Ramadan 2024 came at a time in my life that I could never have anticipated. Just a few months after losing my beloved husband, Yarhamullah, I found myself navigating the challenges of being a single parent, enduring significant financial loss, and confronting the cyclical waves of grief. Yet, amidst the darkness, Ramadan arrived — and with it, a moment of reflection that would change my life forever.

As I sat in quiet contemplation during the blessed month, I couldn’t help but feel a profound sense of gratitude. Subhanallah, despite my personal struggles, I still had sustenance, shelter, and stability — blessings that many widows around the world, particularly in parts of Africa, live without entirely. I kept asking myself: If my own journey feels this heavy, how do these women carry the unbearable weight of grief, poverty, and isolation — all without a support system?My heart sank when I thought about the widows in a small town in Cape Coast, Ghana. Most of them had lost their husbands decades ago, yet still lived in destitution. Others were young mothers with babies, struggling to survive on less than $10 a day after hours of back-breaking labor under the scorching sun.

I couldn’t ignore it. The question kept haunting me: How do they take care of themselves and their children with no financial independence and no sustainable means of survival? The answer was painfully clear — they simply didn’t. And in that moment, I knew that Allah was redesigning my grief into a new purpose — one filled with compassion, empathy, and relatability.

Without hesitation, I reached out to my sister, who currently lives in Ghana, and asked her to compile a list of widows in the area. I wanted to do something — anything — to make a difference in their lives during Ramadan. At the same time, I joined forces with another widow in my local community to raise funds for iftar meals, setting a modest goal to provide meals for just 15 widows.

I’ll be honest — I was skeptical. It was already the 22nd night of Ramadan, and I wondered if we could gather enough funds to even meet our small target. But Allah’s mercy is boundless. What started as a plan to feed 15 widows turned into something far greater. With overwhelming generosity from our community, we were able to provide food packages for over 100 widows — packages that would sustain them not only through Ramadan but for an entire month afterward. In addition to food, we gifted them beautiful fabric for Eid so they could celebrate with dignity and joy.

And then, just when I thought we had done enough, Allah opened another door. We were contacted by a local organization in Ghana requesting support for incarcerated Muslims in a high-security prison. Many of these inmates were fasting without any means to break their fast — surviving on nothing but water or small scraps of food. Imagine fasting all day with no iftar to look forward to. For them, completing their fast for the remaining days of Ramadan would have been nearly impossible without intervention.

Alhamdulillah, by the grace of Allah, we answered that call too. With the same funds we had raised for the widows, we were able to provide daily iftar meals for dozens of incarcerated Muslims — ensuring that they, too, could experience the blessings of Ramadan. In that moment, I realized that Allah had transformed my grief into a mission, and my pain into purpose.