From Caterpillar to Butterfly: The Transformation of a Faith Community
My upbringing in the Minneapolis community was defined by faith, family, and fun. My parents and grandparents were very active in their church communities. My dad’s mother, for example, served as a deacon in her church. I remember her attending services every week, dressed up in her white gloves. For our family, faith was not just about going to church on Sundays—it was about living out moral values in daily life.
I was blessed to be surrounded by a large family and a loving community. I came from two strong Black families that were very much part of the fabric of North Minneapolis. With my aunt who was a jazz singer, my uncles who were ministers, and my dad and his brother who were athletes, there was so much talent in my family. They were so well-known in the community that when my parents got engaged, the news was announced in the paper. When they got married, my paternal grandmother (whom we called “Nana”) and my maternal grandmother (whom we called “Gram”) became good friends—I love remembering how the two of them would visit each other and spend time together.
My mom worked at a telephone company, and my dad worked at Honeywell, but she worked nights and he worked days so that my sister and I would always have a parent at home. Our South Minneapolis neighborhood always felt safe, and we would spend evenings outside playing games like “Red Light, Green Light.” We would visit my grandmother and host barbecues, play volleyball, set off fireworks. We loved to play games, especially card games like spades and bid wiz.
My childhood became more challenging when my parents divorced. I was 12 years old, and they decided that my sister and I would live with our dad. I feel grateful that I was able to stay in the same house, the same neighborhood, the same schools—but being a teenage girl without her mom was hard. I found myself searching for the sense of community that was so important in my early childhood, and I was torn between following the more mainstream path of popular culture or answering the call of faith like my family.
The trajectory of my life changed when I was 14. My friend, Lynn Hassan, had been introduced to the Nation of Islam, and she was passionate about bringing others to the temple. I was immediately drawn to the cohesion and the self-reliance of the Nation. They owned factories, for example, so that they could produce their own clothing. As I learned more about the Nation, I witnessed the sense of moral responsibility that was expected of the community. Values of justice, order, and integrity were imparted such that the moral fibers of the Nation were unbreakable.
In February 1975, my sister and I decided to join three other teenagers to make the trip from Minneapolis to Chicago to see the Honorable Elijah Muhammad at the Nation of Islam’s annual convention. Lo and behold, we learned when we arrived that he had just passed away. But that meant that we were there on the historic day that his son, Wallace Muhammad (later Warith Deen Muhammad) became the leader of the Nation of Islam. It was one of the most significant days of my life because it marked the beginning of my tutelage under Imam Muhammad, which lasted until he passed away in 2008. During the 30+ years that I studied under him, Imam Muhammad became my spiritual guide. I would tell my dad that he was my father in the traditional sense and that Imam Muhammad was my father in the spiritual sense. They were born only one month apart.
At that time, the Nation was called the Lost Found Nation of Islam. As I learned more about our history from Imam Muhammad and other teachers and ministers, I realized how fitting a name that was. When we were brought to this country as enslaved people, everything was stripped from us, down to our names. We had been through trials like Bilal ibn Rabah, may Allah be pleased with him, who was tortured in the desert because of his faith. We were a lost people. But through the Nation, we could rediscover our culture, our people, our power. We could remake ourselves and remake the world.
I remember one of the ministers in the Nation of Islam would say that people come to faith for three reasons: inspiration, aspiration, and desperation. I had all three of those reasons compelling me to join the Nation. My parents’ divorce had made me a little desperate for community. But more importantly, I was inspired by the self-reliance of the Nation, and I aspired to the moral integrity that they exemplified. As I reflect back to that time, I believe that Allah had chosen to bring me into this community, and I feel so blessed. I believe that I was saved from a life that would not have served or suited me.
Although I was not raised in a Muslim household, I always think of the verse in the Qur’an that tells us to revere the womb that bore us. My family’s Christian faith set the stage for my spiritual journey toward Islam. The values that I was taught as a child have continued to guide me as a Muslim woman.
While I was on this spiritual journey, the man who would become my husband was embarking on his own. By the time we met, we were both very serious about our faith because we had each discovered and deepened that faith on our own terms. We married when I was 18 years old, and from the beginning, faith was the foundation of our relationship. We were part of Temple 83 (meaning that we were the 83rd temple of the Nation) on 38th and 4th Avenue in South Minneapolis, which was led by Charles El-Amin.
By that time, Imam Muhammad was guiding the community in making the transition from the ideology of the Nation of Islam to the theology of Islam proper. We began reading the Qur’an seriously, learning to pray properly, using Islamic terminology rather than borrowing terms from Christianity. I admire Imam Muhammad for how he was able to bring us together in this transition despite the different factions of our community—including those who were former Christians and knew very little about the Qur’an, those who were hurt from centuries of white supremacy and saw white people as the enemy, those who were unsure how they fit into the larger Muslim community that didn’t always respect us. This transition meant remaking ourselves as African American Muslims. As a community, we went through an incredible transformation, from a caterpillar into a butterfly.
One day, a sister approached me at the temple and asked if I would be willing to come serve as head teacher at a daycare that they were starting. I had never managed a classroom before, but I always loved school, and I found that I loved teaching. I was required to take coursework in early childhood education, which was the beginning of an 18-year journey to earn my degree in psychology. The day that I graduated was one of the happiest days of my life. I was surrounded by my friends, parents, husband, and children—Khadijah, Muhammad, and Aleyyah—whom I had raised while working on this degree, and I was honored to be named one of the outstanding students.
After a couple years working at the daycare, I taught at Harvest Best Academy, which is an Afrocentric school serving kindergarten through eighth grade. The founders and educators shared a vision of developing our culture and caring for our children. I worked there for 30 years and retired in February 2023.
My husband and I ended up getting divorced, but we followed in the footsteps of my parents and kept my daughter in the same house and the same schools. We maintained a strong relationship. I remarried and have now been with my husband for nearly 21 years.
I always thought of myself as a mother and a teacher, but I surprised myself later in life by becoming a social activist too. I felt called to action when Mohamed Noor was charged with second-degree murder and second-degree manslaughter in the killing of Justine Damond, while white officers who killed Black men were getting off scot-free. I was also heavily involved in the Uprising after the murder of George Floyd—I would attend hearings and other proceedings and then report back on social media so that the community could follow what was happening.
As a Muslim community, we need to be witnesses for justice. We know that people are literally dying to get to this country. Imam Muhammad would say, “Get ready to make it in the land of plenty.” To me, the United States is both the beauty and the beast. What we have to do is figure out how to tap into the beautiful part of America and how to get rid of the beast.
As someone who strives to be a witness for justice, my thoughts in this present moment are with our sisters and brothers in Palestine. As an African American, my heart aches for them. My heart cries out for them.
When I think about my legacy, I hope and pray that I will be seen and remembered as a person who has strived to live my life in accord with what Allah has given us. I want to be seen as a community person, as a good neighbor, as an educator. I want to be seen as a person who believes in justice and who loves the Qur’an. I want to be seen as someone who exemplifies Islam in everything that I do.
While I love the diversity of our Ummah, we still have the challenge of keeping our communities strong. Our young people are struggling with the challenges of pop culture and maintaining a strong moral fiber of Islam. We need to build a strong social network to keep them engaged.
When I look around now, I believe that the Minneapolis Muslim community is truly a blessed place. I began my journey in a community that was all African American, when Muslims who were immigrants had their separate Islamic centers. But today, I am in awe because our Muslim community includes people from all over. Especially at Masjid An-Nur, the diversity of our ummah is beautiful. Allah bestowed so many gifts upon our different peoples.
I am very grateful that every February we have a chance to celebrate the contributions of African Americans. Having worked in a school where 99% of the students were African American, we celebrated our history all year round. I also look for opportunities to celebrate during this month.
I feel blessed that Allah made me African American and blessed my community with leadership to understand where we came from and where we need to go. We need to keep the connection between the pioneers and the next generation alive because our elders have wisdom to share. There’s something special about the spirit of African Americans. Imam W.D. Mohammed referred to it as the Dynamic African American soul, Alhamdulillah!
Alana Ramadan, aka “Sister Alana” and “Mrs. Ramadan,” is a descendent of enslaved Africans in America. She was born and raised in Minneapolis, Minnesota. She attended and graduated with honors from Minneapolis Public Schools and earned her bachelor’s degree in psychology from Metropolitan State University. At the age of 14, she joined the Nation of Islam. Under the leadership of Imam W.D. Mohammed, she transitioned from the Nation of Islam to Al-Islam in 1975, and she remained a student of Imam Mohammed for 33 years until his passing in 2008.
Alana has practiced Islam and been active in the Muslim community for almost 50 years, serving on boards, teaching adult and children’s Islamic Studies classes, facilitating halaqah, and more. She is a founding member of Masjid An-Nur. She loves to read and study Qur’an, which led to the creation of her own personal concordance yet to be published.
For nearly 40 years, Alana worked as an educator in various capacities. She is also an entrepreneur who co-owned and operated a restaurant and a home daycare. As a community activist, she has organized rallies, attended court proceedings, conducted media interviews, and more. She has been highly active in her DFL ward and served as a statewide delegate.
Alana married at the age of 18, and she has three adult children and seven grandchildren. She divorced and remarried in 2002. Alana is currently retired and resides with her husband and her 90-year-old father.