“You mean you have become a kafiri?” several Somali men asked me. “How would you dare betray us and our religion? We are going to kill you unless you denounce your Christian faith!”
I was born in 1956 and raised in a wealthy family and clan in the republic of Somalia. My father, an educated Muslim merchant, took me to school in Mogadishu. I spent four years in primary school, four in intermediate school, and four in secondary school. After secondary school, I attended university for one year, specializing in physics and mathematics. I gained sponsorship and later studied general science in Russia. Because of poor relations between my country and Russia, I had to return home. Later, I studied electronics at City & Guilds in Dublin, Ireland, graduating with a diploma after three years.
After returning to Mogadishu, I found work with the ministry of posts and telecommunications. I also taught telecommunications at the National Institute for Telecommunication in Mogadishu and was promoted to deputy director of the institute.
Between 1991 and 1992, war broke out in Somalia. In the streets of Mogadishu, a stray bullet passed through a door and struck my relative in the head. We had no specialist doctors, and our hospitals could not provide the necessary treatment. He was paralyzed for more than a year. He later received medical sponsorship through the United Nations, and we took him to Nairobi for treatment.
Meeting Christ in Kenya
While in Nairobi, I lived with relatives who had settled in Eastleigh. As a public officer in the Somali government, I had planned to return and continue my work. The clashes in Somalia became so severe, however, that I feared for my life. I chose not to return and settled in Eastleigh.
I chewed miraa (khat) and drank beer almost every day. My family in Mogadishu and relatives in Eastleigh assisted me financially. Together with my savings, this gave me ample money. I also helped people buy spare parts, medicine, and other items on a commission basis.
One day, I saw two Somali men from Mogadishu reading a Bible and other Christian literature. “Why are you reading Christian material?” I asked. “We are learning Christian theology,” they replied, “so we can know what they believe.”
“I cannot read Christian material,” I told them. “Christians are bad people and Muslims have nothing to do with them. Nevertheless, if you are reading to learn how bad Christians are, that is fine.” From my background, I knew only Catholic Christians. I did not trust them and thought they worshiped idols or statues in their churches.
One day, my two Somali friends asked me to accompany them to church. Although I was afraid, I agreed and entered my first church in Kenya. I wanted to learn what Christians believed so I could challenge those I met in my neighborhood.
“Where are the statues?” I asked my two Somali friends. Unlike the church I knew in Somalia, there were no statues. “Why are the people facing the pulpit?” I asked. “Are they facing Jerusalem?”
Muslims face Mecca when praying. I could not understand why Christians faced the pulpit. Deep within my heart, I felt guilty and uneasy. “Let’s get out of here,” I told my friends.
“Let’s stay and learn how the kafiri worship,” they encouraged me. They handed me a Bible, but I was reluctant to open it. I considered going to church a great sin and believed opening the Bible would make me lose my sight. Nevertheless, my two friends had not lost theirs, so I decided to open it.
After the fellowship, I asked my friends many questions about Christianity. They knew the Scriptures well and began comparing and contrasting the teachings of the Bible and the Qur’an. Their encouragement made me want to learn more about the Bible and visit church again. Other Christians spoke with me. They were friendly, calm, and understanding rather than argumentative. They did not attack the Muslim faith. I realized my attitude toward Christians had been wrong. I had associated Christianity with alcohol, prostitution, and every kind of evil. I soon realized my two Somali friends were Christians and did not practice those things. They began to witness to me.
As I continued to learn about Christian faith and the Bible, I asked myself many questions. I had no assurance of salvation within my understanding of Islam. I had been taught that angels recorded a person’s good and evil deeds and that these deeds would be weighed at judgment. This teaching tormented me day and night and made my life feel hopeless and uncertain.
When I thought about Somalia, I wondered why fellow Muslims were fighting and killing one another. I could not understand why there was trouble everywhere. In my search, I found an answer in the Bible: humanity is sinful by nature and needs redemption.
John 3:16 convicted me of my sins, and in December 1997 I repented and asked the Lord to be my Savior for the rest of my life. Later, I shared my desire to be baptized with my Somali Christian friends, and I was baptized.
Attacked and disowned
I still struggled to leave old ways behind, including chewing miraa and drinking beer. Doubt reigned in my heart, and I feared rejection from my Muslim relatives. I told other Somalis about my conversion to Christianity. They became angry, and some threatened to kill me. They asked questions I could not answer because I did not yet know the Bible well.
One day, several Somalis attacked me as I entered my house. They struck the back of my neck and cut my face with a panga. I needed first aid. I shared the experience with my pastor. He empathized with me and feared for my life, advising me not to return to Eastleigh and insisting that I stay in the church compound. Later, I joined a Bible school and pursued pastoral training.
I went to Kakuma refugee camp, where two other Somalis and I registered as refugees. We stayed at an evangelical church in Ethiopia for a year and began Bible studies.
Somalis in Kakuma were very hostile to our message. Problems escalated when one of my Christian Somali friends was attacked and stabbed. We had to take him to hospital.
We returned to Kenya and shared our situation with the United Nations High Commissioner for Refugees. We were allowed to stay in Nairobi. The Lord placed a burden in my heart to preach to fellow Somalis in Eastleigh, and I organized a peace meeting with a missionary who had worked among Somalis for years.
My decision to become a Christian did not please my parents, relatives, or clan. My family disowned me, while members of my clan vowed to kill me.
Strong in the Lord
At the time this account was published, it had been about ten years since I became a Christian. In spite of challenges from my clan, I had found joy, strength, and identity in the Lord Jesus Christ. I praised God for giving me new brothers and sisters in the Lord. For me, to live is Christ and to die is gain.
The original 2006 account reported that more than fifteen Somali Christians had been killed between 1991 and 2005. I was grateful for protection and the opportunity to witness to the Muslim community. I still loved my parents and relatives dearly, longed for fellowship with them, and prayed to see them in the kingdom of God.
Ministry in action at a Kenyan hospital
The following ministry account was included with the testimony and attributed to Muhammed Omar.
Back to the gospel
The decades before this article’s publication witnessed a surge in missionary activity. Christians had been challenged to go to difficult places such as Somalia. Then war began in 1991, and Somalis scattered across the world, many coming to Kenya. In 2006, I was thankful for opportunities to meet Somali patients coming to a Kenyan hospital for treatment, where I worked as a volunteer chaplain.
To reach Somalis, we have to understand their beliefs, practices, and culture. By doing so, we can meet them one by one. We must also ask why so much of the world remains unreached when the Church has considerable human and material resources. We must examine ourselves, recognize where we have fallen behind, repent, and ask the Lord to help us. When I think of Somali patients who are not Christians, I remember that the great gap is not simply between Somali belief and Christianity, but between God and humanity.
Chaplain care
My work as a chaplain included practical hospitality:
- Show love.
- Ask who told the person about the hospital.
- Learn what illness brought the person from Somalia.
- Ask whether the person is receiving the right service.
- Seek translation help if the person does not speak the local language.
Whenever possible, I also shared Scripture. Often I began with the creation story, highlighting God’s wisdom, explaining how sin entered the world, and presenting Christ and the need for the second Adam. I spoke about Cain and Abel, Noah, and the flood. I also asked questions about death, heaven, and hope.
My work was to reach out to patients. I also took part in a Wednesday devotional time. Doctors, nurses, staff, and chaplaincy workers served as a team and encouraged one another, each contributing different gifts.
Many served alongside me and encouraged the ministry. At the time of publication, prayer was requested for translation of English tracts into Somali and for other training resources. Readers were also asked to pray for growth in faith, love for one another, courage in persecution, and faithful preaching and teaching of the word of God.