Under the warm Ugandan sun, the fields stretched wide, ripe with life and labor.
Among the tall stalks and rich soil stood Mugerwa Eric, a 68-year-old man whose hands had long worked the land, even as his heart quietly wrestled with questions that had gone unanswered for decades.
That day, as he tended his crops, he was approached by the Du’at of iERA Uganda — dedicated callers to Islam, walking village to village, not with judgment, but with an open heart and a simple message: There is only One God, and He is near to all who seek Him.
Eric greeted the strangers with a mixture of curiosity and cautious interest. Over the years, he’d had many visitors, but these men were different. They didn’t come to preach at him; they came to speak with him.
They listened as he spoke — about his faith, his family, and a lingering confusion that had followed him for over thirty years.
Eric had long considered himself a committed Born-Again Catholic. But one phrase, repeated over the years by his pastors, never sat right with him: “You are the sheep, and Jesus is the shepherd.” Though it was meant to be comforting, Eric had always felt unsettled by it. “Why am I a sheep?” he once dared to ask.
The response he got — a curt “Jesus died for you” — didn’t answer his question. It only deepened his doubts.
The Du’at responded with empathy. They explained that in Islam, every human being is seen as dignified, created with reason, will, and the ability to connect with their Creator directly — without intermediaries. “You’re not a sheep,” one of them said gently.
“You’re a servant of God, with a mind and heart capable of knowing Him, worshipping Him, and calling upon Him directly.”
This struck a deep chord with Eric.
They continued, unfolding the beauty of Islamic belief: the Oneness of God (Tawheed), the line of prophets who all taught the same central message — from Adam to Noah, from Abraham to Moses and Jesus, and finally, to Muhammad (peace be upon them all).
They spoke of the Qur’an, a book preserved in its original form for over 1,400 years — a divine guide without alteration, distortion, or human authorship.
In that moment, in the middle of his farmland, a quiet transformation began. Eric wasn’t just hearing new information; he was feeling clarity where there had long been confusion. It wasn’t a clash of religions — it was the answer to a lifelong spiritual dissonance.
“I see now,” he said slowly, “that I’ve been called a sheep because I was taught to worship through someone else. But I was never told I could worship God directly.”
With newfound understanding and conviction, he took a deep breath and spoke the Shahada — the testimony of faith. From that day forward, Mugerwa Eric became Abubakar.
Smiling, he turned to the du’ats and said with a chuckle, “You’ve saved me from being called a sheep — and from darkness.” But there was more than humor in his voice — there was joy, relief, and purpose.
Abubakar immediately asked how he could continue learning and how to involve his children in this new journey. The faith he embraced wasn’t meant to stay with him alone — he saw it as something to pass forward, to bring light into his household, and perhaps even change the legacy of his family.
That day, under the sun, in a field not far from home, a man who had long tilled the earth began sowing the seeds of something eternal — faith rooted not in confusion or metaphor, but in truth and direct connection with his Creator.
