My name was written. My invitation was called out by the angels. You are a guest of Allah. It is time for your pilgrimage. My baby got sick. I moved residence four days before travel, but my heart beat anxiously, and I packed as lightly as I could, one black and red haversack on my back and one small grey bag in my hand, nothing to check in.
The 21-day journey beckoned. It’s time for changes in your life. We set out.
Labbaik allumma labbaik… Here I am at your service my Lord! Nine and a half hours to London, three and a half hours to Istanbul, three hours to Jeddah Airport waiting, sharing snacks, praying in corners… names of the East came to life as the group of pilgrims under Central Islamic Organisation of Guyana (CIOG) leadership arrived at the Holy City of Mecca to go visit the Holy Kabah for the first time.
The men were in their Ihraam, two pieces of unstitched white cotton and the women prepared in their best and humblest to stand before their Lord, to enter the Holiest place on Earth, to enter the Haram of the Holy Kabah.
We were well advised.
Duaas/ prayers made at the sighting of the Holy Shrine are accepted.
Friends were helping with suggestions and in urgent quietness we entered, joining the throngs already there, and, I looked… I wanted to scream. I wanted to shout.
There it is! There it is! It is the Holy Kabah! Just like in the books. It is that square brick structure draped in black and gold. It is where we are commanded to go around.
It is where our prayers are answered. It is where the prophets have stood and prayed. I was crying through my nose and my eyes and I felt humbled.
Bismillah Allahu Akbar! I raised my hand and shouted.
Bismillah Allahu Akbar! Each heart has its own story to tell. We spent time in Mecca where only Muslims are allowed to enter, walking its streets, being enticed by the bargains of beautiful clothes and jewellery and perfumes and ornaments, being amazed by its brightness, its expansiveness, its beauty, its advancement in architecture and human management as it sits between mountains of dry white stone.
Then we entered Medina.
This was the city which accepted Prophet Mohammad (saw) and the Sahabahs when they had to migrate. The city they lived in, the city they died in.
My visit to the Prophet’s masjid was, to use a cliché, “mind blowing”. The city itself is warm and peaceful. The mountains are red and fertile.
I saw trees and date palm groves and flowers and people everywhere. I felt a happiness and ease I cannot explain.
We waited our turn to go into the masjid to see where the Prophet and the two first caliphs are buried.
There I was, a simple woman from Guyana, standing on the Holy Rawdah giving salaam to the final Messenger of Islam. I cannot really explain how that felt.
From Medina, we went to Mina. There we lived in tents, 150 per tent, sharing facilities with sisters from around the world. We learned to find the bathrooms and wudu areas and sometimes we got lost and then we got found.
From Mina, it was on to Arafah, the place where the final sermon was done by the Prophet (SAW) Arafah is heavenly as it lies encircled by the watching mountains. We prayed in our tents and as the sun cooled, we raised our hands to the heavens and cried in silent beseeching duaas.
From Arafah to the plains of Muzdalifah, lying on the gravel and earth amongst the two and a half million present, looking up to the clear sky and again wrapped by those mountains. I did not sleep that night.
I sat on my folded sheet and watched the buses come and the pilgrims trying to fit into any space they could. Prayers made miracles that night as more hands and hearts and tears were raised to the Heavens.
From Muzdalifah to Mina and then to the stoning of the devil at the Jamrahs.
Nothing prepared me for the walking visits to the jamrahs.
We went as pilgrims to do our pilgrimage, to fulfil the pillar of Islam called the Hajj.
We took each ritual as it was done by those before us and commanded to be done by Almighty Allah.
Between visiting and praying and contemplation and zikr, we got to know the people in our group and around us and we made friends.
As my eight-year-old baby I left at home counted down the days, it was time for the farewell tawaaf, The farewell visit to the Holy Kabah.
It was one of the hardest rituals because of the immense crowd, but it was one of the most heart hurting things to do. We were leaving, not knowing if we would ever see it again. We were leaving truth and peace and history.
It was not easy but we had to say farewell.
In all the pushing and swaying and tumbling and heat, we moved and did our rounds. It was after this that I was given a gift I had so wished for.
I was taken again through the crowds to the Holy Kabah that I may touch its warm bricks with the palm of my bare hand. I touched it! I leaned forward and with both palms pressed to the wall, I prayed, for love and happiness and living the rest of my life more pleasing to Almighty Allah.
As we walked out to the courtyard and gathered around the Big Clock, we realised that our rituals had come to an end. Our Hajj was complete. Seven ladies and 21 men set out on September 28 as part of the CIOG Hajj group.
Early on the morning of Saturday, October 19, we hugged and cried and wished each other “Hajj Mabroor”! May your Hajj be accepted! We left after Fajr that same day to start our journey back to our homes. I am writing this as I sit on the nine-and-a-half- hour flight from London to Port of Spain.
It was an experience unlike any other to places, unlike any other and it was a journey of love. Love my Creator has for me and the two-and-a-half million he called from among the billions of the world. Love that I have for Almighty Allah, to obey his commands and try to please Him. Love that increased along the way in respect and tolerance and care for my fellow humans.
Make your intentions now! I invite the world to the Hajj. I invite my countrymen. I invite my friends and family. Go put your footprints in the sands of Mecca, Medina, Mina, and Muzdalifah.
May Almighty Allah accept our Hajj. I especially want to send duas for Sheikh Moeen Hack and his wife Shalimar and the staff and extended family of CIOG who worked with steadfastness and kindness to make our Hajj a reality and enjoyable and understandable.
To Miss Rita and Sister Naz who unknowingly took away my shoes one night and made me walk the streets of Madina and into the Hyaat, barefoot. Thank you. And to Isha and the Wahabs and Aliya (My little busy body friend), I love you all. And to the menfolk who stood by us, especially Brother Wazir, may your lives be better and happier after this. Ameen.
And to my brother Hilary whose bags I left on the roof of the Kabah, and Candy who fetched my shoes and herself walked barefoot to Jamrah, and my dear sweet niece Zaki who kept me company most of the time and who could not believe she could wear unironed clothes among strangers for three weeks, I am glad you were all part of my Hajj.
May Almighty Allah be pleased with us all. Ameen.