RECENTLY, I FOUND myself in the company of seasoned world travellers. As the famed Muslim explorer Ibn Battuta once said:
“Travel leaves you speechless, then turns you into a storyteller.”
One by one, people shared their most memorable adventures. The tales were wildly different- traversing Siberia, climbing Everest, crossing the notorious Drake Passage to Antarctica, trekking the ‘Last Place on Earth’, the Congo Basin, etc. But there was a common thread; none of the unforgettable moments came from luxury. No one spoke fondly about five-star hotels or gourmet meals.
Instead, the stories that lingered were about hardship—the biting cold, the sweltering heat, the insects and dirt, the sea sickness, the moments of fear and uncertainty. These were the very experiences that shaped them. The challenges became a source of resilience, courage, and deep gratitude. And, more often than not, the people they met during those difficult moments became lifelong memories.
As I listened, I thought about my own travels—especially the ones with my family. My most vivid memories weren’t about smooth, picture-perfect trips. They were about the times we were tested together, moments that—while difficult—brought us closer whenever we recalled them.
I remember island-hopping off the Malaysian coast when the weather suddenly turned. The calm waters grew fierce. Waves slammed into our small boat, the sky darkened, and rain lashed down in sheets. Thunder rumbled, and lightning tore across the horizon.
Our captain sped forward, riding the swells to outpace the storm. My children clung to us, eyes squeezed shut. My wife and I exchanged a silent look. This was not how we imagined the day.
And then, just as quickly, the storm passed. The sun returned. The sea lay still again.
It was a sobering reminder: we are never truly in control. Safety, comfort, and security can vanish in an instant. Only Allah is truly in control. Only He delivers us from danger.
Later that same day, we faced another challenge, of a very different kind. While exploring a quiet shore, we were suddenly surrounded by a troop of aggressive monkeys.
Their leader, a scarred old male, bared his teeth and lunged forward. In a flash, they snatched my daughter’s toys like seasoned thieves. We froze, unsure what to do, until a local man appeared with a stick and drove them away.
Today, we remember that moment with laughter—but also with a sense of awe at how unpredictable travel can be.
As Allah reminds us in the Qur’an:
قُلْ مَن يُنَجِّيكُم مِّن ظُلُمَـٰتِ ٱلْبَرِّ وَٱلْبَحْرِ تَدْعُونَهُۥ تَضَرُّعًۭا وَخُفْيَةًۭ لَّئِنْ أَنجَىٰنَا مِنْ هَـٰذِهِۦ لَنَكُونَنَّ مِنَ ٱلشَّـٰكِرِينَ
Say, (O Prophet): ‘Who rescues you from the darkness of the land and sea when you call upon Him in humility—openly and secretly—(saying): “If He saves us from this, we will surely be among the grateful.”(Al-An’am 63)
And that is the beauty of travel.
It humbles you.
It challenges you.
It strips away the illusion of control.
Most importantly, it brings you closer to Allah—if you take the time to reflect.
Living For Islam 