religious learning in the schools of Islamic law.
Sheikh Muqbil regarded the Hadith , accounts of the actions and sayings of the Prophet recorded by his early followers, as the core of his teaching. The crisis of Islam, he held, could only be addressed by returning to the original texts and rejecting ‘innovators’ – mere mortals who had the temerity to interpret God’s word: ‘There is no God except God and Mohammed is His messenger.’ The spirit of Dammaj could be summed up by a hadith : ‘The most evil matter is novelty, and every novelty is an innovation, and every innovation is an error, and every error leads to hellfire.’ It did not leave much room for argument.
It was a bare but liberating message. And for someone like me who hated elites and establishments, it was intoxicating. I was now a witness to the multiple and overlapping struggles within Islam: between Salafis and others, among the Salafis themselves. And I was soon a willing participant in these struggles, soaking up scholarly texts, plunging into debates with other students.
It was in Dammaj that I began to get a sense at first hand of the violent rivalry between Sunni and Shia Muslims. The day I arrived, I saw rows of AK-47 rifles neatly lined against the walls of the Institute; and a number of students were on security duty, with weapons slung over their shoulders. The Institute was in a part of Yemen dominated by a Shia sect known as the Houthis. 3 The Sheikh made no attempt to hide his loathing of the Shia, and there were frequent clashes between his tribe and the Houthis.
The students at Dammaj did everything together – learning, eating, praying. Life revolved around the mosque. The day began before dawn with the first prayers of the day, and we received hours of Koranic instruction in the shade of the palms. We would spend long periods memorizing the Koran.
We never received anything amounting to paramilitary training but like many young Yemenis we did learn to fire guns, including AK-47s, at makeshift targets in the hills. A couple of Americans with military backgrounds played a leading part in the training, among them Rashid Barbi, who had been in the US army in Kuwait.
The Sheikh said such training was commanded by a hadith that stressed a strong believer was of greater value than a weak one and that all Muslims had to be prepared for jihad. Several students approached him to ask for permission to travel to Chechnya or Somalia to fight; but he only granted permission to those less than wholehearted in their studies. It was a way to winnow out the thinkers from the men of action.
I embraced the purity of the lifestyle, the absence of mobile phones or music, drugs and alcohol. I began teaching boxing to some of my fellow students and took them running. In return I sensed their respect. It felt far more satisfying than any knockout I had delivered on the streets of Korsør. By night, as I gazed up at the stars, I felt I belonged.
Occasionally I would write to Samar, but I never mailed any of the letters. As I became submerged in the rituals of Dammaj there seemed less and less point. One day, sorting through the few belongings I had brought, I was surprised to find photographs of our engagement party. Without much feeling I shredded them one by one. When I wanted a wife, she would have to be a good Muslim.
The Sheikh, for all his learning, had a mischievous sense of humour, and for some reason I became one of his favourite students. He would take me by the hand and walk through the oasis, talking to me in Arabic. I would grasp only one word in every ten, but he went on talking.
He would also single me out during his lectures.
‘Beni-marki,’ he would exclaim, grinning broadly, before commanding me to stand up and read hadith . I had begun to learn a few phrases of Yemeni Arabic but was unable to recite hadith , and would mumble apologies. A Libyan student took pity on me and taught me one hadith in Arabic. When I stood and
Sheikh Muqbil regarded the Hadith , accounts of the actions and sayings of the Prophet recorded by his early followers, as the core of his teaching. The crisis of Islam, he held, could only be addressed by returning to the original texts and rejecting ‘innovators’ – mere mortals who had the temerity to interpret God’s word: ‘There is no God except God and Mohammed is His messenger.’ The spirit of Dammaj could be summed up by a hadith : ‘The most evil matter is novelty, and every novelty is an innovation, and every innovation is an error, and every error leads to hellfire.’ It did not leave much room for argument.
It was a bare but liberating message. And for someone like me who hated elites and establishments, it was intoxicating. I was now a witness to the multiple and overlapping struggles within Islam: between Salafis and others, among the Salafis themselves. And I was soon a willing participant in these struggles, soaking up scholarly texts, plunging into debates with other students.
It was in Dammaj that I began to get a sense at first hand of the violent rivalry between Sunni and Shia Muslims. The day I arrived, I saw rows of AK-47 rifles neatly lined against the walls of the Institute; and a number of students were on security duty, with weapons slung over their shoulders. The Institute was in a part of Yemen dominated by a Shia sect known as the Houthis. 3 The Sheikh made no attempt to hide his loathing of the Shia, and there were frequent clashes between his tribe and the Houthis.
The students at Dammaj did everything together – learning, eating, praying. Life revolved around the mosque. The day began before dawn with the first prayers of the day, and we received hours of Koranic instruction in the shade of the palms. We would spend long periods memorizing the Koran.
We never received anything amounting to paramilitary training but like many young Yemenis we did learn to fire guns, including AK-47s, at makeshift targets in the hills. A couple of Americans with military backgrounds played a leading part in the training, among them Rashid Barbi, who had been in the US army in Kuwait.
The Sheikh said such training was commanded by a hadith that stressed a strong believer was of greater value than a weak one and that all Muslims had to be prepared for jihad. Several students approached him to ask for permission to travel to Chechnya or Somalia to fight; but he only granted permission to those less than wholehearted in their studies. It was a way to winnow out the thinkers from the men of action.
I embraced the purity of the lifestyle, the absence of mobile phones or music, drugs and alcohol. I began teaching boxing to some of my fellow students and took them running. In return I sensed their respect. It felt far more satisfying than any knockout I had delivered on the streets of Korsør. By night, as I gazed up at the stars, I felt I belonged.
Occasionally I would write to Samar, but I never mailed any of the letters. As I became submerged in the rituals of Dammaj there seemed less and less point. One day, sorting through the few belongings I had brought, I was surprised to find photographs of our engagement party. Without much feeling I shredded them one by one. When I wanted a wife, she would have to be a good Muslim.
The Sheikh, for all his learning, had a mischievous sense of humour, and for some reason I became one of his favourite students. He would take me by the hand and walk through the oasis, talking to me in Arabic. I would grasp only one word in every ten, but he went on talking.
He would also single me out during his lectures.
‘Beni-marki,’ he would exclaim, grinning broadly, before commanding me to stand up and read hadith . I had begun to learn a few phrases of Yemeni Arabic but was unable to recite hadith , and would mumble apologies. A Libyan student took pity on me and taught me one hadith in Arabic. When I stood and
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