you listen to this powerful testimony. I was born in Riyad, Saudi Arabia into a family that took Islam very seriously.
My father worked as an accountant for a major oil company. But in our community, he was known as someone who really knew the Quran.
People would come to our house to ask him questions about religion, about how to handle business dealings the Islamic way, about marriage issues.
My mother wore full nikab when she left the house. She prayed five times a day every single day.
And I never once saw her miss a prayer time. We weren’t extremists. I need you to understand that my parents weren’t harsh or cruel.
They loved us. My father would bring us sweets on Fridays after Juma prayer. My mother made the best capsa I’ve ever tasted.
And our house always smelled like cardamom and rose water. We had family gatherings where everyone laughed and told stories.
My childhood wasn’t miserable, but it was strict. I learned to pray when I was seven.
My father would wake me before dawn for fajger even when I was so tired I could barely stand.
I learned the movements, the Arabic words, the ritual washing. By the time I was nine, I had memorized several chapters of the Quran.
My father would test me after dinner, making me recite while he followed along in his copy, correcting my pronunciation.
I have two younger sisters and a younger brother. I’m the oldest. That meant something in my family.
It meant I had to set the example. When I turned 13, my father started taking me to the mosque for all five daily prayers, not just for Yuma.
Other boys from school were there, too. And afterward, we’d talk and laugh, but during the prayers, we had to be serious.
The imam would watch us. Here’s what I never told anyone back then. Even as a child, I had questions.
I remember being maybe 10 years old. Lying in bed at night wondering why God only spoke Arabic.
I wondered why women had to cover everything while men didn’t. I wondered why my mother, who was smarter than most people I knew, had to ask my father’s permission for simple things.
But I learned quickly that these weren’t questions you asked out loud. Once when I was 12, I asked my father why we had to pray five times every single day.
He looked at me like I’d slapped him. He didn’t yell, but his voice got very quiet and serious.
He told me that Allah commanded it, and that was enough. He said questioning Allah’s commands was the first step towards shaitan, towards Satan.
I never asked again. Instead, I learned to push the questions down. I learned to do what was expected.
I memorized more Quran. I fasted during Ramadan. I lowered my gaze around women who weren’t family.
I became the son my parents wanted me to be. On the outside, at least.
When I was 18, my father made a decision that changed everything. He wanted me to study engineering at university and he’d saved enough money to send me to London.
King’s College London had accepted me for civil engineering. My parents were so proud. They threw a big dinner party before I left, inviting all our relatives and my father’s friends.
Everyone kept telling me how lucky I was, how I’d bring honor to the family, how I’d come back and help build Saudi Arabia’s future.
My mother cried when she hugged me goodbye at the airport. She made me promise to pray five times a day, to find a good mosque, to stay away from alcohol and girls and anything haram.
I promised. I meant it when I said it. London hit me like a wave.
I’d seen Western movies, of course. We had satellite TV at home, though my parents monitored what we watched.
But being there, living there was completely different. The noise, the crowds, the way people dressed, the way they talked to each other without any formality.