Rapid Fire with Qudrah Adam, the Author Rewriting Muslim Woman

Some writers arrive loudly, announcing themselves through bestseller lists and literary festivals. Others build their worlds quietly, one devoted reader at a time. Qudrah Adam belongs to the latter. Her stories travel from phone screens to bookshelves through recommendation, conversation and trust. They are romances, yes, but beneath the love stories lies something deeper—a determination to write Muslim women as complex, hopeful and fully human.

Before the applause of book readings and before readers debated cliffhangers online, there was simply a young woman who believed stories could become places where faith and tenderness could coexist.

What is your earliest memory of storytelling?

I remember being in class when my teacher walked in with a book written by a child my age. I was 8 years old. I was amazed and bought the book the next day. After reading it, I wanted to do something similar.

Even before that, though, I used to make up stories and tell them to my friends. At the time, I thought I was just lying a lot. I didn’t realize it was storytelling. As I grew older, I came to understand that I wasn’t lying; I was simply telling stories.

Were books common in your home?

Oh, yes. My father had a stack of books in his room. He never owned a bookshelf, so they all sat in a corner of his room in a heap. I used to take them and read them. He noticed my love for reading and started buying me books that were suitable for my age.

What did little Qudrah dream of becoming?

Little Qudrah dreamed of becoming a teacher. She wanted to teach people things, and that desire came from her love of sharing and giving. I have always wanted to give people what I have learned, and I have been doing so since I was a child.

Did writing find you, or did you go looking for writing?

Writing found me. I believe words love me and have been a part of me since I was a child.

Who saw your talent before you did?

My parents. They noticed my love for storytelling and encouraged me to start writing.

Tell me about the first story you never finished.

The first book I ever finished was I Found My Ameerah. I wrote it when I was 13 years old. I do not quite remember the plot anymore, but like all my stories, it was a romance. You can never go wrong with a good romance novel.

What made you finally decide that your words deserved readers?

I just knew I needed to be heard. From the moment I wrote my first book, I wanted the world to experience the mess that it was.

Did you ever think no one would read your work?

Nope! I believed in myself and I still do. I know I’m a good storyteller, and whether many may disagree, the majority carries the vote.

What almost stopped you from publishing?

Nothing. Not the fear of criticism, nor the fear of not being enough. I am a woman of great audacity, and I do everything scared but determined, ready to face whatever battles come my way.

Describe the day you became an author?

I did not become an author the day I published my first book. I became an author the day my father sat down and listened to one of my stories. When I finished, he told me it was the best story he had ever heard. His words gave me a confidence I had never known before. From that day on, I stopped seeing storytelling as a hobby and began to see myself as an author.

You have spoken publicly about wanting authentic Muslim representation. Why was it important for you that your characters practise Islam naturally instead of performatively?

Hmm, aren’t we all performative worshippers at some point? Lol. But I wanted my characters to practise Islam the way many people do in real life, imperfectly and sincerely. Faith is not always grand gestures and dramatic displays. Sometimes, it is found in quiet prayers, small acts of kindness, moments of doubt, and the constant effort to do better. I wanted their faith to feel human, natural, and woven into their daily lives rather than existing only to make a statement.

What misconceptions do your books quietly challenge?

My books quietly challenge the idea that people can be reduced to a single label. A person can be deeply faithful and deeply flawed. A woman can be soft and strong at the same time. Love can exist without abandoning one’s values. I also challenge the misconception that Muslim and Northern Nigerian stories are one-dimensional. Our lives are filled with complexity, humour, ambition, heartbreak, and joy, just like everyone else’s. Through my characters, I try to remind readers that there is always more to people than what we first see.

Have readers ever told you they finally felt represented?

Yessss! A lot of them do. 

Can romance itself become an act of worship?

Certainly. Kindness is an act of worship, and love is one of the most powerful ways we express it. The kindness we show through love can be transformative. It has the ability to heal, comfort, and remind people of their worth. I believe that genuine love, when rooted in kindness, reflects some of the best qualities we can offer one another.

What does love look like when no one is watching?

What does love look like when no one is watching? Sometimes, it looks like pain. It is the moment when you feel completely alone, and the only person you want is the one you cannot speak to or be with. It is missing them in silence, carrying them in your thoughts, and loving them without an audience. In those quiet moments, love is not grand or performative. It is simply longing.

Which kind of love interests you more: the dramatic confession or the quiet everyday loyalty?

I love the dramatic confession. It’s all over my work!

Why do readers keep returning to stories about love?

Because love is what everyone craves. Feeling through books is amazing. 

What do you discover about yourself when you’re alone?

That I hate people talking to me all the time. 

Do your best ideas arrive in silence?

Yes! When I’m taking a shower. 

Are you writing because you’re trying to answer questions or because you’re trying to ask better ones?

I’m writing because I’m trying to answer the questions my heart never found. To fill a void.

Many readers don’t appreciate how difficult it is. What invisible work goes into being an independent author?

Consistency. People act like they don’t see us showing up for our work, but we do. We show up everyday. 

What do readers never see?

The doubts. The unfinished drafts. The nights spent staring at a blinking cursor. Readers see the finished book, but they rarely see the struggle, patience, and faith it took to get there.

What did your first sale feel like?

Surreal. It was the first time someone spent their money on something that came from my imagination. It made writing feel real and reminded me that stories can reach beyond the writer.

Your readers usually meet you through pages. Soon they’ll meet you in person at a book reading hosted by Sadia’s Factory Nigeria.

Why do physical spaces still matter in an increasingly digital reading culture?

Because stories are meant to connect people. Reading may be personal, but physical spaces allow readers and writers to share experiences, emotions, and conversations in a way that screens cannot fully replace.

What kind of conversations are you hoping happen after the reading is over?

Honest ones. I hope people talk about the stories that stayed with them, the emotions they felt, and the parts of themselves they discovered through the books.

What would success look like that evening?

Success would be seeing people leave feeling inspired, understood, or moved. If even one person connects deeply with my words, the evening would have been worthwhile.

What story are you not ready to write yet?

The most personal one. Some stories require time, distance, and healing before they can be told with honesty and clarity.

What scares you creatively?

Writing something that is safe instead of truthful. I fear losing the courage to say what I genuinely feel more than I fear criticism.

If someone interviews you again in ten years, what do you hope has changed?

I hope I’ve grown into a better writer, reached more readers, and built a lasting community around my work. Most importantly, I hope my stories have made a meaningful difference in people’s lives.

What do you want your readers to remember after they’ve forgotten the plot?

The feeling. Long after the details fade, I want them to remember that they were seen, understood, and a little less alone because of something they read.