Saleh: A Good Man Is Gone

By Kabiru Danladi, Ph.D.

I first learned about Saleh’s illness around 2009. I had just told him that I did not think I could continue with practice, and instead hoped to pursue my master’s degree and eventually serve in a university. His response caught me off guard—not because of what he said, but because of how he said it. In his calm, familiar voice, he brushed aside any concern about his health “ai ma ina samun sauƙi.” Even then, he carried his burden with a quiet strength that refused to trouble others.

That same spirit stayed with him over the years. Last year, when my car was stolen, he called me. After our usual greetings, I asked about his health—ya jiki? True to form, he would not let his illness weigh on our conversation. “Ah na samu sauƙi sosai, yanzu na ke ganin ka sa a Facebook cewa an sace ma mota” he replied. I said yes, what he did for me, I will never forget it. Saleh was a good man.

He never showed worry over his illness. It was never a denial, but a kind of resilience – an insistence on hope, on lightness, even in the face of difficulty.

In reflecting on his passing, one cannot help but confront the enduring mystery of death. It stands at the edge of human understanding, a horizon beyond which our language and reason struggle to reach. Philosophers have long debated whether death is something to fear, to accept, or to regard with indifference. Some see it as nothingness, where all experience ceases; others view its uncertainty as the very force that gives life urgency and meaning. What remains undeniable is that the awareness of death shapes how we live – how we choose, how we value, and how we hold on to the moments that pass too quickly.

Yet death is never just an abstract idea. It is deeply personal. It interrupts bonds, silences familiar voices, and reminds us of the fragility of everything we hold dear. In this sense, its mystery is not only philosophical but profoundly human – it forces us to face loss, limits, and the reality that life does not last forever. And still, within that tension, there is a quiet call: to live meaningfully, to carry one another with kindness, and to endure with dignity, just as Saleh did.

May Allah forgive his shortcomings and grant him Jannah.

—Danladi, PhD is a member of the LEADERSHIP Editorial Board