On a typical evening, the classroom may be a smart-phone screen rather than a mosque, madrasa or community hall. From their homes and offices, Nigerian Islamic teachers are logging on to teach Qur’an recitation, explain Islamic teachings and answer questions from students who may be hundreds of kilometres away. For many of these educators, the internet started simply as another way to share knowledge. But as their audiences grew, so did the opportunities.
At a time when migration is separating Nigerian families from the communities where they grew up, a new classroom is quietly emerging on the screens of smart-phones and computers.
There are no wooden benches, chalkboards or rows of children sitting before a scholar. Instead, there is a laptop or phone, a headset, an internet connection, and often, a child thousands of kilometres away waiting for a familiar Nigerian voice to begin a Qur’anic lesson.
From Lagos and other parts of Nigeria, Islamic teachers are increasingly crossing geographical boundaries without boarding an aircraft. Through various digital platforms, they teach Qur’anic recitation, memorisation, Arabic, Hadith and Islamic studies to children and adults in the United Kingdom, United States, Canada, the Netherlands, Germany, Saudi Arabia, the United Arab Emirates and other countries.
For many Nigerian Muslim families abroad, the arrangement is more than convenient, as it is a way of preserving a religious identity and childhood experience that migration has made more difficult to reproduce.
For the teachers, it is also changing the meaning of the traditional madrasa (school).
Abdulmuhaymin Olalekan, founder of an Islamic education platform providing Qur’anic, Arabic and Islamic learning to students in Nigeria and abroad, noted that he never set out to become an Islamic teacher, much less as a scholar.
Olalekan said his initial motivation was simply to acquire knowledge. He learnt Arabic, memorised portions of the Qur’an and studied under reputable teachers and scholars. Teaching came later, almost by accident when the COVID-19 lockdown created an opportunity to reach Muslims who were confined to their homes.
During the lockdown in 2020, Sheikh Abdul Hafeez Abdul Ghaniyah Abutu approached him with a simple question: ‘People are at home, so how can Islamic learning continue?’
That conversation eventually resulted in the commencement of teaching in 2021. The classes were initially physical before the online component was introduced between 202 and 2023 to reach people who couldn’t attend in person.
What happened next was not necessarily planned.
‘Nigerians in the diaspora began finding us organically. They told others, and the circle expanded,’ Olalekan explained.
He noted that soon, non-Nigerians also began to enroll. Rather than deliberately taking his school abroad, Olalekan said, ‘The demand took us abroad.’
His first international student was a female Sudanese living in Saudi Arabia who was interested in Qur’anic recitation and continuing her memorisation.
For Olalekan, the encounter was both surprising and humbling as the school hadn’t advertised its services in Saudi Arabia, yet a student thousands of kilometres away had found her way to a Nigerian teacher.
The experience demonstrated what the internet had changed: a teacher no longer needed to be physically present in a community to become part of its learning life.
Today, his organisation has roughly 30 to 40 online students, with international learners predominantly in the United Kingdom, United States and Canada, as well as students in Germany and Saudi Arabia. The school teaches children from six to adults in their forties.
‘Why we are ‘looking back home’
For Nigerian Muslim parents living abroad, the search for Islamic education is often tied to the fear that migration could gradually weaken the religious and cultural foundations they grew up with.
For Popoola Ismail from UK, he says, ‘Alhamdulilah, we decided to engage Ustaz Ibrahim Olalere from Nigeria to teach our children because we we want them to appreciate the beauty of Islam from our cultural point of view. Secondly, we hope that our children will benefit from his wealth of experience in nurturing young children.
Nr Hassan Aliyu from Netherlands notes that they are conscious of the school of thought around their children. ‘We go with Islamic teachers that align with our school of thought which I want my children to follow.Most of the school of thoughts for teachers here is completely different. The cultural differences contribute to how we see Islam,’ he says.
Olalekanon, a teacher the other hand notes that some parents deliberately sought Nigerian teachers because they would want their children to experience the intensive Qur’anic learning they received in Nigeria while growing up.
He said that in some communities abroad, access to a mosque or Islamic teacher could require considerable travel.
He recalled a parent living in a remote part of Canada who said reaching a mosque could require a 15 to 30-minute drive, a sharp contrast from what is applicable back home in Nigeria, where a mosque or Qur’anic teacher is located within a walking distance within communities.
For diaspora families, therefore, the online madrasa removes geographical barriers that might otherwise make consistent Islamic education difficult.
The same experience is echoed by Ustaz Ibrahim Olalere, a director of another online-based madrasa. Like Abdulmuhaymin, his journey also began during the COVID-19 era. When schools were shut, his initial response was simple: Send voice notes of lessons to parents through WhatsApp so that learning could continue for their children.
Subsequently, when some parents travelled abroad, they wanted their children’s Islamic education to continue.
Olalere, who already operated a physical weekend madrasa, began contacting families whose children had left Nigeria. He noted that the response was encouraging.
For the parents, it provided continuity. For the teachers, it became another avenue to fulfill what they regarded as their responsibility to teach Muslim children and also earn through another source of income.
Olalere currently has 20 students in his online school and has expanded the teaching team to include male and female tutors.
His students include learners in the United Kingdom and the Netherlands, where he said access to Islamic education was limited.
Classroom without borders
Aremu Abdullah Olanrewaji represents another strand of this emerging model. He has spent at least a decade teaching in an Arabic school. He currently works as a front-end developer while also teaching Arabic and Islamic studies online and on weekends.
His interest in teaching was influenced by his uncle, a head teacher who also headed an Arabic school.
But his international online teaching started from an even simpler development: children he had previously taught in Nigeria moved to Canada and their parents contacted him to continue their lessons.
Before the Canadian students, he recalled teaching children in the United Arab Emirates. The transition from physical to online teaching was relatively easy in terms of technology. Children abroad were already familiar with digital learning platforms, particularly after the COVID-19 era.
The greater challenge was keeping their attention. Unlike a physical classroom where a teacher immediately notices what a child is doing, an online learner can be seated in front of the screen but not paying attention.
Aremu instinctively uses interactive methods. He uses Zoom, Google Meet and sometimes WhatsApp, including Zoom’s interactive board and writing tools to allow children read, write and participate during lessons.
For younger learners, the approach is deliberately visual and interactive.
He said teaching children online could sometimes be more demanding than teaching them physically because the teacher has to teach and monitor attention at the same time.
His current international students include children in Canada and the United States, although some teaching has been delegated to others as the number of students grows.
He notes that he personally handles lessons involving explanation, Islamic understanding and questions, particularly where children are inquisitive and want to understand how Islam relates to their environment.
When culture enters the virtual classroom
Distance, however, is not the only border these teachers must cross; the cultural border is also there.
Aremu said Nigerian children who were born abroad understood their teachers easily because of their Nigerian background; however, children born and raised in Western countries sometimes present a different challenge as their accents, expressions and expectations can differ, thereby leaving the teacher to adapt.
He noted that the experience taught him to become more attentive to children’s emotions and concerns. Some children abroad are more vocal about their feelings and more willing to question what they are being taught.
The result, he said, had also influenced how he teaches Nigerian children.
Olalere similarly stressed the need to preserve African values while teaching children abroad.
For many of the families, the teacher is not simply transmitting Islamic knowledge, he is helping parents preserve a connection between faith, culture and upbringing.
That cultural role becomes particularly important for teenagers.
Some parents ask teachers to help their children remain morally grounded while navigating environments that may have different social norms from those in Nigeria.
Aremu said parents sometimes asked him to counsel their children on how to remain upright without becoming hostile towards the people around them.
According to him, the balance is important: Children should retain their values while learning to live respectfully within their societies.
From Qur’an lessons to counselling
The relationship between teacher and student doesn’t always end when the lesson does. For some, especially teenagers, the online Ustaz becomes a trusted adult outside their immediate family.
Olalere said parents sometimes involved him when their children experienced behavioural or emotional difficulties, noting that teenagers also confide in him.
Some have told him things they were reluctant to tell their parents, asking him not to disclose what they had shared.
As a teacher and counsellor, he said he would try to understand the problem and work towards a solution while maintaining the necessary boundaries.
For Olalekan, students and parents also sometimes seek guidance on matters extending beyond the immediate curriculum, including behavioural problems, concentration difficulties, inheritance and marriage-related questions.
He stressed that teachers must recognise their limitations.
Where an issue requires deeper expertise, he consults relevant works or refers students to scholars and specialists.
‘Being a religious teacher shouldn’t mean pretending to have an answer to everything,’ he warned.
As online Islamic education expands, another question becomes increasingly important: How can parents know that their children are actually learning?
For Olalekan, attendance alone is not enough. He uses structured curricula for Qur’an and Arabic, with students given measurable learning objectives.
The platform also developed Qurraa, an application focused on Qur’an memorisation and revision. It allows learners to recite, receive corrections, and enables parents to monitor aspects of their children’s progress.
Olalekan said the objective was to move beyond simply asking whether a child attended class to asking what the child actually learnt.
Olalere also uses structured assessment. His online madrasa follows the Nigerian curriculum for Islamic Studies, while the Qur’an itself forms the basis of Qur’anic instruction. Hadith and Islamic stories are also incorporated.
At the end of each month, students undergo evaluation. Some tests are written, with students submitting photographs of their scripts for marking and correction.
Students of similar levels can also be grouped, even when they live in different cities or countries.
For Aremu, his model is more personal. He described his teaching not as a formal institute but as private, individual encounters with families and their children. He may organise tests or competitions, but his emphasis remains on the relationship between teacher, child and family.
The virtual classroom also brings questions that may never have emerged in the traditional Nigerian madrasa.
Olalere recalled a female student in the UK asking why a wife should need permission from her husband before going out and why household responsibilities such as cooking should fall on women.
The question surprised him because of the cultural context in which he had taught.
But instead of dismissing the question, he postponed the detailed discussion until the next class, using it as an opportunity to explain his understanding of Islamic teachings concerning women and family responsibilities.
The episode illustrates one of the realities of borderless Islamic education: Teachers are increasingly teaching students whose cultural reference points may be very different from their own.
Olalekan said teachers must also be prepared to acknowledge the limits of their knowledge.
Questions requiring detailed scholarly interpretation may need consultation with classical and contemporary sources or referral to specialists.
The price of crossing borders
Although the teachers are motivated by religious responsibility, online Islamic education is not free. There are internet bills, devices, software, electricity, teaching time and administrative cost.
Olalekan’s online school charges between N30,000 and N60,000 monthly per student, depending on class frequency and duration.
He argued that for online one-on-one education, tutors must be compensated and technological infrastructure maintained.
Olalere’s model charges students monthly rather than per hour, with reported fees range between N70,000 and N100,000 depending on the programme and hours involved.
He identified data, time and effort as some of the major costs.
The teacher may have to sacrifice another income-generating activity to maintain regular classes.
For Aremu, the arrangement has evolved. He said he initially taught because he loved teaching and was not motivated by money. As the value of his time increased, he began charging some students, at one point about N5,000 per hour.
But because his students are largely referrals from families he had taught previously, his arrangement remains flexible rather than operating under a fixed institutional fee structure.
Another interviewee whose transcript is labelled ‘Islamic by faysal’ offers a different perspective on the economics of online Islamic teaching. The transcript identifies him as Aisa Bonadry Nsukudu, a law and Sharia graduate who also works in a law firm. He says his online teaching journey dates back to 2014 and began primarily as an effort to impart knowledge.
His early model was built around WhatsApp groups, including a project called ‘One Word Every Day,’ where participants learnt Arabic words and other Islamic material.
Initially, he was reluctant to charge for teaching.
His concern was partly spiritual: he did not want money to become the motivation for his da’wah.
Over time, however, he came to distinguish between charging for knowledge and charging for the teacher’s time.
He eventually adopted a time-based approach, arguing that students were not paying for the value of the knowledge itself but the teacher’s time and effort.
For international students, he recalled fees in the range of $50 to $70 per month in one model, compared with lower fees for Nigerian students.
He currently has 10 international students in the United States, United Kingdom and Canada, alongside Nigerian students.
His experience suggests that online Islamic education is gradually moving from informal volunteer teaching towards a professional service.
But the transition is not without tension. For some teachers, monetising religious teaching raises questions about intention. For others, charging is simply necessary to ensure that the teacher’s time is respected and the service remains sustainable.
For Nigerian teachers serving students abroad, the clock itself can become an obstacle.
Aremu recalled periods when he had classes at midnight or at one or two in the morning because of the time difference between Nigeria and North America.
Although he has reduced the number of such classes, international teaching still requires flexibility.
For the teacher, a class that is convenient for a child in Canada or the United States may fall deep into the Nigerian night.
That means the seemingly simple act of teaching a child online can require the Nigerian teacher to rearrange work, family life and sleep.
Olalekan also said the sustainability of online Islamic education depended on recognising that one teacher cannot endlessly accumulate students.
There is a practical limit to how many learners a tutor can effectively teach, particularly where the model is intensive and one-on-one.
As schools grow, they need more tutors, supervisors, administrative systems and quality-control mechanisms.
Internet: The bridge and the barrier
The same technology that makes borderless teaching possible can also threaten it.
Poor internet connection and the cost of data remain major problems.
Olalere said there had been situations where poor internet from the Nigerian side forced classes to be postponed.
Students in Nigeria can also struggle to afford data or lack reliable internet access, particularly those living away from campuses or in locations with weak connectivity.
There was also a period when children abroad had to share their parents’ devices, making it difficult to attend classes when parents were at work.
Parents were encouraged to provide dedicated devices, although that introduced another problem: Children could use the gadgets for activities unrelated to learning.
Consequently, the teachers had to become educators and technologists at the same time.
Protecting children behind the screen
The movement of Islamic education online also raises questions about child protection.
Olalekan said Ebaad considered safeguarding part of its teaching structure.
Tutor assignments take gender considerations into account, particularly for older students, while parents remain involved in monitoring their children’s learning.
The school also seeks feedback from parents and students about tutors and classes.
In addition, Ebaad generally does not record its current one-on-one classes, reducing the amount of sensitive interaction stored digitally.
Olalere said recorded classes required parental permission and should not be shared outside the agreed circle involving the student, teacher and parents.
These measures are particularly important because the virtual madrasa removes some of the physical oversight that exists in traditional classrooms.
Parents, therefore, remain a crucial part of the learning and safeguarding structure.
Problem of credibility
The expansion of online Islamic teaching has also created a new dilemma: anyone with an internet connection can present himself or herself as an Islamic teacher.
Olalekan believes Nigeria needs stronger standards and accountability for online Islamic education.
He said Nigeria had knowledgeable Qur’an memorizers, Arabic speakers and scholars, but asked important questions: Who should be allowed to establish an online Islamic school? What qualifications should tutors possess? What safeguarding systems should exist? What curriculum and infrastructure should be required?
He acknowledges that regulation would be complicated because Muslims in Nigeria belong to different schools of thought and traditions.
He said any system must avoid becoming a tool for sectarian exclusion. Nevertheless, some form of credible standards and accountability could strengthen public confidence in online Islamic education.
Olalere similarly supports accreditation, arguing that many online teachers operate without a clear curriculum or lesson plan.
He said an accreditation system could provide teachers with standard curricula, teaching methods and lesson plans, while reassuring parents that their children have learning materials appropriate to their age and level.
Between TikTok, Islam and structured learning
There is another challenge that comes with teaching religion online: misinformation. The internet has democratised access to Islamic lectures, sermons and religious opinions, but it has also made it easier for inaccurate interpretations to spread.
Olalekan said Islamic education was not immune to the misinformation problem affecting other fields. His advice is for learners to build their knowledge on sound foundations, particularly the Qur’an and Sunnah, and to understand that differences in interpretation exist within Islamic scholarship.
According to him, one danger is the ‘single-story’ problem encountering one interpretation online and assuming it represents the only scholarly position.
For him, proper foundations enable students to navigate differences more intelligently.
This distinction also matters because online Islamic education should not automatically be equated with Islamic scholarship.
Olalekan is careful about terminology. Most online learners are studying Qur’an recitation, memorisation, Arabic and the fundamentals of Islam, but he said deep scholarship required more rigorous and sustained study.
Technology has increased access, but access alone does not necessarily equal scholarship.
When the screen goes blank
Perhaps the clearest test of the value of these virtual classrooms is to imagine the internet disappearing. Olalekan said students abroad would lose access to structured learning, mentorship, and in some cases, the particular quality or style of Islamic education they had deliberately sought from Nigeria. Yet he sees the possibility of a positive lesson.
If dozens of Muslims in the same community are individually connecting to Nigerian teachers online, those same families could potentially come together and bring a qualified teacher physically into their community.
Technology, he argued, should complement, not erase the traditional system of learning directly from knowledgeable teachers.
That traditional principle of receiving knowledge directly from teachers is known as talaqqi.
Beyond the screen
The stories of these teachers reveal a larger transformation taking place quietly within Nigerian Muslim communities.
Migration once meant leaving familiar mosques behind, Qur’anic teachers and traditional learning environments. Today, migration can mean carrying those relationships across borders.
A child in Canada can sit before a Nigerian teacher in Lagos. A student in the United Kingdom can ask questions about Islam from a teacher thousands of kilometres away. A family in the Netherlands can ensure that a child continues learning Qur’an and Tajweed.