ṢILAT AL-RAḤIM: TIES OF KINSHIP IN ISLAM
In Islam, keeping family ties (ṣilat al-raḥim) is not just good manners. It is an act of worship, and cutting those ties is a major sin.
1. What the Qur'an says:
Allah commands us to fear Him "and respect the ties of kinship" (al-Nisāʾ 4:1). He links worshipping Him with goodness to parents and relatives (4:36), and commands us to "give the relative his right" (al-Isrāʾ 17:26). He warns those who *"sever your ties of kinship"* that they are among those He has cursed (Muḥammad 47:22–23).
2. What the Prophet ﷺ taught
- "Whoever would like his provision to be increased and his life to be extended, let him maintain the ties of kinship." (al-Bukhārī and Muslim)
- "The one who severs the ties of kinship will not enter Paradise." (al-Bukhārī and Muslim)
- "Al-raḥim is attached to the Throne and says: whoever keeps me, Allah will keep him, and whoever cuts me, Allah will cut him." (Muslim)
3. Who counts as kin?
Your parents first, then siblings, grandparents, children, uncles, aunts, cousins and other blood relatives, with the closest having the greatest right.
4. How do we keep the ties?
Visit them, call them, greet them, help them when they are in need, attend their joys and sorrows, pray for them and forgive their faults. Even a phone call or a kind message counts. Real ṣilah is not tit-for-tat. The Prophet ﷺ said: "The one who maintains ties is not the one who merely reciprocates, but the one who, when ties are cut, restores them." (al-Bukhārī)
5. What about relatives of other faiths?
The duty remains. Allah says of parents who even push us towards shirk: do not obey them in that, "but keep their company in this world courteously" (Luqmān 31:15). Allah does not forbid kindness and justice towards those who have not fought us over religion (al-Mumtaḥanah 60:8). When Asmāʾ bint Abī Bakr's polytheist mother came to visit, the Prophet ﷺ told her, "Yes, maintain ties with your mother." (al-Bukhārī and Muslim). Our faith sets our ultimate loyalty, but it does not cancel the rights of family.
6. The limits
We do not obey anyone, relative or not, in disobeying Allah. If a relative causes serious harm, you may reduce contact to protect yourself, but you still don't wish them ill or cut them off completely.
In summary, keep your family close, be the first to reconcile, and remember that the reward is barakah in your life, your sustenance and your Hereafter.
May Allah make us among those who join what He has commanded to be joined. Āmīn.
I really hate people ( men) who lack spatial awareness in public buses. Because there’s no reason why you should spread like this.
Why am I feeling your elbow on my hips ?
Now I’ve pushed you and you’re asking me “sister what happened?”
😒
@IdrisAOni1 I thoroughly enjoyed reading this beautiful post and picked up one or two valuable lessons along the way. Thank you so much for sharing these childhood memories and experiences with us. I hope Dad lived long enough to witness what Baba Eko eventually became. 😊
As a Lagos boy growing up, I spoke what we called "Mìdé" and could hardly construct five complete sentences in Yorùbá without mixing them with English. My father was particularly unhappy about this. We are originally Ẹ̀gbá, and although my parents still retained strong Ẹ̀gbá intonations in their speech, they spoke the language rather sparingly. Out of frustration, my father would sometimes call me "Bàbá Èkó."
I started attending Arabic school around 1992, and that experience contributed immensely to the development of my Yorùbá language skills. Interestingly, throughout the years I spent in traditional Arabic schools, I was learning Yorùbá alongside Arabic. We were taught Arabic, but Yorùbá was the language through which our teachers translated, interpreted and explained what we were learning.
Our teachers came from different parts of Yorùbá land: Ilorin, Ṣaki, Ọ̀yọ́, Ọ̀ṣun, Ẹ̀gbá and other core Yorùbá communities. They were people deeply rooted in Yorùbá language and culture. Their everyday expressions, explanations, stories, illustrations and interactions exposed us to a richness of Yorùbá vocabulary that we might not ordinarily have encountered elsewhere.
The impact was remarkable. At some point, my Yorùbá teacher in secondary school was genuinely surprised by some of the Yorùbá words and expressions I had acquired through my ilé-kẹ̀wù experience. Some of those words were unfamiliar to her.
Looking back, I have come to appreciate that traditional Arabic and Islamic schools in Yorùbá land did considerably more than teach Arabic and Islamic religious sciences. They also served, in their own ways, as important spaces for the intergenerational transmission of Yorùbá language, vocabulary, expressions and cultural knowledge.
This is an aspect of our educational and cultural history that deserves serious scholarly attention.
I hope to devote time to researching and writing a paper on the impact of traditional Arabic and Islamic Studies education in Yorùbá land on the preservation and transmission of Yorùbá language and culture.
I believe there is a fascinating story here, one that deserves to be documented before some of the experiences, expressions, vocabulary and memories of our traditional educational institutions disappear with the older generations.
Perhaps, one of the unintended but remarkable contributions of our ilé-kẹ̀wù was that, while teaching us the language of the Qur'ān, they also helped us rediscover and appreciate the richness of our own mother tongue.