Voice of British Muslim Women

*Huzoor is the term Ahmadi Muslims use to refer to His Holiness, the fifth Caliph/Khalifa of the Ahmadiyya Muslim Community*

Presentation for Lajna UK Ijtema 2025 by Yusra Dahri. Audio is available above and transcript is available below:

Bismillah hiramaniraheem.

Respected Sadr Sahiba and my dear sisters,

Assalamoalaikum.

When I was approached to give a presentation for our Ijtema on the topic of Khilafat, I was nervous because I was worried about misrepresenting my subject matter. As some of you may know, Hazrat Mirza Masroor Ahmad (aba), Khalifatul Masih V, is my grandfather. This is a huge blessing that I truly have no words for. Whenever I reflect upon this blessing that Allah has given me, I feel humbled and bewildered. I am no one special, and I mean this sincerely. But Allah the Almighty has blessed me with the opportunity to be in close proximity with the most special person living on this earth.

As I was growing up, realising how inadequate I was in comparison to Allah’s Mercy naturally caused some anxiety. But something that helps me to navigate these feelings is something that helps every Ahmadi around the world: the words of beloved Huzoor (aba). Throughout my life, I have witnessed how the words of Huzoor align with his own actions. For today’s presentation, I would like to focus on Huzoor’s words from just one Friday Sermon.

In this Friday Sermon, Huzoor-e-Anwar said:

‘Generally speaking, these days men say that as they are responsible for matters outside the home and they are busy with their business and employment, they cannot give attention to family and the entire responsibility of looking after children is a woman’s task. It should be remembered that as the head of the household it is the duty of the man to also keep an eye on the ambiance of his home, to fulfil the rights of his wife and also the rights of his children. He should give time to the children and be with them even if only for the two days of the weekend. He should attach them to the mosque, take them to Jama’at programmes, make leisure plans with them, and be involved with their interests so that they can share their problems with him like a friend. He should find out if his wife has any problems or the children have any problems and then try and resolve them. Then he can have the status of head of household, because if the head of any place is not aware of the problems of people in his sphere of authority, he cannot be called a successful head. Therefore, the best guardian is the one who is aware of the problems of his surroundings.’ (Domestic Issues and Their Solutions. pp. 181-2)

This Friday Sermon was from 2004. I was too young then to even understand these words, let alone comprehend their meaning. Nor did I know that I would spend my entire life witnessing these words. But Alhamdolillah, here I am.

As every Ahmadi knows, every moment of Huzoor’s time is used for a valuable purpose: whether that’s preparing weekly Friday Sermons, giving addresses to encourage our moral and spiritual improvement, giving guidance to groups, families, and individuals during mulaqats, attending to administrative issues, urging world leaders towards peace, or praying for us and our world. And despite how extensive this list is, it is by no means exhaustive.

Realistically, it should be impossible for me to have as many precious memories as I do with Huzoor. It would be understandable, expected even, for me not to have been able to spend that much time with him. But Alhamdollilah, this is not the case.

I have a very early memory as a child of not more than three or four years old, looking out of the window of my grandparents’ residence. I remember hearing the sound of Huzoor’s footsteps as he returned from his office. I was excited, because I was certain that he was going to give me the sweet-like homeopathic medicine I liked. He went into his room and re-emerged to give me that medicine. Looking back now, I could only have been certain he was going to do that because it was something he did frequently. In those short thirty seconds, Huzoor managed to communicate to me that caring for one’s family is something a person can do no matter how little time they have, so long as it is done with precision and consistency.

When I was about five years old, I have a memory of watching TV from my grandparents’ sofa, my legs sticking out in front of me. In the few seconds it took him to cross the sitting room, Huzoor noticed that my socks were on backwards, with the heel twisting to my ankle. It was something that happened to me frequently at that age. Huzoor asked me if that didn’t bother me. He then gently turned my socks around so that they faced the right way. The things that some men might consider to be beneath them, Huzoor does without hesitation.

I remember leaving a plate of aloo gosht on the floor when I was about six years old, not picking it up with the excuse that I would eat it later. When Huzoor saw me, he said I should pick it up otherwise it would fall over. I didn’t do it straight away, and I ended up knocking the plate and some of the aloo gosht fell onto the floor. Huzoor saw this as well. But unlike what other adults might have done, he didn’t scold me or even tell me that I should’ve listened to him. He let me learn my lesson on my own, without making it a greater issue than it needed to be.

Throughout my childhood, Huzoor continued to teach me in this way: never overbearing, never trying to use authority, but simply giving me a push in the right direction. When I was around eight or nine, I started wearing a scarf around my neck around my other family members. My grandmother even gave me some special first scarves to wear. I still did the same things I always did at my grandparents’ house, playing and running around. One time, I ran so fast that my scarf all but fell off, dangling at my elbows. When Huzoor saw this, he said with an amused smile that if I was going to wear a scarf, I should wear it properly. Looking back, I don’t think he was particularly concerned about the actual position of my scarf, but rather to encourage me to respect the concept of Purdah from the very beginning. From him I was also able to understand the importance of upholding the virtue of modesty to its fullest extent, whilst also helping me understand the importance of beauty. For example, once when I was around eleven or twelve, I went to visit my grandparents just before lunch time. When Huzoor saw me, he asked where my mother had gotten my qameez from. The dress was structured in such a way that while I couldn’t see that it was a bit too short, it was apparent to other people. This type of incident happened only very rarely, as both Huzoor and my mother understood that it was her responsibility to ensure that I had appropriate clothes to wear. In general, I was a bit of a tomboy as a child, so my family was more concerned about my lack of interest in my appearance. For example, when Huzoor would see my overgrown fingernails, he would assume that they were a result of carelessness, rather than fashion. He wouldn’t directly tell me to cut them, but rather remind me of how much dirt and grime can stuck under long fingernails. At the same time, he would encourage me to take care of my appearance, preventing me from having a skewed understanding of modesty. Alongside his reminders to Ahmadis about the importance of Purdah, I also remember an address where he explained that there is nothing wrong with beauty itself, for Allah is the most beautiful Being of all. This helped me to understand how an appreciation of beauty was something that could bring me closer to Allah, rather than further away.

In these tiny moments, Huzoor expressed a level of care and understanding that some people are not able to give in their entire lifetimes. As I grew older, Huzoor’s approach to things always surprised me. When I was around thirteen years old, I remember standing with Huzoor in the garden of the Hadeeqatul Mahdi residence. He had just given his address at the Lajna Ijtema. I started talking about his address, perhaps asking a question. When I started to mention how Nasirat my age felt about certain topics, he led me forward by my arm, encouraging me to walk with him and keep on talking. I was so surprised that I paused in what I was going to say. I realised in that moment that my perspective, and the perspective of girls my age, genuinely mattered to Huzoor. As a young woman, this is a rare, precious thing. We are often made fun of, but rarely taken seriously. To this day, my favourite thing to do after Huzoor’s sermons and addresses is to tell him the parts that I found the most interesting or insightful. You would think that after standing for almost over an hour whilst giving an address, Huzoor would be tired and wouldn’t want the address he had just given to be repeated back to him. But Huzoor always listens in such a warm and receptive way, welcoming the reflections of the Ahmadis who listen to his addresses.

Huzoor encouraged my opinions, helping me to  develop and challenge them. Huzoor was aware that I was being raised in a Western culture that, while positive in its advancement of women’s education, was also teaching girls that domestic work was drudgery and that family life and raising children didn’t matter. Huzoor would always encourage me in my education, but also tease me from time to time that in the end one of the most important things for me to learn would be how to make aloo gosht. As I grew older, I realised that Huzoor didn’t literally mean that I should make aloo gosht, but that I should stay open-minded in my priorities. That alongside the skills that would help me grow, I should learn the skills that would help me survive.

When I applied to university, I asked Huzoor which university I should attend. I told him my options in order of prestige. However, he simply told me that I should choose the university that was closest to home. At first, I found this a little difficult to accept, because I had offers from higher ranking universities. I also wanted to go to a higher ranking university to increase the chances of qualifying for a Talimi academic excellence award, their criteria being a first-class degree from a top twenty ranking university, or ranking in the top ten percent of your cohort. The university closest to me didn’t rank in the top twenty nationally, and my cohort was so small that ranking in the top ten percent would mean being in the highest scoring two or three students. Still, I attended the university Huzoor suggested, where I studied English Literature with Creative Writing. The creative writing element ended up being my favourite part of the course, and it would not have been available to me had I attended the more prestigious universities that only offered English Literature. I loved it so much that I ended up pursuing a Master’s in Creative Writing. Additionally, during the three years I was studying for my Bachelor’s degree, my university’s ranking crept up until, by the time of my final year, it was ranked in the top 20 nationally. When I received my final university grade transcript, I was also shocked to discover that by Allah’s Grace and with Huzoor’s prayers I was being awarded a prize for the best overall performance in the programme. According to all the different criteria required by the Jama’at, I was able to qualify for an award. I don’t believe that all of this happened due to any merit on my part. Rather, it was Allah the Almighty’s way of showing me how many blessings entered my life by listening to the Khalifa of the time: I was able to attend a university where I studied a unique programme which I ended up loving and excelling in.

During my Masters’, I was accepted for a PhD position at the same university. But after four years of studying the same subject, I realised I craved something else. A few months ago, Huzoor gave addresses at the Waqf-e-Nau Ijtema and the Jamia UK convocation ceremony within a span of two weeks. Huzoor’s addresses made me realise that what I most craved now was to increase my religious knowledge. After praying, I decided to reject my PhD offer and instead enroll at Aisha Academy. I waited for Huzoor to come back from the mosque after Isha namaz so I could tell him my very serious life decision. I was nervous, but when I told Huzoor, he started laughing. He said to me that I had been like this since I was a child, constantly changing my mind, going up and down like a rollercoaster. He told me I could do Aisha Academy before doing a PhD, or a PhD before doing Aisha Academy, or both at the same time. It was up to me what I wanted to do. He laughed a bit more at me, and I started laughing too. My nervousness and over-seriousness disappeared, as I realised that I had needlessly limited the scope of my future.

Moreover, this incident reminded me of how ceaselessly patient and supportive Huzoor has been throughout my life. The rollercoaster comment was very warranted: I changed my A-Level options eight times, almost decided to open a bakery instead of going to university, decided to do a Master’s at the last minute, and changed my life plans about fifty times in the span of five years. But Huzoor never got annoyed or irritated by my constant castles in the sky. In fact, when I, to the horror of some of my other family members, said I wanted to open a bakery, Huzoor went along with the idea. Every time Huzoor received cakes or pastries from somewhere, he would tell me to try them so I could get ideas for my bakery. Ultimately I realised I didn’t actually like baking and let the idea go. But when I did make decisions, Huzoor would encourage me to stick with them. For example, when I felt unsure if I made the right choice to study English Literature with Creative Writing because it wasn’t a STEM subject, Huzoor reassured me that it was still an important subject and could prove useful to the Jama’at in many ways. One time, I remember Huzoor saying to me that it didn’t matter so much what I did or what I studied, so long as I continued to strive forward.

On the first day of Aisha Academy, we were all given time to write a formal letter to beloved Huzoor to request prayers. This was something I was less practiced in doing, as Alhamdolillah I have always been able to inform Huzoor directly if anything important should arise. Still, I wrote and sent my first proper, formal letter to Huzoor. Unsurprisingly, my letter was full of small formal errors, which Huzoor informed me of in his overwhelmingly gracious reply to my letter. In this letter, Huzoor also explained to me that his response would be in Urdu, as now that I had joined Aisha Academy, it was time for me to learn how to read it. I have been bad at Urdu my entire life, but Huzoor’s quiet faith in my ability to learn has become a true source of motivation. If Huzoor expects me to learn, it is equally true that he has always been willing to teach. Whenever I have asked Huzoor for the meaning of an Urdu word, he has always endeavoured to give me an answer. He has never treated my questions as an inconvenience, and never made me feel that I shouldn’t ask them. When I look at the words of my beloved Khalifa written on that letter, I realise how blessed I’ve been to have had, one way or the other, his words all my life.

The Friday Sermon I referenced at the beginning of this presentation was given at a time when I was too young to understand what those words meant, yet I have always been able to feel those words in the way Huzoor treats me. This is because Huzoor’s words are not mere words. Rather, he is the kind of person whose actions give words meaning. I know what it means to be a guardian, to solve problems, to be responsible, and to be a friend, because Huzoor’s actions gave those words meaning in my life.

Jazak’Allah.