The desert light hit different the first time I saw it. From the small oval window of our flight into Amman, the sand below shimmered in gold, stretching endlessly towards a horizon that seemed older than time itself. I didn’t come here looking for luxury or leisure. I came because this was tanah ambiya, the land of prophets. Even before we touched down, I knew this trip would feel different.
Jordan was meant to be a side stop before and after our journey to Palestine, but it never felt like one. The moment we stepped into Amman, I sensed that quiet, sacred rhythm that defines this part of the world. The people were warm, the air dry but gentle, and the city itself was layered, modern shops sitting beside Roman ruins, call to prayer echoing above ancient stone.
of course, we had to start our journey with good local food.
In Amman, we made our way to one of the places I had only read about before — the Tomb of the Seven Sleepers, or Ashabul Kahfi. Note: this is one of few places that were said to be “the location”. Wallahualam.
The drive there was simple, nothing spectacular, but when we arrived, the air felt heavy in a comforting way. The area was quiet, unadorned, yet powerful. To stand where people once slept for centuries by Allah’s will, it made every worry in life feel small. I remember thinking about time, how easily we rush through it, and how here, time had paused to honour faith.
I stood in silence, thinking about the story we’ve all heard since school, a group of youths who chose faith over comfort, who hid in a cave to preserve their iman, only for Allah to protect them in miraculous sleep for generations. The guide’s voice faded as I walked closer to the cave entrance. I ran my fingers along the rough stone wall and wondered what it must have felt like, to be forced to choose between faith and safety, to stand against the tide of disbelief with nothing but conviction in your heart.
It struck me how easy faith feels today, how we take it for granted. We perform prayers openly, call azan from tall minarets, and speak freely about religion without fear. Yet these men, in their youth, were willing to give up everything from family, to comfort, even their lives just to remain true to their belief in Allah SWT. Standing there, I felt both humbled and grateful.
It was a heavy kind of peace. Not sad, not overwhelming, just grounding. A reminder that no matter how modern or complicated our lives become, the essence of faith remains simple: believe, trust, and be patient.
Before making our way toward the Dead Sea, we stopped in Al-Salt, a city about 30 kilometres outside of Amman. The road there wound gently through olive-dotted hills and small villages, the kind of quiet Jordanian countryside that feels untouched by time.
Al-Salt isn’t a large city, but it carries a deep spiritual calm. This is where the Maqam of Nabi Allah Yusha? A.S. is located, a prophet known in the Bible as Joshua, and believed to have been a close companion and successor to Nabi Musa A.S. after his passing.
Our guide reminded us early on that, as with many of these sacred sites, it’s difficult to verify authenticity beyond doubt. Wallahualam. But that wasn’t the point. The real value wasn’t in the physical tomb, but in the reminder of his story — of leadership, obedience, and unwavering faith.
The next stop was Makam of Nabi Shu’ayb alayhi assalam
It’s humbling to stand where prophets once stood. To think about how they led, struggled, and prayed for their people. It puts your own life in perspective. How fleeting our ambitions are, how often we forget what truly matters.
We didn’t stay long, but the stillness of that place lingered as we continued our journey. It set the tone for what came next: the Dead Sea — a completely different landscape, but one that carried the same message of Allah’s greatness.
The contrast was striking — from sacred hills to a place literally beneath sea level. We didn’t go into the water, holding to the view that as Muslims it might not be appropriate, but that didn’t stop us from pausing to take it all in. Standing by the silent shore, watching the lifeless sea glimmer under the sun, it was impossible not to think about the signs of creation. How every element of this earth, even one where nothing lives, carries a story and a purpose.
Here at the lowest point on earth, surrounded by stillness, I was reminded that Allah’s signs aren’t always found in miracles — sometimes they’re right in front of you, waiting for you to notice. Of course, it is worth to remember that the Dead Sea also has a significant chapter in Islamic history. A story that serves as a reminder for Muslims till today. How a society of the city of Sodom where Dead Seas is located rejected God’s call to righteousness. A city filled with evils and men that practices homosexuality. A city that despite Allah S.W.T revealed Nabi Lut A.S. to guide them ignored the call to morality. In the end, the city of Sodom was destroyed from planet earth.
Petra by Night
On our last night before heading to KL, we travelled to Wadi Musa, the gateway to Petra. The city faded behind us, replaced by endless desert and mountains that glowed faintly under the moonlight.
Petra by Night was something my wife and I decided to do on our own. The rest of the tour group stayed back at the hotel to rest, and we joined a quiet stream of people walking through the Siq, a narrow canyon lit only by hundreds of candles. The flickering light painted the walls in soft gold, and the silence felt almost sacred.
Step by step, the path opened — and there it was: The Treasury, Al-Khazneh.
Lit by candlelight, it stood tall and silent, a monument that had outlived empires.
A Bedouin musician began playing a rebab, its sound echoing against the sandstone cliffs. The tune was old, haunting, and beautiful. I sat cross-legged on the sand, surrounded by strangers, feeling the music settle deep in my chest.
It was the kind of moment that reminds you to slow down — that you are just one breath in the long story of time.
Petra by Day
Morning revealed a different world. The same canyons that glowed orange at night now blazed in the sun’s warmth.
We walked again through the Siq, this time under daylight, and when the Treasury appeared, it was almost overwhelming, grand, golden, eternal. But what I didn’t expect was how vast Petra actually was. It wasn’t a single structure, but a whole civilisation carved into stone.
We explored temples, tombs, and trails that led high above the valley. Each turn revealed another breathtaking view, another reminder of the human spirit. What faith, creativity, and persistence could carve out of mountains.
At one point, I broke away from the group and climbed higher alone. The wind was cold and thin. From up there, Petra looked endless. I stood still, thinking about how this place once forgotten and buried now stands as a reminder of both greatness and impermanence.
Travelling through Amman and Petra wasn’t just about seeing history. It was about feeling it.
Jordan became a mirror. Reflecting faith, patience, loss, and gratitude. It was during this trip that my wife and I carried our own quiet test, a private moment of heartbreak that reminded us that Allah’s plans are always beyond our understanding. And somehow, standing here among stones older than empires in a land where it is associated to para Ambiyya, that truth felt easier to accept.
We left Petra softly. No big farewells, just quiet gratitude.
Grateful for what we saw, for what we learned, and for what we carried home, the peace that comes from knowing that everything in this world, joy or sorrow, is part of His story.
