Guest Article
Hajj: Unconventional Reflections of a Woman Pilgrim
By: Nikhat Sattar
Hajj, the pilgrimage to Makkah, a much desired pinnacle of life by most Muslims, had always seemed a distant probability. Though an essential tenet of Islam, much as prayer and zakah are, it appeared rather formidable, surrounded by stories of the stern environment in the host country. It was surprising then, when a sudden decision was made to perform Hajj in 2012, I agreed without any trepidation, indeed, looking forward to an experience that would be very different from all other travel to far off places. Rather than penning my religious and spiritual experiences, I would rather share some reflections that rarely find expression.
Despite several training and orientation sessions before the trip, and searches on the websites, I had found very little on actual experiences. Vague references were made by “veteran hajis” that Hajj was difficult and one must be careful not to criticize anything one found wanting there. That most of the “difficulties” were man made and could be eased if due attention and consideration to detail were applied was clear to us throughout our stay.
The first six days in Makkah were peaceful, except for the aggression displayed by the crowds. The next few days spent in Madinah too, mostly at the Masjid-e-Nabvi, the initial structure of which was laid by the Prophet Mohammed (PbUH) are a treasure, showing Islam with all its collective and diverse features. People from literally every country in the world stood up for each of the five daily prayers, but several had different ways of performing these. The Quran was available in several languages, including in Braille, and many people had the Arabic versions with translations in their languages. Particularly visible were both young and old hajis from Central Asian countries. It was both touching and a lesson in humility to watch communication between a young woman from Dagestan and an older one from Indonesia, from exchange of names and relationships to how the prayer should be performed, using sign language. It will be difficult to forget the quiet and forlorn old man on a tattered prayer mat in a corner among the crowd of loudly reciting and pushing pilgrims, or the tears falling down a young woman’s face as she clung to the boundary rails of a verandah around the kaa’bah. For thousands of years, people have gone there to find solace, seek absolution and peace and the strength to bear the pains of this world. I believe everyone finds something or the other, and returns with a passion for another trip.
We had our first exposure to the single minded ferocity of crowds during the first tawaf (circumbabulation). Televised or even visual pictures show a sea of human kind moving in almost rhythmic and circular waves. And indeed it is so, along the outer circles. As you move towards the Maqam-e-Ibrahim, or try to get a closer look at, or touch the Hujra-e-Aswad, you will be pushed and pulled in all directions unless you are able to maintain your balance and feet on ground. Regardless of how they are hurting others, many individuals and groups ram elbows and arms with full force making way for themselves and their families. With bruised arms, an almost ruptured kidney, and “saved at last minute” fall, I was able to recognise people and groups from certain countries and steered away from them during the later tawafs. We paid the cost of not being able to go near the “kaa’bah”, and performed many of our tawafs on the upper floors. Everywhere, despite signs asking people not to clog up walkways, crowds were seen sitting, sleeping, eating and talking, taking up the much needed space for tawaf and saaee. Large groups were heard reciting in chorus, and those who prayed quietly forgot what they were supposed to pray and spent much of their time saving their bodies from being crushed to powder.
Most countries provide training to would be hajis. Can they be impressed upon and demonstrations given to them on how to move without pushing and ramming others, or shouting?
Perhaps the single most painful experience was the failed trip to Riaz-ul-Janna, the resting place of the Prophet (PbUH). Flanked on either side by the graves of Hazrat Abu Bakr and Hazrat Umar, the area next to it is said to be one of the gardens in heaven. It is taken to be an honour to pay a visit and recite darood and salaam, as well as to offer two rakah. It is however, undesirable to pray for anything, as it is only to Allah that prayers should be offered as it is only He who can grant any wishes. Of all the places in the Muslim world, and given that the Saudis frown over building of tombs, I expected a quiet place of dignity, silence and contemplation, where people would stand in reverence, with bowed heads, recite the salaam and slowly walk away. What one found was mayhem, physical fights between over ardent women who wanted to get ahead and poorly equipped volunteers who beseeched the unruly crowd to remember where they were. Women had restricted hours for visits, and were supposed to line up according to their country of origin, but this proved impossible. After more than an hour of patiently waiting for the volunteers to steer us, and suddenly faced by an onslaught that threatened to either smother or crush us, the two of us barely managed to wriggle our way out, without reaching the inner most area. Women chanted loudly, waving their arms about, and the physical jostling was so severe that it was almost impossible to even turn one’s body around. Was this the behavior of people who revered and loved their benefactor? And could the authorities not help by posting signs of silence, putting barriers for some sort of queues, post more and better trained women instead of just two to manage hundreds and thousands of people?
One had not realised how the sanitation system and lack of facilities would put pressure on our frail human physique. The Saudi government needs to be lauded for its monumental efforts each year to facilitate the increasing number of pilgrims, but it may be even more important to pay attention to the quality of the facility. The camps at Mina were crowded, badly planned with highly inadequate sanitation services, made worse by extremely poor civic sense and lack of communal spirit by the pilgrims. The entry and exit for women at the toilets was the same, water collected everywhere, only a few toilets were available for hundreds of women, and some did not function. Open holes discharged noxious fumes, and the few times that one did visit the toilet, one inhaled poisonous gases that played havoc with the internal systems. For the five nights, we survived on sips of water and a few biscuits. People ate and threw garbage everywhere, and not even once were the toilets, the bins or the pathways cleaned. We spent the compulsory few hours each day in Mina standing or sitting outside, or walking on the streets away from the camps where the stench was not so overwhelming. Outside, people sat, slept and ate alongside piles of rubbish. Throughout the Hajj days, as we saw the streets of the holy cities turn into mounds of garbage, the smells of stale and rotting food mixing with human waste, not a single cleaner was visible. Communal living and physical facilities were seen at their worst.
Many communities demonstrated their worst attributes in two aspects. One was their almost total disregard to cleanliness of any sort. The other was complete lack of discipline in making lines, and queuing up for food, tokens, getting on or down from a bus etc. Any such activity resulted in chaos, bunching up of groups at small pathways and long delays. Mealtimes were most difficult, when the women especially seemed not to ever have given way to anyone else.
Saudi Arabia is host to millions during this period. They open up their homes and facilities for pilgrims. We were provided food, aab-e- zam zam and dates, and some times were even greeted with smiles. But the Hajj period appeared to be rip off time for taxi and bus drivers. The bus driver with whom our group leader negotiated to take us to Arafat and bring us back to the haram left us at the far end of Mina at night, and our leader bore the brunt of much verbal abuse by the men. Are these men would be hajis, supposed to bear the harshness of the Hajj trip with fortitude, I wondered. We spent the night on the road, under the stars, and slept as the road rattled with the heavy traffic. During the early hours of the morning we got on another bus, the driver of which insisted on moving while we were still trying to climb up and much yelling and shouting ensued. We were once again dropped off at another point from which we walked to our camp in a crowd that pushed and pulled at every step. That was a journey to be remembered for the intensity of multiple physical privations. The hot sun, beating one one’s head, the millions around walking in different directions and taking you with them with the force of their bodies, the sweat, the piles of rotting rubbish and the overflowing sewers- as the bile rose in my stomach and I retched, I thought of how inconvenient it would be for everyone if I died here, or lost an arm or leg, shuddered and staggered to sit down on a road side sill to catch my breath and take a sip of cold water. It later so happened that the water so warmly offered was contaminated and many in the group contracted diarrhea later.
In Arafat, we were expecting to spend the day under open skies, and were pleasantly surprised by the spacious tents that had been put up, offering much needed cover from the blazing heat. That day is supposed to be one of the most important, the 9th day of Zilhaj, to be spent in praying. This is followed by the khutba, from the nearby Masjid-e Namra, and the duua, led by the Imaam of the kaa’bah. The tent where we were housed accommodated over a hundred women, and apart from a few women who stood up to perform hasty rakaahs, all one could see and hear was a collective and loud cacophony, caused by women talking and shouting simultaneously. We shifted to another tent where collective noise was relatively low, but despite straining my ears, I could not hear either the khutba, or the duua. It was an irony of fate, or of being a woman, that here we were, at the source, and unable to hear the khutba-e-hajj, whereas at home, thousands of miles away, I could hear it every year.
Hajj now has a huge commercial aspect to it. Saudi Arabia itself, and the twin holy cities have developed to meet the requirements of millions each year, but the Hajj period is an income generating one for the locals, especially for those in the hotelling, retail and transport sectors. Prices of consumables rise, and taxi drivers charge five and ten times as much, without even taking the customers to their destination, for the simple reason that most roads are blocked. We spent a small fortune in taxis that dropped us off at points from where we walked for hours to go wherever we had to. Gone are the days when hosts would look at a tired face and offer a seat, a drink or a free ride.
Social change was most evident among the pilgrims themselves. Many, if not all, were busy in taking videos and photographs of each other in various poses, including in extending their hands for duaa. The Hajj, it seemed, had also become an accomplishment, to be attached to names, displayed in homes and bragged about in public. It was a social and religious symbol of piety, and pictures had to be taken to prove this.
Gender related aspects were evident at each stage, but it was wiser to ignore these when possible, otherwise frustrations would have built up enormously. To begin with, the books we were provided with before departure contained strictures to women not to force themselves into groups of men and to keep to themselves. This was addressed repeatedly to women, when in fact, it were the men who repeatedly moved even into praying areas kept strictly for women, and sat among women. Nowhere did I find any instructions telling men how to behave towards women. All training sessions were conducted by men, and issues related specifically to women were addressed in detail by men. It is surprising that in a society that considers many issues immodest and vulgar, women related health issues should be so openly verbalised. Surely women Hajj trainers are also available who can conduct these sessions for women, with whom women can have discussions easily.
Despite the number of women exceeding that of men, the facilities for women were less adequate, poor in quality and as an after thought, particularly in the way of toilets, washing and wadhu places, prayer areas and arrangements to hear and participate in duuas.
That year, the host government had invited 1400 eminent personalities from around the Muslim world to perform Hajj. Along with four million women and men from all over the world, we strove to keep body and spirit together, and ensure that the key steps necessary were completed, I wondered when and how these individuals would perform the essential rites without clearing the places of the crowds and their human waste, and whether these 1400 personalities included any women. Despite the fact that Hajj is an event that puts everyone- the wealthy and poor, man or woman at par, the extremes of facilities and comforts of the ordinary world were very visible.
One of my disappointments was not being able to visit the jannat-ul-baqi, the historical graveyard of the martyred of the battles of Uhud and Khandaq. Hazrat Amir Hamza, the Prophet’s uncle is buried here. The graveyard was just behind where we stayed in Madinah, but women are barred from visiting. With time, as the Saudi authorities rationalise their rules and laws, perhaps this too may change. As will, I hope, the requirement of having a male relative for a woman to perform Hajj.
Makkah, Madinah, but most of all, the kaa’ba, are magical places. And the Hajj is a magical experience, not to be explained but to be experienced. To gain from it as much as possible, one needs to be considerate, quiet, clean and have an environment that facilitates dignity. Hajj organisers and would be hajis would do well to undertake training in communal living, behavior in mosques and sacred places, cleanliness and waiting for their turns, and above all, consideration for others. Perhaps we can then hope for the spirit of Hajj and Islam to be revived.
Hajj, the pilgrimage to Makkah, a much desired pinnacle of life by most Muslims, had always seemed a distant probability. Though an essential tenet of Islam, much as prayer and zakah are, it appeared rather formidable, surrounded by stories of the stern environment in the host country. It was surprising then, when a sudden decision was made to perform Hajj in 2012, I agreed without any trepidation, indeed, looking forward to an experience that would be very different from all other travel to far off places. Rather than penning my religious and spiritual experiences, I would rather share some reflections that rarely find expression.
Despite several training and orientation sessions before the trip, and searches on the websites, I had found very little on actual experiences. Vague references were made by “veteran hajis” that Hajj was difficult and one must be careful not to criticize anything one found wanting there. That most of the “difficulties” were man made and could be eased if due attention and consideration to detail were applied was clear to us throughout our stay.
The first six days in Makkah were peaceful, except for the aggression displayed by the crowds. The next few days spent in Madinah too, mostly at the Masjid-e-Nabvi, the initial structure of which was laid by the Prophet Mohammed (PbUH) are a treasure, showing Islam with all its collective and diverse features. People from literally every country in the world stood up for each of the five daily prayers, but several had different ways of performing these. The Quran was available in several languages, including in Braille, and many people had the Arabic versions with translations in their languages. Particularly visible were both young and old hajis from Central Asian countries. It was both touching and a lesson in humility to watch communication between a young woman from Dagestan and an older one from Indonesia, from exchange of names and relationships to how the prayer should be performed, using sign language. It will be difficult to forget the quiet and forlorn old man on a tattered prayer mat in a corner among the crowd of loudly reciting and pushing pilgrims, or the tears falling down a young woman’s face as she clung to the boundary rails of a verandah around the kaa’bah. For thousands of years, people have gone there to find solace, seek absolution and peace and the strength to bear the pains of this world. I believe everyone finds something or the other, and returns with a passion for another trip.
We had our first exposure to the single minded ferocity of crowds during the first tawaf (circumbabulation). Televised or even visual pictures show a sea of human kind moving in almost rhythmic and circular waves. And indeed it is so, along the outer circles. As you move towards the Maqam-e-Ibrahim, or try to get a closer look at, or touch the Hujra-e-Aswad, you will be pushed and pulled in all directions unless you are able to maintain your balance and feet on ground. Regardless of how they are hurting others, many individuals and groups ram elbows and arms with full force making way for themselves and their families. With bruised arms, an almost ruptured kidney, and “saved at last minute” fall, I was able to recognise people and groups from certain countries and steered away from them during the later tawafs. We paid the cost of not being able to go near the “kaa’bah”, and performed many of our tawafs on the upper floors. Everywhere, despite signs asking people not to clog up walkways, crowds were seen sitting, sleeping, eating and talking, taking up the much needed space for tawaf and saaee. Large groups were heard reciting in chorus, and those who prayed quietly forgot what they were supposed to pray and spent much of their time saving their bodies from being crushed to powder.
Most countries provide training to would be hajis. Can they be impressed upon and demonstrations given to them on how to move without pushing and ramming others, or shouting?
Perhaps the single most painful experience was the failed trip to Riaz-ul-Janna, the resting place of the Prophet (PbUH). Flanked on either side by the graves of Hazrat Abu Bakr and Hazrat Umar, the area next to it is said to be one of the gardens in heaven. It is taken to be an honour to pay a visit and recite darood and salaam, as well as to offer two rakah. It is however, undesirable to pray for anything, as it is only to Allah that prayers should be offered as it is only He who can grant any wishes. Of all the places in the Muslim world, and given that the Saudis frown over building of tombs, I expected a quiet place of dignity, silence and contemplation, where people would stand in reverence, with bowed heads, recite the salaam and slowly walk away. What one found was mayhem, physical fights between over ardent women who wanted to get ahead and poorly equipped volunteers who beseeched the unruly crowd to remember where they were. Women had restricted hours for visits, and were supposed to line up according to their country of origin, but this proved impossible. After more than an hour of patiently waiting for the volunteers to steer us, and suddenly faced by an onslaught that threatened to either smother or crush us, the two of us barely managed to wriggle our way out, without reaching the inner most area. Women chanted loudly, waving their arms about, and the physical jostling was so severe that it was almost impossible to even turn one’s body around. Was this the behavior of people who revered and loved their benefactor? And could the authorities not help by posting signs of silence, putting barriers for some sort of queues, post more and better trained women instead of just two to manage hundreds and thousands of people?
One had not realised how the sanitation system and lack of facilities would put pressure on our frail human physique. The Saudi government needs to be lauded for its monumental efforts each year to facilitate the increasing number of pilgrims, but it may be even more important to pay attention to the quality of the facility. The camps at Mina were crowded, badly planned with highly inadequate sanitation services, made worse by extremely poor civic sense and lack of communal spirit by the pilgrims. The entry and exit for women at the toilets was the same, water collected everywhere, only a few toilets were available for hundreds of women, and some did not function. Open holes discharged noxious fumes, and the few times that one did visit the toilet, one inhaled poisonous gases that played havoc with the internal systems. For the five nights, we survived on sips of water and a few biscuits. People ate and threw garbage everywhere, and not even once were the toilets, the bins or the pathways cleaned. We spent the compulsory few hours each day in Mina standing or sitting outside, or walking on the streets away from the camps where the stench was not so overwhelming. Outside, people sat, slept and ate alongside piles of rubbish. Throughout the Hajj days, as we saw the streets of the holy cities turn into mounds of garbage, the smells of stale and rotting food mixing with human waste, not a single cleaner was visible. Communal living and physical facilities were seen at their worst.
Many communities demonstrated their worst attributes in two aspects. One was their almost total disregard to cleanliness of any sort. The other was complete lack of discipline in making lines, and queuing up for food, tokens, getting on or down from a bus etc. Any such activity resulted in chaos, bunching up of groups at small pathways and long delays. Mealtimes were most difficult, when the women especially seemed not to ever have given way to anyone else.
Saudi Arabia is host to millions during this period. They open up their homes and facilities for pilgrims. We were provided food, aab-e- zam zam and dates, and some times were even greeted with smiles. But the Hajj period appeared to be rip off time for taxi and bus drivers. The bus driver with whom our group leader negotiated to take us to Arafat and bring us back to the haram left us at the far end of Mina at night, and our leader bore the brunt of much verbal abuse by the men. Are these men would be hajis, supposed to bear the harshness of the Hajj trip with fortitude, I wondered. We spent the night on the road, under the stars, and slept as the road rattled with the heavy traffic. During the early hours of the morning we got on another bus, the driver of which insisted on moving while we were still trying to climb up and much yelling and shouting ensued. We were once again dropped off at another point from which we walked to our camp in a crowd that pushed and pulled at every step. That was a journey to be remembered for the intensity of multiple physical privations. The hot sun, beating one one’s head, the millions around walking in different directions and taking you with them with the force of their bodies, the sweat, the piles of rotting rubbish and the overflowing sewers- as the bile rose in my stomach and I retched, I thought of how inconvenient it would be for everyone if I died here, or lost an arm or leg, shuddered and staggered to sit down on a road side sill to catch my breath and take a sip of cold water. It later so happened that the water so warmly offered was contaminated and many in the group contracted diarrhea later.
In Arafat, we were expecting to spend the day under open skies, and were pleasantly surprised by the spacious tents that had been put up, offering much needed cover from the blazing heat. That day is supposed to be one of the most important, the 9th day of Zilhaj, to be spent in praying. This is followed by the khutba, from the nearby Masjid-e Namra, and the duua, led by the Imaam of the kaa’bah. The tent where we were housed accommodated over a hundred women, and apart from a few women who stood up to perform hasty rakaahs, all one could see and hear was a collective and loud cacophony, caused by women talking and shouting simultaneously. We shifted to another tent where collective noise was relatively low, but despite straining my ears, I could not hear either the khutba, or the duua. It was an irony of fate, or of being a woman, that here we were, at the source, and unable to hear the khutba-e-hajj, whereas at home, thousands of miles away, I could hear it every year.
Hajj now has a huge commercial aspect to it. Saudi Arabia itself, and the twin holy cities have developed to meet the requirements of millions each year, but the Hajj period is an income generating one for the locals, especially for those in the hotelling, retail and transport sectors. Prices of consumables rise, and taxi drivers charge five and ten times as much, without even taking the customers to their destination, for the simple reason that most roads are blocked. We spent a small fortune in taxis that dropped us off at points from where we walked for hours to go wherever we had to. Gone are the days when hosts would look at a tired face and offer a seat, a drink or a free ride.
Social change was most evident among the pilgrims themselves. Many, if not all, were busy in taking videos and photographs of each other in various poses, including in extending their hands for duaa. The Hajj, it seemed, had also become an accomplishment, to be attached to names, displayed in homes and bragged about in public. It was a social and religious symbol of piety, and pictures had to be taken to prove this.
Gender related aspects were evident at each stage, but it was wiser to ignore these when possible, otherwise frustrations would have built up enormously. To begin with, the books we were provided with before departure contained strictures to women not to force themselves into groups of men and to keep to themselves. This was addressed repeatedly to women, when in fact, it were the men who repeatedly moved even into praying areas kept strictly for women, and sat among women. Nowhere did I find any instructions telling men how to behave towards women. All training sessions were conducted by men, and issues related specifically to women were addressed in detail by men. It is surprising that in a society that considers many issues immodest and vulgar, women related health issues should be so openly verbalised. Surely women Hajj trainers are also available who can conduct these sessions for women, with whom women can have discussions easily.
Despite the number of women exceeding that of men, the facilities for women were less adequate, poor in quality and as an after thought, particularly in the way of toilets, washing and wadhu places, prayer areas and arrangements to hear and participate in duuas.
That year, the host government had invited 1400 eminent personalities from around the Muslim world to perform Hajj. Along with four million women and men from all over the world, we strove to keep body and spirit together, and ensure that the key steps necessary were completed, I wondered when and how these individuals would perform the essential rites without clearing the places of the crowds and their human waste, and whether these 1400 personalities included any women. Despite the fact that Hajj is an event that puts everyone- the wealthy and poor, man or woman at par, the extremes of facilities and comforts of the ordinary world were very visible.
One of my disappointments was not being able to visit the jannat-ul-baqi, the historical graveyard of the martyred of the battles of Uhud and Khandaq. Hazrat Amir Hamza, the Prophet’s uncle is buried here. The graveyard was just behind where we stayed in Madinah, but women are barred from visiting. With time, as the Saudi authorities rationalise their rules and laws, perhaps this too may change. As will, I hope, the requirement of having a male relative for a woman to perform Hajj.
Makkah, Madinah, but most of all, the kaa’ba, are magical places. And the Hajj is a magical experience, not to be explained but to be experienced. To gain from it as much as possible, one needs to be considerate, quiet, clean and have an environment that facilitates dignity. Hajj organisers and would be hajis would do well to undertake training in communal living, behavior in mosques and sacred places, cleanliness and waiting for their turns, and above all, consideration for others. Perhaps we can then hope for the spirit of Hajj and Islam to be revived.
