O Fatima al-Fihri, do you seek a companion, a best friend?

May Allah have mercy on you, Fatima al-Fihri, founder of world’s oldest university, who built a knowledge base that has stood the test of time.

O Fatima, do you remember the streets of Fez, when they were only beginning to hum with life?

You, as a ninth-century Kairouan-born Tunisian, walk with your sister Mariam through a world changing beneath your feet. Your father, a merchant, brought you to Morocco, and the city of Fez welcomed you like a quiet promise. I imagine your young hands holding the coins of inheritance, heavy with possibility.

Did you feel, even then, the weight of history you were about to shape?

She, may Allah be pleased with her, knew that education opens doors for everyone, and that the true source of wealth lies in sharing wisdom. So, she chose to invest all her inheritance and resources in a vision that would educate generations, sparing no effort in her devotion.

That was her time, so what would she have done, if she had lived in our time?

When he passed, you chose a path that no woman had walked before. You could have lived quietly, but instead you built a vision: a mosque, a university, a sanctuary for learning that would last for centuries. You could have built palaces, but you built a place for minds.

That was her world, so what would she have done, if she had lived in our world.

You knew this world values learning. You bought the land, touched every stone, fasted for its completion, eighteen years of unwavering faith. Masjid al-Qarawiyyin rose, became a place of dreams, a space full of bravery, and a mark of courage and audacity. Today, it is marked as a site of UNESCO and even recorded in the Guinness Book of Records for being the world’s oldest continuously operating university. That thought alone causes my heart to swell with admiration.

I have walked its halls in my imagination countless times, more than I could in reality. Each corridor, each nook of the library, each manuscript in the library, points to you, Fatima. Scholars arrived from far lands in astronomy, medicine, philosophy, languages, and along with all the learning and the creation, you welcomed them with your generous spirit.

Education was not only for the few, nor only for men; your vision was universal and timeless.

It is said that you were fifty-nine when you enrolled yourself at your own university.

What humility to sit among younger students, still seeking. What strength to be the founder and the learner at once.

I long for my old self, Fatima al-Fihri, when I used to immerse in knowledge alone.

I long for the ancient manuscripts of Al-Qarawiyyin library history, and the teachings of astronomy and lessons of philosophy there, and then, the debates on medicine and languages, when I would bend my knees before the scholars, and we would explore texts, and one would say: That is enough for you, enough for you.

Then we realised that the moment had arrived for genuine happiness, a concept to discover, a historical figure to discover, a piece of poetry from a distance, a gem of wisdom from another era, discussions on diverse sciences.

I really miss Ibn Rushd so much. I always imagined that if I had met him, we would have been companions of knowledge. But comfort to me, that companionship is not about physical presence; it is about connecting with someone whose thoughts resonate with your soul and speak to your heart.

I imagine you sitting there, Fatima, looking at the laborers as they constructed, whispering quiet prayers for those who would one day study here. I think you may not have thought of recognition, but of continuity. Of leaving behind something that would please Allah, long after you were gone.

And in a quiet moment, I imagine you leaning toward me, softly saying: “I would be even happier if you, too, take this path, build, teach, illuminate, and serve knowledge with courage.” That gentle nudge, Fatima, I feel even now, urging me forward.

I have a yearning for circles of study at the world’s oldest degree granting university, where one is simply nameless, recognized by none, and claiming nothing more than a place to seat, and nothing of the hour except a few minutes. You prepare for days, weeks, the teacher guides with authority.

And I am not one who cannot express this yearning.

This world has drawn me distant, Fatima al-Fihri, would you take me with you?

Two souls we observe this world as if it holds no claim on us, as if it is not ours nor we are of it, two simple guests so light that acquaintances will not remember our farewell; passersby will care for us and move forward.

You know that, and I know, that death is not the end of the story, it is the beginning of it.

I have no further interest in transitory affairs, nor even this world despite the fact that it may cave in around me. Every soul in life finds its sustenance; it is not mine to chase. Neither glory attracts me, nor shadows alarm me.

I learned from you, Fatima al-Fihri biography of dedication, that whoever does not hold value in the pursuit of knowledge is truly lost.

I see it, I view this world now, and I recall the migrants elsewhere seeking refuge, seeking guidance, building anew as flames of transformation burned elsewhere, declaring: Let the old ways fade.

This is not connected to any position or moment. I have received more honor in life than deserved, because I know my essence.

And I have faced enough shame to erase a part, yet here I remain steadfast. Honor has not moved me, and shame has not broken me.

My persistent prayer has always been: If You are pleased with me, nothing else matters.

I have many texts to study, inshaAllah.

I will share insights I have gained, and I will foster bonds of wisdom, inshaAllah.

Wherever a nurturing space exists, there I shall be.But my bond to this world will be like a whisper in the wind, present yet untouched by its storms.

In a quiet reflection, I think of Ibn Khaldun, the renowned historian who walked the halls of Al-Qarawiyyin University, absorbing its riches. His reflection on asabiyya, the ties of family and community that bind societies, reminds me that even a grand vision like yours thrives when rooted in care, cohesion, and belonging. His theory of asabiyyah, the social cohesion that holds, that binds communities together, makes me reminisce about how your grand project thrived on unity and shared purpose of your institution.

Just as tribal bonds fuel rise and fall in his classic Muqaddimah, your university served as intellectual ties that strengthened borders, inspiring cultural exchange between Muslim world and Europe, forever in solidarity in the pursuit of progress.

O Fatima, do you want a companion, a best friend?

I would sit with you in the courtyard, bend my knees, and let you teach me not only the lessons of science, faith, and philosophy, but also lessons of courage, commitment devotion, and love for knowledge itself.

You remind me that the true riches of this world are not jewels or gold. The true riches are ideas and vision, cultivated, nurtured, and shared.

Your shared purpose still stands, Fatima. The university doors are open. Students still walk where you once walked. And somewhere, there is a young woman looks up at your name and thinks, “Maybe I can build something too.”May Allah bless your soul, and may we all learn from your example: daring to build, to teach, to illuminate even when no one before us has tried.

O Fatima al-Fihri, your legacy is alive. And in my heart, it whispers: education is not just a right; it is a blessing, and it is never too late to learn.

To be continued… with reflections on Ibn Khaldun, asabiyya, and the bonds that strengthen a vision.

Arfa Jahan Iqbal