
It’s 12:30 pm on a Friday. I park at a nearby car park and begin the short walk to Masjid Al-Islah, tucked within the heart of Punggol. Along the way, I join others heading in the same direction, some alone, others in quiet conversation. Inside, the prayer hall is bathed in filtered light, softened by patterned screens. A Kufic1 panel marks the qiblah (direction of prayer) wall.

Image:
Masjid Al-Islah, completed in 2015 in Punggol. Designed by Formwerkz Architects. (Source:warees.sg)
Completed in 2015, Masjid Al-Islah is the 25th mosque built under the Mosque Building Fund (MBF) scheme. Designed by Formwerkz Architects, it reflects the ethos of an “open mosque”, visually porous, climatically responsive, and integrated with the neighbourhood. Its name, Islah, meaning “reform” or “reconciliation,” was chosen by then Mufti Dr Fatris Bakaram to reflect continual betterment in both form and purpose.
But Masjid Al-Islah is part of a much longer story. As Singapore marks SG60, it also marks 50 years since the MBF’s inception. To date, 27 mosques have been built under the MBF scheme, though many other mosques across Singapore predate or fall outside of this programme. Across that time, MBF mosques have served, not just as places of worship, but as reflections of shifting community needs, state planning, and the evolving aspirations of Malay/Muslim life.
As a congregant, I experience these rhythms as part of the everyday life. However, as a researcher of Singapore’s built environment, I view these mosques as repositories of shifting community needs, state planning, and the evolving aspirations of Malay/Muslim life. What stories are embedded in their domes, minarets, and names?
Close to a decade ago, I came across an old photograph of the first Mosque Building Committee for Masjid Muhajirin. Sitting unmistakably in the front row was a relative of mine, Sapiei bin Arshad (or as my family calls him, Atok, or grandfather). Alongside him are other relatives, Abdul Rahman bin Sulaiman (Yai) and his brother, Abdul Ghani bin Sulaiman (Tok Ghani), all of whom had played active roles in raising funds and overseeing the building of the mosque across Toa Payoh in the early 1970s.
Introduced in 1975, the MBF was a response to the widespread resettlement of Malay/Muslim communities from kampungs into newly built HDB estates. As suraus2 and kampung mosques were cleared, the MBF, funded via monthly CPF contributions from the Muslim community, offered a means to re-establish prayer spaces within these new towns. The Islamic Religious Council of Singapore (Majlis Ugama Islam Singapura, MUIS) was responsible for planning and construction. At the same time, mosque building committees (Jawatankuasa Pembinaan Masjid, JPMs) represented the needs and concerns of local communities.

Image (left):
Members of the first Mosque Management Committee for Masjid Muhajirin, 1976. Among them was my Atok, Sapiei bin Arshad (front row, fourth from left), and other relatives, Arwah Yai, Abdul Rahman bin Sulaiman (second row, first from left).
Images (right):
Top: Community members gathered around a scale model of Masjid Muhajirin during a gathering at the construction site while the mosque was still under construction, circa 1976.
Bottom: On the opening day of Masjid Muhajirin, 8 April 1977, congregants and guests arrived at the newly completed mosque for Friday Prayers.
(Source: Masjid Muhajrin.)
Masjid Muhajirin, completed in 1977, was the first mosque realised under this scheme. When I visited Atok last September, he showed me a ceramic model of the mosque, a commemorative gift for long-serving committee members. Over lunch, Nenek joined us, recalled names, sacrifices, and fundraising efforts from the early 1970s. It became clear that these early MBF mosques were more than public infrastructure; they were community projects built on volunteerism, neighbourhood solidarity, and shared faith.

A ceramic model of Masjid Muhajirin, gifted to long-serving committee members
Image (right):
Atok (Sapiei bin Arshad), a founding member of the Masjid Muhajirin building committee, looks through old photographs with Nenek during a family visit in September.
(Source: Author.)
Phase I of the MBF (1977–1983) saw the construction of six additional mosques, which were Mujahidin, Assyakirin, An-Nur, Al-Muttaqin, Al-Ansar, and En-Naeem. Designed by HDB architects with input from MUIS and JPMs, their architecture reflected the modernist and brutalist styles of the era, featuring exposed concrete, cuboid minarets, and geometric massing. Islamic elements were retained, but in stripped-down, abstracted forms. They were functional, efficient, and multipurpose, often housing classrooms, libraries, and family service spaces. In many ways, they mirrored community centres.

Image (top row, left to right):
Masjid Muhajirin (1977), early view from 1986 showing its rectilinear form and geometric massing; Masjid Mujahidin (1977), exterior with cuboid dome and column-like minaret; Masjid An-Nur (1980), elevated view highlighting its stepped entrance, prayer hall, and annex.
Image (bottom row, left to right):
Masjid Assyakirin (1978), with exposed brickwork and white concrete framing; Masjid Al-Muttaqin (1980) showing an integrated geometric dome and minaret; Masjid En-Naeem (1983), featuring an onion dome and bold, exposed volumes.
(Source: Berita Harian, 29 January 1986, 3; Aga Khan Trust for Culture Collection)
In the 1980s and early 1990s, mosque architecture in Singapore entered a new phase. As the Malay/Muslim community experienced a period of religious revival and growing cultural self-awareness, the second phase of the MBF (1983–1995) moved away from the stark modernism of the earlier years. Instead, architects and communities began to introduce mosque designs such as Darul Aman (1986), Al-Amin (1991), and Kampung Siglap (1992), which drew on “Nusantara” aesthetics, characterised by tiered roofs, timber ornamentation, and pitched forms, signalling a return to a regional architectural language3.

Image (left):
Masjid Darul Aman, completed in 1986, was among the mosques incorporating regional architectural forms.
Image (right):
Viewed from the street, Masjid Darul Aman’s tiered pyramidal roofs and open, verandah-like elevation draw on traditional Malay design elements.
(Source: Aga Khan Trust for Culture Collection.)

Image (Top left and top right):
Aerial views of Masjid Al-Amin in Telok Blangah, completed in 1991. The mosque’s five interlocking pitched roofs reference Minangkabau and Malay vernacular forms,
Image (Bottom left):
The mosque’s entrance façade features pointed arches, lattice-patterned brickwork, and a carved timber panel above the doorway.
Image (Bottom right):
Close-up of the thirty-metre-tall minaret, capped with a layered pitched roof.
(Source: Aga Khan Trust for Culture Collection.)
But beyond architectural design, this period also witnessed a deeper contestation over how mosques were named. During Phase I, mosque names were centrally selected by MUIS, typically Arabic in origin and emphasising universal Islamic values. Masjid Muhajirin (1977), for instance, referred to the Prophet’s early followers who migrated to Medina, evoking sacrifice and devotion.
By contrast, Phase II saw stronger community input and a push to retain place-based names. Masjid Kampung Siglap (1992) was the first MBF mosque to retain a non-Arabic name. The JPM had proposed fifteen names to MUIS, four of which included the word “Siglap”, such as Kampung Siglap, Nur Siglap, and Al-Mubarak Siglap4. In addition to its name, Masjid Kampung Siglap is also the only MBF mosque to retain and integrate the original kampung mosque structure within its new design, rather than demolish and replace it.

Image:
Sketch of Masjid Kampung Siglap, based on the original architectural model unveiled on 1 September 1988. The mosque’s pitched rooflines and articulated façades evoke the architectural language of traditional coastal kampung houses.
(Source: Author.)
At Masjid Darul Ghufran, while the name adopted was Arabic (“House of Forgiveness”), the mosque committee honoured the demolished kampung suraus, such as Surau Kampong Darat Nanas and Surau Kaki Bukit, by naming classrooms after them5. Similarly, Masjid Alkaff Kampung Melayu (1994) retained both the family name of its original benefactor (Syed Ahmad Alkaff) and the name of the relocated Malay settlement it served (Kampung Melayu)6.
Over the years, congregations have grown, and expectations around accessibility, education, and community engagement have expanded. In response, the Mosque Upgrading Programme (MUP), introduced in the 2000s, aimed to revitalise older mosques.
These upgrades addressed urgent spatial and infrastructural needs. At the same time, they reflected changing design preferences: from locally rooted modernist forms to transnational idioms of Islamic architecture, drawing on global motifs such as arabesque screens, floral geometry, and stylised domes. Yet these interventions also came with trade-offs. In making mosques more spacious, accessible, and multifunctional, we risk/ed losing the very architectural forms and symbolic features that once captured the spirit of civic participation, volunteerism, and the communal sacrifices of a previous generation.
This tension, between upgrading for present-day needs and preserving the original spirit of the building, is one that continues to linger. I feel it most acutely when I revisit the photograph of Atok with the original building committee of Masjid Muhajirin. In 2006, it was completely redeveloped into the Singapore Islamic Hub. Its exposed brick, Minangkabau-inspired roof, and original form were replaced with Persian arches and patterned tiles.

Image (Left):
Exterior views of the original Masjid Muhajirin, completed in 1977. The mosque featured a Minangkabau-style roof, exposed brick façade, and an iconic onion-shaped dome.
(Source: New Generation Mosques and Their Activities Bringing Back the Golden Era of Islam in Singapore (Singapore: MUIS, 1991), p. 12; Perayaan Maulud Nabi Muhammad s.a.w. Peringkat Kebangsaan (Singapore: LBKM, 1982), p. 30.)
Image (Right):
Exterior views of the redeveloped Masjid Muhajirin, completed in 2009 as part of the Singapore Islamic Hub. The new design introduces Persian-style archways, a stylised Malay roof, and a patterned façade featuring a 12-pointed floral motif within a 10-pointed star pattern, replacing the original structure entirely.
(Source: Author.)
Masjid Al-Ansar, completed in 1981, also underwent significant renovations in 2015. While its dome and cuboid minaret were preserved, much of its original structure was replaced. The mosque now features an expanded prayer space, basement classrooms, lifts, and a new façade overlaid with arabesque latticework, introducing a contemporary Islamic aesthetic in place of its earlier modernist clarity.

Image (Top left and top right):
Aerial views of Masjid Al-Ansar, showing its evolution from the original 1981 mosque, with its cuboid minaret and domed prayer hall, to the redeveloped structure completed in 2015, featuring an expanded layout and new façade.
(Source: National Archives Singapore, Author.)
Image (Middle left and middle right):
Interior views of the second-storey women’s gallery. The original design featured cantilevered floor slabs and ornamental blockwork. The upgraded version introduces new finishes and glass railings.
(Source: Aga Khan Trust for Culture Collection, Author.)
Image (Bottom left and bottom right):
Interior view of the original prayer hall looking toward the mihrab from the first-floor level, contrasted with the updated structure’s new mihrab viewed from the lowered basement
(Source: Aga Khan Trust for Culture Collection, Author.)
In contrast, the recent upgrading of Masjid Darul Makmur offers a more measured approach. Initially built in 1989, it retains its distinctive features, including its golden dome, vertical minaret, and signature zigzag fencing. The mosque’s defining features, black-trimmed arch motifs, geometric massing, and a qibla-rotated prayer hall, remain legible. With improved ventilation, accessibility, and expanded facilities, the updated design builds upon rather than replaces the original.

Exterior view of the original Masjid Darul Makmur, completed in 1989. Its geometric modernist design featured a tall minaret with an onion dome, black-trimmed Iranian arch motifs, and a stark white-and-black palette.
(Source: Ministry of Information and the Arts Collection, courtesy of National Archives of Singapore.)
Image (right):
The upgraded Masjid Darul Makmur retains key elements, such as the dome and minaret, as well as decorative latticework that retains the building’s original angular clarity. (Source: Muis, Facebook)
As Singapore marks SG60, the story of mosque-building offers a parallel narrative of civic participation, echoing the spirit of “Building Our Singapore Together.” Just as SG60 invites reflection on our shared values and renewed commitment to the social compact, MBF mosques are more than spaces for prayer. They are repositories of shifting community needs, state planning, and the evolving aspirations of Malay/Muslim life, built through civic participation, volunteerism, and the communal sacrifices of a previous generation.
Initiatives like the MUP have helped ensure that mosques remain relevant and inclusive. However, they also raise important questions:
What do we preserve, and what do we let go of? How do we honour the design histories that once held our collective prayers, shaped by the aspirations and compromises of an earlier era?
These are not merely architectural questions; they are also civic ones. The challenge ahead is not simply to build more, but to build with a sense of memory. As new mosques are planned in Tengah and Tampines North, we should strive to balance present-day needs with an awareness of the histories and values that shaped earlier mosque-building efforts. Reflecting on fifty years of the MBF, the question is not only what has been built, but how we continue to build together.
Hadi Osni is a curator at the Malay Heritage Centre and holds a PhD in Architecture from the National University of Singapore (NUS). His work focuses on Malay material culture, memory, diasporic narratives, and the built environment. He has led government-supported participatory research projects, including cultural mapping and GIS-based initiatives to document community heritage.
The views expressed here are solely those of the author in his private capacity and do not in any way represent the views of the National Heritage Board and/or any government agencies.