“I Want to Make Waqf But…”: A Conversation You May Have Had in Your Heart

By Abdullahi Abubakar Lamido

It was a Friday evening. The sun was slipping gently behind the mosque’s minaret, and the cool breeze carried the smell of fried akara from a nearby vendor. I sat on the old bench beside Malam Sani—the elderly man known for his wisdom and warm smile—just after Asr prayer.

He looked at me, his eyes twinkling as usual. “You look like a man carrying a heavy thought.”

I laughed sheepishly. “Wallahi, you’re right. I’ve been thinking about something serious lately.”

“Talk to me, my son. What is it?”

I hesitated, then sighed. “I want to make waqf… but…”

He raised an eyebrow. “But what?”

I looked at him, embarrassed. “I don’t have much. I’m not a rich man.”

Excuse #1: I’m not rich. I don’t have much.
Malam Sani chuckled. “Let me tell you a story. Have you ever heard of the woman who gave half a date in charity and earned Paradise?”
I nodded.

“That’s from the Hadith, narrated by Aisha (RA). The Prophet (SAW) said, ‘Protect yourself from Hell-fire even by giving half a date in charity.’ (Bukhari, Muslim). Now, if half a date can save someone, do you think your ‘little’ effort is worthless?”

He leaned closer. “Waqf is not only for billionaires. You can make waqf with a sewing machine, a Qur’an, a borehole, a chair in a mosque, a portion of your farm—even a set of books or a learning space.”

Excuse #2: I don’t have immovable property. No land, no buildings.
“Do you remember Uthman ibn Affan’s famous waqf?” he asked.
“Of course. The well of Rumah.”

“Exactly. He bought a well and made it a waqf for the Muslims to drink freely. Water, my son! Just water! In our time, that could be a borehole or a solar-powered tap in a village.”

He smiled, “Waqf is not only about real estate. It’s about real intention. Anything that continues to benefit people, with the intention of earning Allah’s pleasure, is a waqf.”

Excuse #3: I don’t know how to go about it. I don’t have knowledge.
I nodded slowly, “But Malam… I don’t have enough knowledge about how to set up waqf properly.”

He looked at me with a kind seriousness. “Do you think Uthman (RA) had an entire law firm and documentation agency when he made waqf?”
I laughed.

“You can start simple. Start with a trusted Imam or Islamic organization. Ask questions. Many countries have Waqf laws or NGOs that guide people. There are resources now—online platforms, scholars, YouTube, and waqf-friendly institutions.”

He tapped my chest gently. “The only knowledge you must have is that you are doing it sincerely for Allah.”

Excuse #4: There’s no waqf institution around.

“That’s no excuse,” Malam said firmly. “The Prophet (SAW) didn’t wait for a Waqf Commission before encouraging the companions. You can appoint a trustworthy person, a family member, or even your local mosque committee to oversee it.”

Then I paused and said, “Well, by the way… I actually know of a foundation in Gombe called the Zakah and Waqf Foundation. They manage waqf properly. People give them cash waqf, donate properties, or even hand over shares and investments for them to manage as waqf.”
Malam Sani’s face lit up. “Alhamdulillah! That’s even better. When you find such institutions that are organized and transparent, don’t delay. They already have the structure, experience, and systems to manage your waqf responsibly. That solves half your worries.”

He leaned in thoughtfully. “And with the little resources they receive, I’ve heard they’re doing wonders—training women, girls, and youth to become entrepreneurs and job creators. That’s what productive waqf is all about—transforming lives, not just handing out charity.”

He then pulled out an old paper from his pocket. “Here. This is my simple handwritten waqf declaration. I gave my farmland to be used for funding orphans’ education. Every harvest, they sell it and use the proceeds.”
No formal office. Just sincere action.

“But if there’s now a reliable waqf institution like that in your state, one that actually builds people’s futures… what’s your excuse again?”
Excuse #5: I don’t think I can manage it.

I scratched my head. “But I’m not good at management. What if I mess it up?”

He laughed. “Then don’t manage it yourself!”

“You can appoint a mutawalli—someone who manages the waqf. The Sahaba didn’t always manage their own waqfs. They appointed others.”
He leaned forward. “And preferably, if you have access to one, appoint an institutional mutawalli—like the Zakah and Waqf Foundation. Institutions like that are structured, experienced, and accountable. They have trained staff, governance systems, and a clear mandate. That way, your waqf becomes not just well-managed, but sustainable.”

He continued, “Do you manage your own bank? No. But you trust it to hold your money. The same applies here—trust a reliable, God-fearing body to manage your waqf and deliver its impact.”

Excuse #6: I’m still young. I want to delay it. Maybe after I’ve settled more.

At this point, Malam grew serious.

“Have you been promised that you will live till next year?”
I kept quiet.

He lowered his voice. “One of my friends died at 32. He was building a house, planning to start a waqf after completion. He never saw the last layer of paint.”

He stared into the distance. “Don’t delay khair (goodness). You don’t know how long you have. And what you call ‘small’ today may not be possible tomorrow.”

Excuse #7: But people mismanage waqf. I’ve seen it happen.
“True,” he said. “Mismanagement exists. But does that mean you should abandon good? Have mosques stopped being built because some imams misbehave?”

He added, “In Islamic history, many great universities and hospitals were built from waqf. Even if some fail, others succeed.”

“Your job is to do your best, document it properly, and choose the right people. The reward is still recorded for you, even if people mismanage it later.”

Excuse #8: My little waqf won’t make any difference.

He looked at me directly. “Have you ever entered a mosque and sat on a donated plastic chair?”

I nodded.

“That chair may have been donated by someone you never knew. But every time someone sits, prays comfortably, learns, or rests—he gets reward. And maybe he’s dead now, but the reward flows.”

He smiled. “You see, your little waqf might be someone else’s miracle. Never belittle it.”

Excuse #9: I have my own problems. Let me solve them first.
“Ah, this one!” Malam shook his head. “Listen carefully. The Prophet (SAW) said: ‘Charity does not decrease wealth.’ (Muslim)”
“In fact, waqf is one of the surest ways to keep your wealth flowing in this world and the next. It becomes your ongoing investment—your Sadaqah Jariyah. When you die, it keeps paying.”

He paused. “Isn’t it wiser to tie part of your wealth to the Akhirah, where inflation doesn’t eat it?”

Excuse #10: I’m waiting to have something bigger to give.
“That’s Shaytan talking,” he said.

“Start with what you have. If it’s a single Qur’an, donate it to a school. If it’s a set of uniforms, give it to students. If it’s a single bench for learning—waqf it!”

He added, “When you begin, Allah opens more doors. The Prophet (SAW) said, ‘The most beloved deed to Allah is the most regular and consistent—even if small.’ (Bukhari, Muslim)”

Excuse #11: But I’m a woman. Can women even make waqf?
I said it quietly, almost like I wasn’t sure if I was allowed to ask.
Malam Sani turned slowly and looked at me, his expression calm but firm.

“Who told you women cannot make waqf? That is ignorance speaking, not Islam.”

He took a deep breath and continued, “From the time of the Prophet (SAW), women were creating waqf with their own wealth—without waiting for any man’s permission.”

“Umm al-Darda’, the great female scholar, made waqf. Zubayda, the wife of Caliph Harun al-Rashid, made one of the most famous waqfs in Islamic history—the Zubayda waterway—which supplied clean water to Hajj pilgrims from Baghdad to Makkah.”

He raised his finger. “And today, in Nigeria, in our own communities, women are donating sewing machines, chairs, Qur’ans, school uniforms, food stalls, lands, and even buildings as waqf. They are creating learning centres, supporting widows, and training girls.”

He leaned back. “Islam honours a woman’s ownership. Her wealth is her own. If she wishes to donate it as waqf, no one has the right to stop her—as long as it is done responsibly and sincerely.”

He smiled, “You don’t need to be a man to do something great. You just need to be intentional.”

Final Words: So what are you waiting for?

The call to Maghrib prayer began, soft and rhythmic.
Malam Sani stood up slowly, leaning on his walking stick.
“You’ve made plenty excuses today. I’ve made them before too. But at some point, we must stop hiding behind ‘but…’ and start living behind ‘bismillah.’”

He turned and smiled. “You want to make waqf? Do it now. Start small. Make it count.”

And just like that, he walked into the mosque.

And I sat there… thinking… No more excuses.

Amir Lamido
Gombe
17/04/25