I hate the fear that comes with fame.

Are you popular?

It came as a shock to me when someone once asked, “Are you popular?”- in the bid to get to know me.

I didn’t even know that popularity was a metric, or a question, or something one assessed while trying to understand a person, especially in that context. The question irked me. Maybe because I didn’t know how to answer it. Maybe because of who was asking. Either way, I responded instinctively:

“I’d say I’m popular where it matters.”

But that isn't issue today. I didn’t bring this up to tell you about a boy who asked me an odd question. I just needed to clear that up- an answer to the questions quietly forming in your minds: Is she famous? Why does she keep talking about fame like it's something she's actively avoiding?

Let me be clear: I’m not famous. Even within the four walls of my university, I don’t think my name rings any particular bells- and I'm very okay with that. (Or not? For today's newsletter, let's just stick with this.)

This train of thought started one Jummah afternoon when a friend of mine went on a rant. She sent multiple purple snaps- which, if you know her, usually means she's confessing her undying love for me or being dramatic. This time, she wasn't.

“Asiwaju came to pray in my mosque today,” she said.

And with him came restrictions. Certain areas blocked off. Movement controlled. Armed guards- even in the women's section.

Even the khutbah suffered. The imam was changed. The sermon was shortened. Apparently, the president is a busy man.

What bothered her wasn't just the inconvenience. It was how strange it all felt. How a place meant for quiet and humility suddenly felt… managed. Curated. Like reverence had to make room for security protocols.

I tried to placate her, while also agreeing that the entire situation was deeply unsettling. There is something profoundly wrong about reshaping a sacred space simply because a “notable” figure has decided to join the congregation. One of the things I love most about Islam is the radical equality it insists upon, how flat and grounded it makes everyone. That before God, a king and a pauper stand shoulder to shoulder, distinguished only by their piety. No special seating. No titles. No VIP rows. Just people, lined up shoulder to shoulder, facing the same direction, hoping to be heard by the same God.

To see that principle quietly abandoned- inside a mosque, of all places- because of political status felt like a betrayal. And it made me think about how much external, largely Western, notions of power, celebrity, and security have seeped into religious practice. We have imported a worldview where authority must always be protected, where visibility demands distance, where reverence is enforced by armed men rather than humility. Somewhere along the line, spiritual leadership began to mimic political theatre.

A mosque is one of the few places where hierarchy is supposed to dissolve completely. So watching that equality bend, even slightly, because someone important walked in felt uncomfortable. Not outrageous. Just… sad, maybe. Or disappointing. Like something sacred quietly making space for something foreign.

After listening to her, I said something that surprised even me: “He’s scared.”

I don't even know if I fully believe that, but it felt true enough in the moment. The economy is bad. People are frustrated. Anger exists everywhere now, even when it's unspoken. Being afraid in that position doesn't feel completely unreasonable.

And yet, understanding does not equal justification. That doesn't make armed guards in a mosque okay. It doesn't suddenly make segregation feel right. But it does remind me that fear explains a lot of things, even when it doesn't justify them.

It reminded me of that infamous moment involving Donald Trump- during a rally or public appearance, I can’t quite remember, which someone shouted “Allahu Akbar,” and chaos ensued. He flinched. He sprawled. His guards reacted. As though a phrase that simply means “God is Great” had suddenly become a weapon. As though a phrase I've said all my life, without a second thought, in prayer- can now make people tense, flinch, or panic.

Western media has done a remarkable job of distorting language. Allahu Akbar, a phrase meant to inspire awe, humility, and remembrance of God, has been spun into something that sounds like a threat. A declaration of faith has been recast as a warning bell. And now, even Muslims have to live with the consequences of that misrepresentation, suspicion, fear, hyper-vigilance. Somewhere along the line, devotion was reframed as danger, and faith was taught to sound like a threat. And now, even in religious spaces, we move as though we are already anticipating violence instead of peace.

But I digress. Maybe that's a bigger conversation for another day.

I told her, “He’s scared.”

Not because fear excuses the armed guards or the segregation or the rushed khutbah, but because fear explains it.

And that’s why I say I hate the fear that comes with fame.

Not because I am famous, but because I’d rather never be.

What is the point of being known if you cannot step outside your home without calculating how many people want your head on a plate? Or how many fans might hurt you accidentally in their attempt to show love? Or how many cameras are waiting to steal a moment that was never meant to be shared?

What is the point of visibility when it costs you peace?

To me, it just isn’t worth it.

So maybe when I said I'm popular where it matters, what I really meant was this: I want a small life. A safe one. One where I can move freely, worship quietly, and exist without anyone to rearrange the space for me.

If that means never being famous, I think I'm okay with that.

This one is for By_Ishat, Zayyyyyyyy, Istha, Leena S..

You guys asked for it and I have delivered. Now, if you'll let me, I'd like to get back to my jollof rice. And, oh, oh, happy new yearrrr🎉♥️

I wrote this newsletter with my tab, and I'm feeling chic. I think this is the feel of the big screen. It's so niceeee, even my words feel and look different. It is giving me the confidence to send to everyone not schedule. Oh well, that's all for now.

Your anonymous bestie

Ree🤍