‘If Dynamo can do it, why can’t I?’: the rise of Muslim illusionists
The practice of magic is considered theologically haram, but professional magicians are balancing faith with performing illusions and tricks as an artform
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The magician Dawud has mystified the likes of Ed Sheeran, Manchester City footballer Jack Grealish, rapper AJ Tracey, and Sadiq Khan with his sleight-of-hand tricks. The 21-year-old illusionist made a name for himself by performing magic tricks on the live streams of internet personalities during the Covid-19 lockdown and now has a TikTok following of more than 220,000.
While the London mayor may be a fan, the reaction from other members of the UK’s Muslim community has not always been so positive.
“The majority of people that are Asian will say ‘You’re one of us, you’re doing your thing, we’re proud of you’. And then the other side is just like, ‘You’re gonna go to hell if you don’t stop right now’,” Dawud Hussain, a British Muslim of Pakistani origin, tells me over a video call from his bedroom in east London. “Some people look at me funny in the mosque. Sometimes if people recognise me, they’ll call me a jinn or say that I sold my soul.”
Hussain’s interest in magic began as a child when he watched the British illusionist Dynamo walking across the River Thames on his show Magician Impossible back in 2011. As he immersed himself further in the series, the thing that really struck him was how happy the tricks seemed to make people.
“Magic is a thing where you can do it to any type of audience and it’ll make people feel really happy. And I was thinking, you know what, if he can do it, why can’t I?” Hussain soon began teaching himself beginner-level card and coin tricks, eventually building up the confidence to try them out on his family. “They kept telling me to go away, because I was really bad,” he laughs.
Hussain’s parents didn’t have a problem with his interest in magic and, as far as he’s concerned, his chosen career isn’t antithetical to his life as a practising Muslim. “With magic, I know there’s nothing wrong about it, because all I do is tricks and sleight of hand, so there’s no disconnect. With me, if it goes against my faith, then I wouldn’t do it.”
Magic (sihr) is referenced 66 times in the Qur’an and is generally agreed to be forbidden by scholars, but disagreement arises over how exactly sihr is defined. In her paper Magic and Divination in Early Islam, medieval historian Emilie Savage-Smith defines sihr as “anything wondrous”, from elegant and subtle poetry to illusions and harnessing the healing properties of plants. It’s a broad definition and the acceptability of its various practices varies widely between cultures and faith denominations.
“It’s very subjective, and you draw the line where you want,” says Mark Sedgwick, president of the European Network for the Study of Islam and Esotericism. “But a lot of the work of the ulama (scholars) over the centuries has been to use the hadith to try and find out where the line should be drawn.”
Sihr is part of Ulūm al-Ghayb (knowledge of the unseen), the “occult sciences” of Islam. “A Muslim has to believe in elements of the ghayb (the unseen), so we can’t just make the whole of the ghayb go away. The question is under what circumstances can one engage with it and in it,” Sedgwick adds.
Although belief in the existence of magic is integral to Islam, its practice is forbidden, meaning practitioners have often been treated with suspicion due to religious and cultural beliefs. Nonetheless, Muslim magicians have always existed, from fortune tellers to illusionists and everything in between. While the practice of “Ilm Shoabada” (illusion) is generally considered theologically haram in all Islamic schools of thought, a social distinction has opened up between these harmless tricks and “real” magic, or sorcery, that is used for evil intent.
Mumdo Marzouki, more commonly known as Mumdo, is Saudi Arabia’s leading illusionist. Until recently, the country had strict laws against the practice of magic, with a number of people executed on charges of sorcery and witchcraft. But crown prince Mohammed bin Salman’s rule has brought sweeping societal changes and efforts to court western tourism — though the state is still criticised for repression and human rights abuses.
Marzouki’s interest began as a child when he was given a magic set by his father and was later inspired by illusionists including Harry Blackstone Jr and David Copperfield. “That was the sparkle that really triggered the obsession,” he says.
He established himself as a household name in the Arab world, performing only at private events. He made it to the semi-finals of Arabs Got Talent in 2016 and has since been recognised by the International Magicians Society with a Merlin Award for best illusionist Middle East.
Since Saudi Arabia’s reforms, “everything has opened up — not only for magicians, but for the entertainment industry as a whole”, Marzouki says. He also notes that has brought a shift in perceptions about his profession.
“In previous years, what I do was perceived as connected with spiritualism and the dark arts. I was considered a sorcerer, which I’m not,” he says, laughing. Now, “the public understands that what I do is an art form, it’s just trickery and smoke and mirrors. What I do is pure entertainment. There’s nothing anti-religious or that is considered against my Muslim traditions, mindset or practices.”
It’s a sentiment shared by Ayoub El Ahmadi, or Magicalmost, an illusionist from Morocco who moved to Dubai to pursue his career. “It’s art, it’s a business for me. I pray five times a day and I entertain people, I bring them joy,” he says.
El Ahmadi’s journey as a magician began as a pre-teen, when he saw a street magician in Marrakech perform a trick in which he turned water into Coca-Cola. Mesmerised, he begged his dad for money to pay the magician to tell him his secret and soon made a name for himself performing tricks at school and in his hometown of Sidi Slimane. In 2024, he was awarded the Merlin Award for best stage magician in Dubai.
Both Marzouki and El Ahmadi believe that increased access to the internet has demystified their profession. It has helped people understand that what they do for a living isn’t witchcraft, but skill. “It’s unfortunate, because the mystery is no longer there, but people are very relaxed about it now — they enjoy it more,” says Marzouki.
For Hussain, the increased transparency has been a double-edged sword: people often leave comments under his videos attempting to discredit his craft by explaining how the trick is done, while others still accuse him of engaging in black magic.
“The thing is, even if I show you how a magic trick is done, I guarantee you won’t be able to perform it — because when it comes to magic, it’s 95% performance, 5% trick. The trick is the performance,” he says.
As to what the young illusionist wants to achieve in his career, he has high hopes. “I want to do a magic trick on the moon,” he says. “I would go there and I would take off my helmet and breathe.”
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