Open letter to my Christian brothers

My dear Christian brothers and sisters, I write to you today not as an adversary, not as a competitor for Nigeria’s soul, but as a fellow traveller on this turbulent, beautiful, and often perplexing journey we share. I write from a place of deep affection and a sincere hope for our collective peace. I want […]

My dear Christian brothers and sisters, I write to you today not as an adversary, not as a competitor for Nigeria’s soul, but as a fellow traveller on this turbulent, beautiful, and often perplexing journey we share. I write from a place of deep affection and a sincere hope for our collective peace. I want to talk about a pattern that weighs heavily on my heart, one that surfaces with wearying regularity: the public uproar that follows any government action or policy which bears even a faint, often imagined, whiff of “Islamisation.” It is a script we know too well, and it frays the delicate fabric of our unity. Let us, with gentleness and honesty, examine this.

Consider the recent travels of Oga Tinubu. He visited Turkey, and immediately, sections of our public sphere ignited with suspicion. “Why seek help from a Muslim country?” some asked, suggesting it was part of a hidden agenda, especially when the United States… which, under the same logic can be construed as a Christian country, is already engaged here.

My brothers, this viewpoint, with all respect, reflects a juvenile understanding of our world. To rely solely on one nation, even a powerful one like the U.S., is not strategy; it is strategic suicide. The United States is currently retracting, re-prioritising, entangled in a dozen global crises from Ukraine to the South China Sea.

Their record of military intervention is, frankly, a litany of unintended catastrophes. Seeking a broader coalition, building partnerships with multiple nations—including those with different dominant faiths—is the mark of a pragmatic government, not a theocratic one. Even the U.S. desperately seeks coalitions; no wise nation fights alone. To see conspiracy in basic geopolitics is to choose fear over reason.

This brings me to a deeper, more personal reflection. We Muslims in Nigeria have, for generations, lived within a public space overwhelmingly shaped by Christian norms. We have accepted this, largely in good faith and with a spirit of accommodation, rarely crying “Christianization!” Let me share some examples, not to accuse, but to illustrate a perspective you may not often consider.

For quite some time of our history, Nigeria had a one-day weekend: Sunday. This was established so our Christian compatriots could worship. It was simply the way it was. Then, to accommodate our Seventh-Day Adventist brothers who worship on Saturday, the weekend was expanded. This is a beautiful thing—accommodation! Yet, the Muslim day of congregational prayer, Friday, remains a full workday. We slip out for Jumu’ah prayers, often in a rush, and return to our desks. We accepted this. We did not protest.

Our entire national chronology is dictated by the Gregorian calendar, rooted in the Christian epoch. I, like millions of Muslims, can tell you the date in this system without thought, but I must pause and consult a mobile app to know the Hijri date, the calendar of my own faith tradition. I am, in a practical sense, “Christianised” by the rhythm of public life. Yet, I did not protest.

Take our currency. When the Central Bank moved to redesign the Naira, some Christian groups vehemently demanded the removal of the small Ajami (based on Arabic) notations that denote the value. These were originally included so that we, northern brothers and sisters, literate in the Arabic script, we’ve used for centuries, could read the notes. This script was our heritage long before colonialism. The British, in their mission of “glory, gold, and gospel,” actively sought to replace this Arabic-based script with the Latin alphabet as a first step towards undermining Islamic culture and enabling conversion. This is a matter of public record! Yes, check the National Archives! There’s a documented record of a meeting where that was explicitly discussed. That Latin script, the very script of your Bible, now dominates everything—our signs, our education, our official documents. We could, if we wished, protest that the Latin script on the Naira is a vestige of a colonial, Christianising project. But we have not. We accepted it and moved forward together.

Recall the outcry against the introduction of Non-Interest (Islamic) Banking. It was painted as a sinister infiltration. Yet, this system operates parallel to conventional banking, offering a choice, not a compulsion. It hurts no one. The only thing that seemed to offend was the word “Islamic” attached to it. Can you see how that feels? It feels like a sheer discomfort with our identity being visible in the public square, even in a voluntary, economic sphere.

Scholars often speak of “Islamophobia” as something manufactured in the West and exported. But from where I stand, its most painful manifestations are homegrown, springing from local fears and historical rivalries that we have the power to soothe. We must move beyond Eurocentric explanations and look honestly at our own hearts.

My gentle appeal is for mutual acceptance, seen not as a weakness, but as the ultimate strength. Acceptance is a two-way street. We have, for a long time, traveled a considerable distance on your lane. All we ask is for a little space in the median, for a few signposts that say, “You too belong here.” This is not about dominance; it is about inclusion. It is about justice.

The imperatives of this mutual acceptance are the very bedrock of our collective progress. A nation is a shared project, a story we write together. If a significant portion of the populace—over half, in fact—never sees their identity, their symbols, their rhythms reflected in the national story, why would they invest their whole hearts in it? If you feel like a permanent guest in a house, you may keep it tidy, but you will not pour your savings into renovating the foundation. You will not paint the walls with your cherished colours. You will not fight for it with the same ferocity as the one who feels it is truly, irrevocably, their home.

But when you see yourself included—when a Hijri date appears alongside a Gregorian one on an official document, when a public holiday acknowledges your holy day, when a financial system respects your beliefs—you think, “This is my country too. Its glory is my glory, its progress is my legacy.” That feeling unleashes an untapped reservoir of patriotism, innovation, and sacrificial effort. It turns bystanders into stakeholders. This benefits everyone—Muslim and Christian alike. A nation where everyone feels at home is a nation that can finally stop wasting energy on internal suspicion and direct all its formidable might toward development, security, and prosperity.

I love you, my Christian brothers and sisters. I wish you well forever. I pray in my mosque for your churches, just as I know many of you pray in your churches for our nation’s peace. Let us move beyond this tired script of conspiracy… let us choose the harder but more rewarding path of trust, of intellectual honesty, and of a generous spirit that makes room for both the cross and the crescent in our shared sky.

Our journey to glory requires all of us… seeing each other, valuing each other, and finally, walking in lockstep.