The Unseen Pilgrimage

Reflections on the liberty of Muslim converts.

Photo by Mohamed Nohassi on Unsplash

by Noor Netusha Nusaybah*

Introduction

3 years ago, in the office of the mufti of Kuala Lumpur, my shahada (declaration of faith) was met with congratulations and celebratory hugs from my loved ones. Admittedly, I rushed through my recitation as I was overwhelmed with excitement, that I am now part of a long-standing spiritual tradition woven into the fabric of a society of belief. Yet, even with this heartwarming welcome, my path towards Allah had been anything but straightforward. It was solitary, deeply internal, and at times, wrenchingly uncertain.

This reflection is inspired by the Islam & Liberty Network’s Edraak webinar titled, “Between Society and Self: Conversion to Islam as an Act of Personal Liberty”. The webinar centred on a thoughtful presentation by cultural anthropologist Dr. Václava Tlili that explores the journey of Czech converts to Islam — a journey that, though shaped in a vastly different cultural context, mirrored many of the emotional and existential steps I faced in my own path to faith. The study offers a compelling framework to consider the stages of conversion not as a singular moment of spiritual awakening but as a complex, ongoing process of identity, negotiation, and meaning-making.

Conversion as a process, not a moment

So, what does it mean to choose a path that potentially few may understand?

For every if not, all Muslims, the shahada symbolizes as the first step to establishing belief. It is a moment, as Suleiman A. Mourad puts it, as the “foundational utterance that affirms one’s identity as a Muslim or makes him/her a Muslim”. Nonetheless, beyond the recitation of the shahada, Dr. Tlili analysis explores the period that precedes the formal acceptance of the faith — going beyond the notion that conversion is merely a “single transformative event”. Instead, it is a gradual and multifarious process molded by individual experiences, social context and existentialist seeking.

The analysis is grounded by Lewis Rambo’s seven-stage model of the process of religious conversion: context, crisis, quest, encounter, interaction, commitment, and consequences. Rambo’s model begins with “context,” a stage that shapes every other phase of the conversion journey.

In the Czech case, many converts experience a period of existential unrest before encountering Islam — a phase Dr. Tlili describes as a personal dissatisfaction with the secular narrative or a longing for a deeper ethical framework. For Czech converts residing in a highly secular and post-Christian society, the context is often one of spiritual emptiness, cultural alienation, or disillusionment with dominant worldviews. Islam enters the scene as both an unfamiliar “other” and a source of existential possibility.

In contrast, my own journey unfolded within Malaysia, where 63.5% of its population identify as Muslim, Islam is constitutionally the official religion of the state and practices a dual legal system. Although it remains controversial to say, Islam continues to be very visible, audible, even political. Yet, the personal act of embracing Islam still meant looking beyond cultural religiosity and toward something deeper—an intimate relationship with the Divine Beloved. Here, the “crisis” phase was not sparked by the absence of Islam, but by its presence in form rather than substance. I found myself questioning not Islam, but how it was practiced around me.

An act of faith

At its core, conversion is an act of freedom — as long as a balance of power is considered.

Openly demonstrating one’s religious beliefs is uncommon in the Czech Republic, and this often leads to the presumption of “Czech atheism”. Dr. Tlili commented, “Even though people often talk about Czech atheism... the prominent Czech theologian and philosopher Tomáš Halík says that this is not completely true. Sometimes people don’t necessarily reject spirituality itself, but they rather reject what they think that religion means.” Instead, Halik suggests that it is more accurate to call the common approach to religion in the Czech Republic “religious illiteracy”, meaning that many people lack knowledge or understanding about religion.

In Muslim-majority societies, entering into Islam often appears like assimilation — yet it is no less deliberate. I was not bound by social expectations to become Muslim. If anything, converting invited mixed reactions of curiosity or confusion. In a multicultural society like Malaysia, religious conversion to Islam is often assumed to be external factors such as interracial marriage. Under Malaysian law, a non-Muslim must convert to Islam to legally marry a Muslim. This requirement often leads to conversions driven by marital intentions rather than personal religious conviction.

Moreover, unlike in other secular countries, leaving Islam is legally challenging in Malaysia. Muslims wishing to convert to another religion must obtain approval from a Shariah court, a process that is often complex and rarely successful. This restriction leaves an impression that conversion is not a radical act of personal liberty, but an obstruction to fully realising individual freedom.

In both contexts, the convert represents a disruption — a person who chooses what others may take for granted or reject. In that act, it is faith that becomes liberty — the freedom to believe, to seek, and to transform.

An unseen pilgrimage towards belonging

Across all geographies, converts are often pilgrims in a search for belonging.

In the secular Czech Republic, to choose Islam can seem almost radical. Dr. Tlili shared how converts often face being treated as foreigners but for many, it was a way of reclaiming personal agency and constructing a meaningful life, while remaining connected to motives of their national identity. Islam is often perceived as a “feared outsider”, reinforcing many converts to feel like strangers — not Czech enough for their Muslim peers, and no longer entirely accepted in their social circles.

In my own life, the dynamics are inverted. I often found myself “not Muslim enough” — whether for lacking cultural fluency or not being raised in a Muslim household. I learned that in many communities, religious identity is entangled with cultural customs. Some expected me to adopt habits that had little to do with Islam itself.

This tension, between belief and community, personal faith and cultural performance, is one of the most complex aspects of conversion.

Towards a deeper understanding

What the Czech case study illuminated for me is how richly textured the convert experience is across societies, yet it remains somewhat universal. While the societal scaffolding differs—mosques, community support, legal recognition—the core spiritual and emotional journey is remarkably similar. We search. We struggle. We surrender. And then we begin again.

My hope is that reflections like this, and studies like the one presented in the webinar, can deepen our collective understanding of what it means to become and to be a Muslim in different parts of the world. Whether at the margins or in the minarets, the unseen pilgrimage for liberty continues.

*Noor Netusha Nusaybah is the Programme Manager at Islam & Liberty Network.