The hajj
While on the hajj trip, I took notes and wrote up scenarios for this site whenever I had a few moments to spare. What follows is the transcribed and edited version, my attempt to share with y’all the things I saw and felt while I was doing my pilgrimage.
I can’t Americanize all the language; it feels wrong somehow to continuously be writing “prayer rug” for janamaz, so for my non-Muslim readers, there is a glossary at the end. Insha’Allah, you’ll find definitions for the words you don’t recognize.
Days one through never-ending: The journey there
The short version: The trip there sucked. I could go into details, but every other sentence would be, “And then we hung out,” or “We hung out some more,” or “We hauled all our luggage across the airport and hung out.” Because we did a lot of hanging out in the Frankfurt airport. Twelve hours worth, in fact, usually in areas where there were no seats so we had to either stand, squat, or give in and sit on the ground. And let me tell you, there’s only so long you can ward off the dirt before your legs give out on you because you didn’t sleep much on the flight over and according to your body clock, it’s three in the morning.
The charter kept getting delayed and we were never entirely sure where our people were, but we did get there eventually. I stood in the immigration line in Jeddah, quipping to the man behind me, “At least we’re in the right country now!”
The flight from Jeddah to Medinah was quick, quiet, and easy. I don’t think I will ever forget the mountains behind the airport as I came off the plane and onto the tarmac. They were exactly like I thought they’d be and nothing like I thought they’d be all at once.
She gave me a tasbeeh
Our hotel rooms were not ready yet, and it was far colder in Medina than I had expected. I was chilly in my sweater and skirt even at noon, but there was nowhere to change and the azaan for zuhr was ringing out over the city. I had no choice except to go to prayer in the same dirty clothes I’d been wearing for goodness knows how long.
Dave tried to make me feel better about making my first trip to Masjid Al-Nabwi in such a state by reading me a hadith that described the hajji as one who was “dirty and had disheveled hair.” It didn’t help. We did decide, though, since we didn’t have bags for our shoes, that we would pray outside in the courtyard rather than actual going inside the masjid.
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| An arial view of Masjid Al-Nabwi at night. The gate I normally entered from is out of the shot, in the bottom right corner. |
I parted ways with the men at the first gate we saw, agreeing to meet them there again after prayer. The courtyard of Masjid Al-Nabwi is marble, gray and white and black, with the occasional splashes of red in the design of large star-shaped flowers. You can pray anywhere in the courtyard, so I found a group of women who had already gathered and sat down next to one of them. I didn’t have a prayer rug because we hadn’t had time to buy any yet, so I figured I’d just pray on the marble as some of the other women were doing.
Then the woman next to me spread her janamaz sideways so we could both use it.
I’d never met her before, didn’t know if we even spoke the same languages, and yet she didn’t stop to think twice when it came to sharing her prayer rug. I tried to thank her, but I don’t think she understood me, not verbally anyway. We prayed next to each other, two people from vastly different backgrounds, exactly the same before God, in the courtyard of the masjid of the Prophet himself.
I did my tayatul masjid and my sunnah and then waited for the fard to begin, taking advantage of the time to truly look around at where I was. Masjid Al Nabwi, in all it’s large and beautiful glory. I don’t think I have ever seen a masjid so awe-inspiring. And as I sat there, marvelling, a woman in full nikaab walked by and handed me a tasbeeh. It was green, the kind you can buy off the street, a dozen for 10 riyals. But again, I didn’t know this woman. I don’t know how much 10 riyals meant to her, where she came from, or anything about her at all, and that’s exactly how much she knew about me.
She gave me a tasbeeh anyway.
It was at that moment, sitting on the cool marble in the sunlight, holding a green tasbeeh, listening to the iqamat, looking up at the soaring spires of Masjid Al Nabwi, that I was so intensely glad to be in Saudi Arabia. The wasted time in Frankfurt and the hotel room fiasco didn’t matter in the least because I was where I wanted to be, doing what I came to do.
Alhumdulillah. God is truly great.
Medina
There is something intensely welcoming and comfortable about Medina. Despite our ridiculous hotel rooms and all the other logistical issues (as Imam Magid refers to them) that have plagued us while we’ve been here (hotel management tried to put MEN in the room that shares our bathroom, and the elevators have been a joke, among other things), I have loved our stay here.
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| Coming up to Al Nabwi from one of the Medina streets. This was often our path to the masjid. Photo courtesy of Adnan from my hajj group. |
No matter where we are, we hear the azaan six times a day (because they do one for tahajud as well), and it’s a short five-minute walk to the masjid to make prayer. We’ve tried to plan ahead for at least one prayer a day so we can make it inside, but to be honest, I think I prefer praying in the courtyard. Inside is beautiful — a seemingly neverending palace of high-ceilinged arches, intricate designs, and those amazing domes that open in midday, allowing the sunlight to come pouring in — but outside is beautiful in an entirely different way. Also, the incessant coughing doesn’t distract me because I can’t hear it as well and because we’re not in an enclosed space, and people don’t accidentally kick me in the head trying to find a spot where they can pray. Not until the fard is over, anyway!
Speaking of the kicking… yesterday I went to the Rawda with one of my roommates, F., and her aunt. It was the first time I really understood the high probability of being trampled at hajj. We waited about thirty minutes after zuhr for the Saudis to open the gates so the women could cross over to the entrance. When they finally did, there was a massive and invisible push from somewhere behind me. I moved forward, mostly because if I didn’t, the people behind me would step right over me to get where they wanted to go. There was no more sense of independent motion; we were all part of the larger crowd that was shoving and pushing its way forward. Once we got to the Rawda itself, things got even worse. People behaved as though they’d taken leave of all their senses in their mad rush to make it to the front. One of the Rawda traditions is to pray two nafl near the site itself, but for us there was no possible way. And I didn’t really want to, either, as the entire spectacle left a sour taste in my mouth. I could understand wanting to pay respects, but the intensity with which some people approached bordered on making the Rawda a shrine. It’s not a shrine. It’s a grave. I worry about what will happen if this slow inching towards shrine-ification continues unchecked.
When we finally made it out, we only had an hour left before asr, so we drank some zamzam and rested a little, and then I read Quran until the next azaan. I can’t remember what F. and her aunt did — probably the same — such is the single-mindedness with which I found myself approaching my worship. I was grateful to have the time, uninterrupted, to focus on Quran and prayer, away from the calls of the market outside or my bed in the hotel room. Also, we didn’t have to fight our way into the masjid to find a place for asr!
I have material things to do before we leave Medina. Primarily, I’d like to finish all our shopping here so we don’t waste a single moment in Mecca haggling over the price of a hijab or the cost of a package of dates. It’s difficult to go shopping, though, as I can’t go alone. I need either my roommates or my father or brother to go with me, and that requires both scheduling and patience. Of the latter, it seems no matter how much I pray for more, I’m always running just a tad short.
I suppose that means I should keep praying for more. And also start learning to breathe deeply.
The road to Mecca is not as long as it seems
I suppose it should have struck me as a bad sign when the buses that were supposed to arrive at 2:00 p.m. didn’t actually show until four hours later, but at that point I just figured it was par for ZamZam Tours’ sloppy course. Which it was, but I had NO IDEA what was coming.
The buses arrived. We went to maghrib (after having gone to zuhr and asr already, each time thinking it was our last prayer in Masjid Al Nabwi) and settled in for the approximate 8-hour trip to Mecca. Imam Magid boarded each bus to explain what was happening next, and we were both ready and eager to be on our way.
At 7:30, we got back off the bus and went to pray isha at Al Nabwi. Yup, still in Medina, y’all. In fact, the imams told us we wouldn’t be leaving any earlier than 10, so we could entertain ourselves until then. I used the time to take A. to the Kashmiri store in front of gate 15 of the masjid because she had fallen in love with the janamazes I bought for Aamir and Aasif from there. That store TAKES CREDIT CARDS, y’all. I narrowly escaped with my savings intact, especially as I didn’t want to go anywhere without A. or her husband with me. In defense of us all, the Kashmiri janamazes are truly lovely, and they make fabulous gifts.
At 10:00, we went back to the bus, not wanting to the be The Ones who held up 100 people from leaving on time. We needn’t have worried, as the buses were still not going anywhere since Imam Magid was still in the Medina passport office, trying to get us permission to go.
At 11:30, we decided we’d ALL go to the passport office and pick up Imam Magid, as surely he was finishing up by now. He wasn’t. What he was doing was getting himself arrested for the crime of leading a hajj group that had misplaced passports. Misplaced by the Saudis, of course, but that tiny detail was of little importance as the Saudis hauled Imam Magid off to some office that was doubling as their detainment cell.
Around fajr, they released Imam Magid, but only after Shaikh Noor and his wife went to the passport office themselves and found their missing passports. The Saudis were still missing three passports, two American and one Canadian, so after prayer, we sat around. And then eventually went for breakfast by crossing six-lane Saudi highways on foot and narrowly avoided getting pancaked by speeding cars. You could see the drivers’ thought process: “Ooh, pedestrians! Let’s run them over! Oh, wait. They’re wearing ihrams! They’re hajjis! We can’t hit them!”
In any case, sometime in the middle of the morning, we finally hit the road, but only after Imam Magid bullied the Saudis into issuing a special release for the people whose passports were still missing. We sped along the desert roads, rolling into the miqat point, where we would make our final ihram arrangements, just before zuhr.
(For what it’s worth, this fiasco happened because our travel agent didn’t give the Saudis the requested 48-hour notification that we were leaving Medina, so it’s not entirely due to Saudi incompetence that we spent so much time wandering outside the passport office.)
There are five miqat points, but only one between Medina and Mecca, and I’d been warned to expect less than stellar conditions. I was pleasantly surprised, then, to discover a bright, open, and clean masjid and bathroom area. It was crowded, yes, but 2.5 million people come for hajj, so crowds are a given. Plus, the masses of people, with all the men in their white ihrams, really started to make it feel like hajj. It’s an image I’ll likely remember all my life: cream-colored walls rising into the clear blue sky, trees in the open courtyard, and hundreds of hajjis everywhere. We prayed our two nafl, made our niyaat for umrah, and then prayed our zuhr and asr kasr before getting back on the bus.
From that point forward, it was an uneventful ride to Mecca. We stopped at numerous checkpoints, including one Dave kept referring to as “the gift station” because they handed us boxes of food, zamzam water, and one Saudi came on board each bus to shake hands with all the men. They seriously kept us there for 45 minutes or so just to hand out goodie parcels and shake hands. At one of the checkpoints, we did our maghrib and isha (also kasr); this marked the first time I had to do wudu in a truly filthy bathroom, one that had water I was scared to put in my mouth for fear the proximal exposure might give me typhoid.
In any case, prayer and driving for the rest of the trip. We finally rolled into Mecca at about midnight, twenty-four full hours after we’d been expected to arrive.
Umrah
Coming soon.
Mina: Hajj Camp 2005
We arrived in Mina this morning, to tents far nicer than I had expected. There are fold-out mattresses, blankets, and pillows, and three large air conditioning units because we are the Americans and therefore are “VIP.” No, really. Our tents are marked “VIP,” and you can’t get in the gate unless you have the right badge.
When Imam Magid was talking about Mina, he said all the rating stars would go out the window, and we would all be the same, living in tents. He was wrong. Even here in the tent city, you can tell who is well-off and who is not, and that’s without even considering the people who are sleeping on the street in front of us, not in a tent at all. Our tent is AIR CONDITIONED, for goodness’ sake.
I’m sure all my moral righteousness will promptly fade away should it ever get warm enough here to warrant using the air conditioner.
I love the tent set-up, though. It’s like one big sleepover party. We girls have staked out the back corner for ourselves; I’m diagonal from M., S., and A., and B. and her crew are just a few mattresses down. I invited an American (read: white) girl I don’t know, Mi., to sleep near us as she appears to be our age and was looking to settle down next to the Bengali aunties. I think she’s glad for the change. I hope she is. The Bengali aunties are nice and all, but they’re aunties. And they don’t really speak English.
As much as I like the tents, I loathe the bathrooms. I’d been forewarned by both Sarah and Aisha, so I had some idea, but still. The stalls are tiny to the point where I am afraid I’m going to bump one wall or another every time I try to get in or out. (And, to clarify, that is NOT an appealing thought.) Half the stalls have western-style commodes, and the rest are desi- (or, depending on your origin, Arabic-) style holes in the ground. With shower heads directly above us, so it’s a two-for-one deal. Everyone keeps reminding us the desi-style is actually better for your muscles as that’s the way our bodies were built to expel waste, but it’s hard to remember that when you’re staring at the prospect of pooping into a hole. In the ground. Regardless, I’m planning on using the desi-style the entire time I’m here because I’m giving the commodes about 30 minutes before they become irreversibly filthy. At least the desi style we can rinse out ourselves with the spray attached to the wall.
Today is our “down” day. We don’t really have anything planned, so we can relax, stretch out, nap a little, and study up for the big day tomorrow.
Arafat and Muzdalifah
Coming soon.
At hajj, showering is a team sport
So we remember the nasty bathrooms, yes?
As offputting as they might be, we all still have to shower eventually, lest we become that smelly person nobody else wants to sleep next to. Today, after we removed our ihrams, Sh. and I took the plunge, screwing up the courage to actually bathe in those bathrooms.
I knew there was no way I’d be able to stomach hanging my clean clothes over the stall door, so when Sh. mentioned she wanted to shower, I suggested we go together. I could hold her stuff while she showered, and then she could hold mine.
Y’all, that was quite possibly the best idea I have ever had. I managed to make myself tolerably clean without grossing myself out in the process. The key was to use the desi toilet and TO NOT LOOK DOWN. Also, I suppose, to keep your footing because you didn’t want to fall in for lack of attention. Oh, and to use a stall that somebody else had just showered in because then you didn’t have to think about what people were doing in there before YOU showed up.
It was not the best shower in the world, nor the most comfortable. It got me clean, though, and for that I am both happy and grateful.
The stampede and the flooding
Coming soon.
Leaving Mina
Coming soon.
Glossary
abaya: Long, flowing one-piece that falls to your ankles. Not as shapless as a burqa, and available in many different designs and colors.
asr: Mid-afternoon prayer. In Saudi, around 3:30.
azaan: Call to prayer.
dua: Literally, supplication. A dua is the actual vehicle in which you ask God for something.
fajr: Morning prayer. In Saudi, fajr time began around 5:40 a.m. I am not sure when it ended as I always prayed with the jamaat, but if I had to guess, I’d say around 7:00.
fard: Required. Every prayer has a fard segment that you must make even if you don’t do the rest.
hadith: Saying of the Prophet Muhammad (S).
ihram: Prescribed dress for parts of hajj and umrah. For men, ihram is … For a woman, ihram simply means covering her hair. However, while in the state of ihram, pilgrims are not allowed any scents or perfumes, and are forbidden from violence of any kind (including, according to some scholars, brushing flies off your body). Pilgrims are not permitted to trim nails or remove hair from their body.
imam: Spiritual leader, akin to a minister or a rabbi.
iqamat: Call announcing the imam is about to begin the fard prayer. There is usually a 10-15 minute gap between the azaan and the iqamat so people can arrive at the masjid and do their sunnah.
isha: Evening prayer. In Saudi, usually around 7:30 p.m.
jammarat: The three symbolic places where Satan tempted Abraham as he was going to sacrifice Isaac. One of the hajj rituals is to throw pebbles at each of the jammarat. This is usually where the stampedes happen.
jamaat: Group prayer. You can pray by yourself, or you can pray with other people behind an imam. It’s always better to pray in jamaat.
janamaz: Prayer rug.
kasr: Traveling prayer. When traveling, you can combine your zuhr and asr and/or your maghrib and isha. Also, the prayers become shorter.
maghrib: Sunset prayer. In Saudi, around 6:00 p.m.
Masjid Al-Nabwi: The Prophet’s masjid. It has been updated and enlargened over the years, but the parts of the original masjid remain intact.
miqat: Point at which all pilgrims must be in ihram.
nafl: Completely optional. Or, out of the ordinary.
nikaab: A form of hijab that includes covering the face as well as the hair.
niyaat: Intention.
Rawda: The site of the Prophet’s grave. Because of the massive volumes of people who would like to visit, they have times for women only.
riyal: Saudi currency. At the time we were there, the exchange rate was approximately 3.75 riyals to a dollar.
sa’ee: Seven trips between the mountains Safa and Marwa to symbolize Hajra’s (Hagar’s) efforts to find water for her crying baby Ishmael.
sunnah: Not required. Some things are not required but are encouraged because the Prophet did them. All prayers have some sunnah parts that you can do if you have the time and/or the inclination.
tahajud: Optional pre-dawn prayer. You can pray it anytime after two-ish, although most people opt for the hour or so before fajr.
tasbeeh: Prayer beads, akin to a rosary.
tawaaf: The process of circling the Kaaba seven times.
tayatul masjid: A sunnah prayer done immediately upon entering a masjid. If the group prayer has already begun, you do not delay joining it because of tayatul masjid, and you do not pray tayatul masjid after you have already prayed something else.
masjid Mosque
zamzam: Water from a spring directly flowing from paradise.
zuhr: Afternoon prayer. In Saudi, around 12:30.