In this interview, Suleiman* – a 22-year-old student who converted to Islam from Christianity during his second year at university – bares it all to JD. What follows is his honest account of searching, deciding, and rebuilding identity in a new faith community.
Tell me about your life before your conversion.
I grew up in Akure. My mum is a nurse and my dad runs a printing shop. We went to church every Sunday. For me as a teenager, church was mostly routine. I knew the hymns, I joined in prayers, but that didn’t stop me from asking myself if I believed everything I was doing.
Outside church, life was normal. When I gained admission into university, I was thinking of stacking up my grades, hanging out with more friends and attending events. Religion was just in the background.
What changed when you got to campus?
Campus gave me space to be myself. You know exactly how it’s like: no one forces you to do things. If you don’t attend lectures, you face the consequences yourself, no one else. So there is that freedom to decide how to shape one’s future. You decide what you believe and how you act.
In my first year I shared a room with a Muslim student. He never preached to me. We had mutual respect for each other as roommates. But, what caught my attention about him was his discipline. He would leave conversations midway when prayer time came. Never apologised for it. He’d just say, “I’ll be back.”
At first I thought it was strange. But over time it made me curious. He tends to live with direction. That’s when I started to question what I stood for.
When did the search begin?
I was offering a course from the department of Philosophy. It was a general studies course. In one of those classes, a lecturer once asked us to write an essay on the source of right and wrong. I wrote something that sounded fine on paper, but later that night I kept thinking about it. Where do we draw the line? Who sets it? I read a bit of philosophy online. The more I read, the more confused I became. But it helped me in questioning a lot.
So I went back to the Bible, which was familiar. I started making notes. But I wanted more clarity. I needed something I could practise daily, not just a Sunday routine. I asked myself if I truly believed in God. If I did, then what did that belief demand of me every single day?
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What made Islam stand out to you?
Three things. First, the belief in one God. No partners. No one else to worship. Clean and direct.
Second, discipline. Five prayers sounded heavy at first. But the way it divides the day made sense to me. You pause, you stand, you bow. It humbles you. You admit you’re not in charge of everything.
Third, the Prophet’s life. I read short biographies of him. He wasn’t just a figure for miracles. He showed leadership through everyday actions. That drew me in.
How did your roommate react when you showed interest?
He was patient. He gave me an English translation of the Qur’an and a small book of daily supplications. He didn’t pressure me. He said, “Read. Take your time. Islam is not about tribe or name.” That helped, because I didn’t want to feel like I had to become someone else.
The first Friday I went to the mosque, I stood at the back. The sermon was on trust. Simple things, paying debts, keeping promises, showing up when you say you will. It wasn’t abstract. I walked out thinking, this is practical.
What moment made you decide to accept Islam?
Ramadan. Exams came around that same period. I tried fasting for two days. I joined others for iftar at the mosque. They gave me fruits, water, and food.
On the second evening, when I broke my fast, I thought about how natural it felt. If I already believed in one God and in Muhammad as His messenger, why was I holding back? That night, with two brothers present, I said the shahada (the Muslim profession of faith).
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Did you tell your family straight away?
Not immediately. I told my younger sister first. She’s in secondary school. She only asked if I felt good about my decision.
Telling my mum was hard. She cried. She felt I’d been deceived on campus. She said she prayed over me before I was born and that I belonged in the church. It hurt her deeply.
My dad was calmer. He said I was old enough to choose, but I should think carefully. He told me not to cut off from my family, and I promised I wouldn’t do such.
How did your friends react?
Some called it a phase. I tried not to argue with everyone. I just kept living.
I also stopped going to certain gatherings. Not because I suddenly thought they were evil, but because it drained me to keep explaining myself. The close friends stayed. The casual ones faded away.
What has been the hardest part since you converted?
Waking up for Fajr – the Arabic word for dawn and the first of the five daily prayers performed by Muslims – on cold mornings. My bed always wins the first round.
Learning Arabic has also been tough. I’m still learning to recite the Qur’an properly. My tongue struggles with some sounds. I practise with a teacher.
Then there are assumptions. Some think I hate Christians now. That’s not true. I learnt discipline, responsibility, and love for God from my church. I now practise faith differently, but that doesn’t erase my past.
Did you change your name?
No. I still use my Yoruba name. It honours God too. I added a Muslim name online, but on documents I’m the same. Islam didn’t demand I erase my roots.
How do you deal with Sundays when you go back home?
The first Sunday after I returned from school, my mum asked me to follow her to church. I went. I sat with her. But I didn’t take Communion.
She still struggles with my decision, but over time she’s softened. Now she sometimes sends fruit during Ramadan.
How has daily life changed?
I now check food labels. I ask more questions at the suya stand. I sleep earlier so I can wake for Fajr.
I stopped drinking. My weekend routines have also changed. I spend more time at the mosque, study, or hang out with Muslim brothers. I still hang out with non-Muslim friends, but my boundaries are clearer now.I now check food labels. I ask more questions at the suya stand. I sleep earlier so I can wake for Fajr.
I stopped drinking. My weekend routines have also changed. I spend more time at the mosque, study, or hang out with Muslim brothers. I still hang out with non-Muslim friends, but my boundaries are clearer now.
What keeps you going when doubts come?
The basics. One God. His words are preserved. The daily prayers that humble me.
How do you handle Christians who feel hurt by your choice?
I remind them I respect where I come from. I don’t mock. I don’t debate for fun. If they ask sincere questions, I share what I know. If it turns into an argument, I step back.
What does rebuilding identity look like for you now?
It’s in daily habits. Learning to recite prayers correctly. Buying my own prayer mat. Giving a little to charity even from my student allowance. Lowering my gaze. Turning off my phone at prayer time.
You know, it’s not about huge changes overnight. It’s about building a steady routine or pattern.
What are you hoping for now?
Consistency. I want to finish learning Qur’an recitation properly. I want to graduate without cutting corners. I want my family to see through my actions that Islam made me more truthful and more patient. And I want to be useful, both at home and in society.
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*Pseudonym
