I’m sitting here in Granada, Spain — where the air hums with ghosts. Not the kind that frighten you, but the kind that whisper in arches, gardens, and fountains. The Alhambra stands above me like a dream carved from stone — a monument to power, poetry, and paradox. I haven’t gone inside yet. I’m still wrestling with whether to pay the €46 to step into this palace of Islamic grandeur — built not by prophets, but by kings.

And that’s where the trouble begins.

When Islam Came to Spain

In 711 AD, Tariq ibn Ziyad, a Berber general under the Umayyad Caliphate, crossed the Strait of Gibraltar and landed in what would later be called Al-Andalus. Within a few years, much of the Iberian Peninsula had fallen to Muslim rule. But conquest is never clean. There was blood. There were battles. There was displacement.

Was it in the spirit of Islam? That depends on which Islam you follow: the one of the Prophet Muhammad (peace be upon him), who patched his own clothes and slept on a straw mat — or the one of the Caliphates that followed, who built palaces and pursued glory in marble and mosaic.

When Did Islam Learn to Build Palaces?

This is perhaps the most uncomfortable truth: the Prophet never lived in a palace. Nor did Hazrat Ali. Both were known for their humility — Ali reportedly owned only a few garments and often went hungry so others could eat. Power for them wasn’t architecture. It was character.

So when did Islam go astray and learn the language of palaces?

It began with the Umayyads, who after consolidating power, relocated their capital from the simplicity of Medina to the grandeur of Damascus. It was here that Islam took on the aesthetics of empire — adopting Roman columns, Persian courts, and Byzantine domes. The Abbasids followed with even more extravagance in Baghdad, and by the time Islam reached Spain, architecture had become a symbol of sovereignty.

The Alhambra wasn’t just a building — it was a statement: We belong here. We rule here.

But was that prophetic, or just political?

Beauty and Bloodshed

Granada fell in 1492 — the same year Columbus sailed west. But this “reconquista” wasn’t just military; it was cultural genocide. Muslims and Jews were expelled, forced to convert, or burned. Ironically, the very palaces that Muslims built became the trophies of their defeat.

And yet… they remain. The Alhambra is breathtaking. It is Islamic art perfected — geometry, calligraphy, water, and light all choreographed into stillness. The architects engraved “Wa la ghalib illa Allah” — There is no victor but God — across its walls. But they knew what was coming. And they were right.

A Different Kind of Colonizer?

Islamic rule in Spain is often contrasted with European colonizers. Yes, there was conquest. Yes, there was hierarchy. But Al-Andalus is remembered for its relative tolerance — a convivencia of Muslims, Christians, and Jews sharing libraries, translating ancient texts, debating science, and living under the same sun.

Still, one can’t whitewash history. Islam in Spain was expansionist. It carried swords, collected taxes, and built symbols of dominance — just like every other empire. The difference was perhaps in the elegance of its footprint, not in the bloodlessness of its march.

And Here I Am…

So here I am — centuries later, trying to make sense of this inheritance. I belong to a faith that began with Bismillah and no roof but the sky — and yet somehow ended up with domes of gold, chandeliers, and courtyards of conquest.

Do I enter the Alhambra to honor my spiritual ancestors, or to question them? Do I marvel, or do I mourn?

Above the mihrab once read “La ilaha illallah Muhammadur Rasool Allah.” The words still live in me. But did they guide the builders’ hearts or just justify their power?

Final Reflection

Islam’s arrival in Spain was not merely a military act — it was a civilizational experiment. It brought light, but also cast shadows. Somewhere along the way, the message of humility became dressed in silk. The Prophet who forbade opulence was left behind as sultans sketched poetry in plaster.

As I stand beneath the arches of Alhambra — should I pay €46 or not — I am left with this uneasy thought: the greatest architecture of Islam wasn’t built in stone, but in hearts. And that construction, sadly, is not included in any tour.