22

Saida Miller Khalifa
Great Britain

1970

Sonya Miller, a British sculptor and calligrapher, became a Muslim in London in 1959. The following year, taking the name Saida, she traveled to Canada, where she met her husband, Yusry Khalifa, an Egyptian university professor. The couple moved to Cairo in 1967. Miller Khalifa’s book The Fifth Pillar of Islam is a short, informal narration of their Hajj together in 1970. Like Lady Cobbold’s earlier account, it alternates reflections on Islam and the days of the Prophet with more personal sections detailing her journey. It is in these latter passages that she makes a unique contribution to the pilgrim record by providing a plainspoken, representative account of the Hajj as performed by modern Muslim women by the millions.

Miller Khalifa takes her readers straight into a type of harem peculiar to the Hajj. And a very different place it proves to be from the hackneyed stereotypes of French painters. Nor does her harem make one think of the chambers visited by the Begum of Bhopal or Lady Cobbold, for those were family quarters in the private homes of local rulers. Miller Khalifa, by contrast, applies the term hareem272 to a transient collection of female pilgrims inhabiting quarters rented from their guide. This accidental delegation of several dozen women, thrown together in Jidda, taking shape in Mecca, transposed to a second dwelling in Mina Valley and, finally, to a tent in Arafat, represents a typical arrangement repeated thousands of times on every Hajj.

Women have always been present on the Hajj, and influential. In 1970, they comprised about one third of all pilgrims. The hajjas depicted in Miller Khalifa’s pages share three things: Islam, their nationality, and a talent for friendship. One, Hajja Wadida, elderly, infirm, traveling alone, is thrust upon the Khalifas by her son at the Cairo airport. Another, a Gambian grandmother with four children in her care, manages quite well without the usual male protector. At the other end of the female entourage stands their guide’s mother-in-law, the severe and somewhat comical Turkish Tyrant, whose role gives an interesting twist to the complex business of guiding pilgrims in a sex-segregated society. In this family, the lady of the house flies over from Cairo every year to double as a female mutawwif, leading the hajjas among their clients on the Hajj while her son-in-law guides the males.

Miller Khalifa has read the principal accounts of her predecessors. In her prologue, she offers a brief review of this literature as recapitulated by Captain Burton, and she occasionally quotes Philby and others in her text. Aware how far the Hajj has progressed in health and safety, she recognizes, too, that certain technological improvements have introduced their own new difficulties. One of these is traffic. In a passage not included here, the Khalifas traveled half the night by bus to cover the five-mile route from Arafat to Muzdalifa. “It was hot, but my window was jammed shut,” she writes, “and I could not move my feet an inch. Ahead, behind, and to our right stood vehicles crammed with the faithful.” Any recent pilgrim will recognize this sketch. In years to come, the Hajj would set world records for the size and duration of its traffic jams.

A section of twenty photos accompanies Miller Khalifa’s text. In them, one makes out Datsun pickups, Volkswagen bugs and camper vans, public buses with luggage racks, a single donkey cart, and not one camel. In Jidda, the Khalifas stayed in a newly constructed pilgrim village, too. They traveled on paved, four-lane highways between Jidda, Mecca, and Medina and paid no pilgrim tax. In the 1950s, the new King, Saʿud, had abolished it. “Let the hajjis come,” he announced; “I will pay the tax.” Thirty years before, of course, his father had largely relied on Hajj receipts for a national budget.

The Khalifas moved to Cairo around the time of the 1967 June War (the Six-Day War). Naturally, Hajj attendance reflected this regional upheaval. In its aftermath, the numbers of Egyptian pilgrims dropped by half, to about ten thousand, and did not recover fully for five years. This was largely due to the eight-year closure of the Suez Canal, another outcome of the war, which also increased the burden on those too poor to afford an airline ticket. Yet even at the worst of times, applications for Egyptian exit visas remained high despite official restriction of their numbers. Partly to counter complaints of favoritism, President Nasser instituted a pilgrim’s lottery in 1969. This is the “public ballot” described in Miller Khalifa’s opening pages.

from The Fifth Pillar by Saida Miller Khalifa

PREPARATIONS FOR PILGRIMAGE It was 1970 and my third year in Egypt. Ever since my arrival, I had been wondering how and when I would be able to go on pilgrimage with my husband.

The 1967 war with Israel had left us all in a state of shock; the tragic loss of life, the deprivation of the Suez Canal, and above all the crushing defeat were blows from which it would take Egypt years to recover. As far as the pilgrimage was concerned, pilgrims could no longer travel by ship, now that the canal was out of action, and Suez, main port of embarkation for Egyptian hajjis in the past, was out of bounds for civilians. Now the journey had to be made by plane, so the numbers of pilgrims had to be limited, and the amount of foreign currency available was restricted.

Somewhat paradoxically, despite the hardship of the journey in the old days of the caravan, the demands made by officialdom prior to departure were few. Nowadays the situation is reversed; the journey is made incomparably easier, but the setting out on it is far more difficult, with so many forms to fill out and signatures and stamps to obtain from various officials.

The Egyptian government announced that a public ballot would be held in the city zones and country districts for all those wishing to go on the Hajj. However, any applicants who received invitations from relatives, friends, or the pilgrim-guides-cum-travel-agents known as mutawwifs who could subsidize them during their stay in the Hijaz would be exempted from what came to be known as the Toss.

In 1969, we had entered our names for the ballot but were unsuccessful, so the following year Yusry wrote to a Saudi whose name had been recommended to him. This invisible benefactor (for we never saw him) obliged us by sending an invitation. Now we had only to be officially notified before starting our preparations to leave.

That year, about thirty thousand Egyptians had applied to go, a number too great for the local air traffic to handle, despite the fleet of extra planes rented from foreign countries. The number of names drawn in the Toss was around seventeen thousand, so many were disappointed. We were very fortunate in not having to rely on the Toss.

The happy news that we would be leaving in February for Saudeya, as Saudi Arabia is known throughout the Arab world, reached us after months of anxious waiting. As soon as the kindly official at our local police station notified us of our departure date, Yusry and I hurried to buy the special clothing and camping equipment needed. . . .

A shop in the centre of town fitted me out with three long-sleeved, ankle-length cotton gowns. I bought two white, one green, later wishing I had bought more white because of the relative lack of washing and ironing facilities for the huge number of hajjis in Mecca and Medina. Another reason for extra white dresses is the Egyptian tradition of wearing a fresh, new white dress and veil for the return journey and her arrival home. White knitted cotton stockings and a long length of fine white veiling completed my outfit, and we left with the good wishes of the entire shop staff. Next, shoes. Alas! Like many another woman, I later found that my new white sandals were too small! Luckily, an old pair of summer shoes proved serviceable enough and better able to withstand a lot of wear and tear.

For Yusry’s ihram, we drove to Old Cairo, where certain little shops located in narrow winding lanes specialize in the fringed towelling, strong leather money belts, and open sandals required. In the same area, canvas water bags can be bought that provide deliciously cool water for thirsty wayfarers in desert areas where no ice is available. The thick canvas is porous enough to allow a little water to seep through, the droplets being cooled by the passing breeze. Like the traditional goatskins, these water bags take up little space when empty. . . .

Later, in town, we bought a small Primus stove, a couple of lightweight saucepans, a frying pan, a kettle, some plastic mugs and plates, and a few other items for cooking and eating. A handbook on the pilgrimage advised taking a quantity of tinned food. I also washed and dried some rice, storing it in time for the journey. This proved a most useful addition to our subsequent diet of canned fish, vegetables, and cheese.

Not everyone knew of our proposed trip, but those shopkeepers in whom we confided when buying necessary items always earnestly requested us to pray for them when we reached the Kaʿba, Islam’s most sacred place. Egyptians are for the most part deeply religious, and to go on the Hajj is a wish cherished in very many hearts.

The official side of our preparations entailed several visits by Yusry to our local police station to obtain the official permits and to the specially organized air-travel offices. We also called in at the local health centre for the statutory inoculations against smallpox, typhoid, and cholera. The nurse there took a justifiable pride in the delicacy of her needlework and wished us a blessed journey.

Now it was time to pack our gear. We stowed food and a few extra clothes in a couple of suitcases and bundled up the camping equipment in an old green rug which Yusry knew would be useful later.

Had we been setting out from Cairo a hundred years ago, our food supplies would of course have been more extensive, bearing in mind the long journey by boat and camel. We would have laid in stores of tea, coffee, loaf sugar, rice, dates, biscuits, oil, vinegar, lanterns, and cooking pots. Several water skins would have been necessary and most likely a small tent, as well, which would in those days have cost a mere ten shillings. All these would have been packed into a hamper made of palm sticks and a huge wooden box, while the clothes would have been put into saddlebags. I can picture our loaded camel, hamper, box, and saddlebags hanging from his sides, with perhaps a cot placed on top of the load.

In both past and present, the final item bought or acquired by the pilgrim could be a shroud, later to be dipped in Zamzam water. . . .

CAIRO AIRPORT Cairo mornings are usually fine, but I remember that February morning as particularly lovely, with the airport buildings and the planes all shimmering in the sun. Egyptian families are generally very close, and arrivals and departures of family members are occasions when everyone who can gathers at the point of departure or arrival. Our family is no exception, and the farewell deputation included two of my sisters-in-law and Yusry’s three brothers, all of whom we hold dear.

Not only relatives but friends and neighbours love to bear the departing pilgrim company. The fellahin, for instance, think nothing of several days’ trip to speed the traveller on his way, and groups of them from the country will cheerfully spend days and nights at the airport waiting for him to arrive. Sometimes a few of their group will bring along pipes and drums to enliven the proceedings.

A huge marquee of multicoloured appliquéd cloth had been set up adjoining the main building to accommodate departing pilgrim passengers. Helpful officials were everywhere at hand, and we found ourselves clear of passport and customs formalities in almost no time. Relatives and friends crowding the visitors’ balcony were waving and calling down to white-clad figures below.

Just as we were about to go through to the departure lounge, a hand was laid on Yusry’s arm. He turned to be hailed by a young ex-student of his, whom he later told me he had not seen for about ten years. Two ladies were with this young man; one was young, the other, an elderly hajja. In urgent tones, because there wasn’t much time, the young man explained that he was unable to accompany his mother to Mecca. Could we look after her? Yusry agreed at once, but I must admit I was taken by surprise at this unexpected request! I found out later it is quite usual for relatives to ask someone else to look after a member of the family making the pilgrimage alone, although generally this is arranged beforehand. Women pilgrims in particular are advised against making the Hajj alone; indeed the Prophet usually forbade women to do so unless accompanied by a male relative. The reasons for this will perhaps become clear as my story unfolds. In fact, the physical strains imposed by the journey, the carrying of loads, possible troubles over transport or argument with men over payments, the chance of accidents or sickness, and the importance of keeping one’s footing when in the midst of great crowds are all occasions when a woman is liable to require a man’s care and protection. The Prophet also recommended that a woman travelling a long distance should be accompanied by a male relative.

Of course, all this was new to me then, and I was trying to get used to the idea of having this hitherto-unknown companion travelling with us.

However, I tried not to show my apprehension when our hajja’s tearful daughter-in-law grasped my hand and begged me to “take care of Mother.” I assured her we would, feeling sorry for the poor lady who looked quite lost, now that the moment had come to leave her family. The next minute I couldn’t help smiling at my kindhearted husband, who was rummaging hopefully in the hajja’s capacious handbag in search of vital documents for her, while the lady herself just stood gazing in a state of childlike wonder at the official behind the desk.

Then, formalities completed, we sat in the cafeteria sipping the local coffee from tiny cups. It is served in a way similar to Turkish coffee but is less thick, and as a rule Egyptians prefer it less sweet.

The cafeteria was filling up with white-clad hajjis. A loudspeaker was broadcasting religious songs accompanied by vigorous drumbeats. Paperback copies of the Quran were handed out free to those who wanted them. At the next table a solitary hajji sat quietly smoking. Poor Hajja Wadida, for that was her name, began to cry silently. Was the prospect of this journey into the unknown without her family too overwhelming? I patted her hand sympathetically. Unfortunately my Arabic was too inadequate to be of much comfort to her, so we could only sit smiling and nodding at each other. . . .

IN FLIGHT I glanced out of the window. A silver wing obscured the view, but I caught a glimpse of tawny desert far below. I thought of earlier pilgrims about whom I had read. How astonished they would have been, those wayfarers of past centuries, if, as they rode or plodded the weary miles of caravan routes through desert wastes and lonely valleys, they could have known that one day in the future great silver metallic birds would carry passengers and cargo speedily through the skies. And those pilgrims too frequently herded together in certain ramshackle, unseaworthy craft whose rapacious owners cared nothing for the safety and comfort of their passengers. What a wonder to them would have been the swift comfortable flight with ample food and drink that today we take so for granted!

I looked at Hajja Wadida sitting beside me. Her eyes were closed; her lips were moving in prayer. Perhaps she was nervous about flying, as she had told me this was her first flight. Hoping to reassure her a little, I took her hand and was rewarded with an answering pressure and a smile. . . .

THE MUTAWWIF Perhaps at this point the function of the travel agent, the mutawwif, in the pilgrimage season should be made clear. First, his employment is purely seasonal, that is, during the pilgrimage months only, the last two months of the Arabic lunar year. Second, the mutawwif forms a link between government and pilgrim, enjoying a special fee in return for handling passports, customs clearance, accommodation, and transport; third, he is qualified to act as a guide throughout the religious rites with which very many may be unfamiliar. Mutawwifs generally lodge their clients in private houses which may be rented for the season, or in their own. Hotels, especially those near the city centres, are so expensive as to be beyond the reach of most.

Frequently a mutawwif will specialize in dealing with pilgrims of one nationality. It may be, for instance, that he is married to a wife from outside Saudi Arabia and prefers to look after her fellow countrymen, being already familiar with their language and some of their ways. The cheapest accommodation is of course to share a room with others, which usually results in the sexes being segregated. The women’s rooms are called hareem, a word deriving from haraam, the forbidden (that is, to men other than the husbands, fathers, brothers, or sons of the female occupants).

Due to the ever-increasing number of pilgrims every year and the relative smallness of the cities of Jidda, Mecca, and Medina, no one is permitted to stay too long in any of these cities, or to leave them until official permission is granted.

The passport of each hajji is handled by his mutawwif throughout the different stages of the journey. Numerous mutawwifs are honest and sincere men; some unfortunately are not. However, one should not expect them all to be paragons of virtue merely because they live in the vicinity of the Holy Places. They have their faults, like everyone else. . . .

JIDDA AIRPORT But now, barely an hour after my arrival in Jidda, I was suddenly faced with an unexpected setback. As is well-known, no one is allowed to enter the Sacred Cities unless he or she is a genuine Muslim. But Yusry and I had completely overlooked the fact that nowhere in my British passport was it stated I was a Muslim. What was worse, there was no official Egyptian declaration to this effect either. We had thought, erroneously, that my official clearance in Cairo would be sufficient—but it was useless to claim this with the Saudi immigration officials—how were they to know I was a bona fide Muslim? We waited, sitting on a bench, while a couple of men from immigration discussed what was to be done. In the end, they decided the English hajja must take an oath the next day before the supreme-court judge to prove she had adopted the faith correctly.

I looked at Hajja Wadida, who clearly was again on the verge of tears. Poor soul! No doubt she was already regretting having been entrusted to our keeping, since this seemed to involve too much frustrating waiting about on her part. Like all the faithful, she was anxious to be on her way to the Kaʿba, the focal point of Islam.

As we waited, a couple of planeloads of Indonesian hajjis streamed in, looking exotic, with their fine, delicate features, dark Western-style suits, and little black skullcaps. A few of the men already wore the ihram, and most of the hajjas were in their national dress, graceful and dignified, later to be changed for their ihram.

At last, having given the name of the mutawwif with whom we would be staying in Mecca, we were allowed to leave the building. By this time we were hot and tired. The weather was warm after the temperate Egyptian winter. We collected our baggage, plus Hajja Wadida’s unbelievably heavy suitcase, and stumbled through to a wide courtyard which was enclosed by a low quadrangle three stories high. Here were located the offices of the numerous mutawwifs and the free hostel for hajjis. Hot and footsore, Hajja Wadida and I stood in the midst of the throng of pilgrims, most of whom were standing surrounded by their piles of luggage. Just then, a short bespectacled hajja darted from the crowd to be greeted with delight by Hajja Wadida. It seems they were old friends. However, they had only exchanged a few sentences when a brace of diminutive young porters appeared, oddly dignified despite their ragged work clothes of saronglike skirts and cotton vests. Bulky turbans wreathed their heads, and wide, metal-studded leather money belts were buckled round their slim waists. “Belonging to [Hajj] Thakafy?” they asked cheerfully. “Aiwan”—yes—we replied thankfully. Yusry joined us. He had gone off with a small guide to find our mutawwif’s representative in the hope that we could collect our passports and leave for Mecca. But my problem was delaying us, so it seemed best to spend the night in the hostel. . . .

ARRIVAL IN MECCA The taxi, having first dropped off our Sudanese fellow pilgrims, drew up at a narrow side turning. Yemeni porters took over our baggage. We walked a short way between tall old houses whose owners sat by their doors. One or two street venders displayed trays of assorted goods resting on the ground. The porters turned in at a narrow door flanked by two slender green pillars, beside which, on the typical high bench lined with carpeting we had seen in Jidda, a man was lounging. This was our mutawwif, in whose house we would be staying during our time in Mecca. Hajj Thakafy stood up, a smile on his finely chiselled features as he welcomed us. We went in and climbed several flights of steep old stairs, glimpsing shadowed rooms from the landings, until we reached a small room under the rafters. The walls were pale blue, the ceiling of wood.

Facing us, reclining rather like a Matisse odalisque in a long, flowered dress, was a large, moon-faced woman, smoking a hubble-bubble273 of ornate design. As the occupant of the single bed, who was every inch the person in authority, rose to greet us, I was aware of a circle of white-clad hajjas sitting around the room, on the floor, incongruously putting me in mind of ladies-in-waiting around their queen.

“Ahlan wasahlan! Ahlan wasahlan!” (“Welcome! Welcome!”) The moon-faced one boomed out the traditional welcome of the Arab world, which actually means, “We are your family and you are now in a valley (where there is protection and abundance),” thereby showing the richness of meaning in certain Arabic phrases.

I shook hands all around, the lady of the house (I learned later she was the mother-in-law of our mutawwif and the undisputed authority abovestairs) said she hoped I would be happy with her. I suspect that, had my stay with the Turkish Tyrant (as I privately dubbed her) been during our second pilgrimage, I would have been happier, because by then I knew better what to expect, and I knew also that none of the little incidents of communal living should be taken seriously. As it was, the combination of my ignorance of the language, living in a confined space with a roomful of ladies whom I did not know, having to share one small washroom, and feeling myself to be constantly under a kind of invisible restraint from the Turkish Tyrant’s somewhat overpowering rule meant I was living under a considerable strain at first. The fact that the lady was rather given to shouting when put out did not help matters, and naturally in my ignorance I made mistakes.

It was not until we had exchanged these pleasantries that I realized we would all be living together, about twelve hajjas crammed into one little room. As it happens, it is almost impossible not to have crowded living conditions while on the Hajj, and more recently returned pilgrims have described houses so full as to necessitate hajjis sleeping in the washrooms at times. At least our rooms were clean, and the washrooms were sluiced down every day. But it does take a little time to become adjusted. . . .

LIFE IN THE HAREEM Worn out after the tremendous experience of the previous day, I slept like a log. I woke to the twittering of the hajjas round me as they rolled up their slender mattresses and folded the cotton coverlets to be stacked neatly in a corner of the roof, which, like most Middle Eastern roofs, was flat. The Turkish Tyrant was reclining on her bed, supervising the tidying-up operations in stentorian tones. Noticing the newcomer was awake, she invited me to sit beside her. Our conversation began by being quite cordial. In a moment or two, however, it became apparent that her remarks were not fully understood and her questions not adequately answered. By degrees, the moon face took on a crimson hue, the voice rose to a bellow. No doubt, like thoughtless people the world over, the Turkish Tyrant imagined she would make herself understood by shouting! In vain, a kindly hajja pointed out that I was English and therefore did not understand everything the sitt hajja (the lady of the house) said. The crimson face merely grew darker.

At this awkward moment, to my relief, a diversion was provided by the formidable lady’s grandchildren, who started to squabble in a corner. Upon these two young heads, the infuriated roar was now turned. Subsequently I discovered that as soon as she sensed any potential opposition was about to collapse, the roar would change, rather like that of a tigress after a meal, to a kind of cajoling singsong, the volume of which still tended to drown any other conversation. I do not know whether it was because of the sheer force of her personality or something else, but it seemed to be only when the Turkish Tyrant was asleep, rosy moon face covered by a handkerchief, that the conversation of the circle of hajjas became louder than pianissimo.

Amusingly, even when the sitt hajja meant to be kind, she was alarming. Once, just as she was about to commence saying the noon prayer, she noticed I was sitting with my back against the wall. She had been standing quite still in preparation for the prayer when suddenly she let out a yell: “O Hajja Saida! Why don’t you use a cushion!” I almost jumped out of my skin.

The Turkish Tyrant’s daughter, Amira, had a much gentler nature. Slim and small boned, she moved with an easy seductive grace. Her small head with its delicate features and long, heavy-lidded eyes had something of the enchanting Queen Nefertiti about it. In fact, mother and daughter were Cairenes, the mother flying every pilgrimage season to Saudi Arabia to help look after their hajji guests.

Of course, in their position of authority and knowing considerably more than many pilgrims about the rites, the two ladies in whose care we hajjas were felt they should advise us on correctness of dress and conduct. They were quite right to do so, my only reservation being the, to me, unnerving manner in which the advice was given! . . .

In Hajji Thakafy’s house, every corner was occupied, the house alive with voices and movement.

On the upper floor, we of the Egyptian hareem were settling down more comfortably together. Our number included two elderly hajjas, one of whom found walking an effort because of her bad legs, but nevertheless she bravely carried on for as long as she could. Most of the group were mothers or grandmothers; several, sad to say, were widows. However, there were two very young hajjas, one recently married, whose husband was sharing a room below with other men. The two youngest naturally preferred sitting together, with Amira’s schoolgirl daughter making a third and enjoying a few jokes while the rest of us chatted more sedately. At breakfast time, Amira would join us, and after the main meal of the day, she again made part of the circle. Amira would sit gracefully on the carpet cross-legged, pouring the tea, a liquid amber without milk, into tiny glasses kept polished crystal clear. She always found a second glass for me, a gesture that rather touched me as if she realized the comfort it brought the strange English hajja. Then the Turkish Tyrant would call for her shisha and puff away merrily until the charcoal embers glowed and the water bubbled, making a cheerful background noise for the conversation.

When annoyed, the Tyrant would roar at Amira, too, but she took the fortissimo tongue-lashing in the traditional way of the Oriental woman, silently and with eyes downcast, unlike her own daughter, who generally answered back, then sulked when scolded. . . .

Although the hajjas on the top floor were Egyptian, with the exception of myself, the lower floors were tenanted by pilgrims of different nationalities, Arabian, Egyptian, African, Syrian, and others. Immediately below us were two rooms, the first occupied by my husband and other men, the second by African families. Different colours, different backgrounds, different languages, yet all were living in harmony.

Water, an expensive necessity in Mecca, was carried daily to the house by sinewy young Yemeni water carriers accustomed to tramping up countless steep flights every day loaded with their heavy cans. The cans were slung from a yoke across their shoulders. Up the stone stairs they toiled to empty their cans with a satisfying splash into stone cisterns with taps at the base set in the washroom walls. The washrooms were kept clean by a thorough sluicing daily.

Next to my husband’s room and overlooking a dusty light well festooned with bird droppings was a small room of the category we later heard described as “box” on our second Hajj. Having no daylight other than the meagre amount filtering down the light well, the room was rather dark. But, dark or not, it was highly valued by whoever rented it because of its privacy. As such, it was suitable for a married couple or a small family, and a small family was in occupation at the moment. Into the room’s narrow L-shaped space were crammed an elderly and diminutive Gambian hajja and her four young grandchildren, not forgetting a perfect paraphernalia of boxes and pots and pans. Despite being a grandmother, the hajja was sprightlier than many a girl. Yusry and I had met this intrepid lady earlier, when we had shared a taxi, so ours was a cheerful reunion at Hajj Thakafy’s.

Yusry kept the Primus on the landing between the rooms, and in the mornings he used to make tea to enjoy with his roommates, with whom he had many interesting discussions. He always reserved a cup for the Gambian hajja, who surely appreciated kindness in the midst of her preoccupation with caring for the children. In retrospect, I am full of admiration for her. How on earth did she manage travelling alone and coping with her brood? I can only conclude divine Providence saw to it a kindly hajji was always at hand whenever the handling of passports, papers, transport, luggage, or accommodation was involved!

Once, when sleeping arrangements became temporarily disorganized, Yusry asked if I might spend the night in her room. The hajja was most welcoming, clearing a space in the midst of her mass of belongings, augmented that day, she informed me, by the addition of the huge tin trunk gaily painted with flowers. The grandchildren were packed along the wall, where they lay under their blanket solemnly rolling their great eyes at me, without a sound.

Below us, every room, nook, and cranny were crammed with the faithful and their luggage. The old house was alive with the tramp of feet on stairs, the sound of voices as hajjis came and went to and from prayers at the Haram or carrying out the first rites. . . .

FRIDAY IN MECCA On my first Friday in Mecca, I went down [to the mosque] with the hareem. Even Hajja Wadida had struggled to her feet to join us, eager to attend congregational prayer. The crowds grew denser as we approached the Haram. Near the mosque, our eldest hajja declared she was feeling tired so would prefer to stay where she was. Around us were others also preparing to sit outside on their prayer rugs and then say the prayers led by the broadcast voice of the imam. This is the wiser course for anyone infirm, because the crowding at this time is at its maximum, when almost every pilgrim in Mecca joins the congregation.

Now some of us made for a side door so as to avoid the crush at the main entrance, where hajjis pausing to remove their sandals mingled with others making their way out. But the Turkish Tyrant, crimson faced and gesticulating masterfully from the steps of the main door, compelled us to follow her meekly. Holding on to each other, we struggled through the milling throng. At the same time, hundreds of hajjis were trying to get out because the prayers were not due to begin for a while, adding to the mêlée. The crush was unlike any other I had ever seen or experienced. Thousands of hajjis were pouring into the Haram in search of a space in which to wait and then pray on the prayer rugs most of them were carrying over their shoulders. Led with stentorian shouts by the Tyrant, our little Indian file forced its way inside. But once this objective was achieved, it was clearly impossible to get farther; so, urged on by more shouts, we made our way directly to the left. Here, there was a space flanked by shallow steps. At the top stood a line of armed soldiers. The Tyrant led us to a place near the wall, but the soldiers for some reason objected to this and urged us away with fierce cries and gesticulations. At this point, the Tyrant showed us she had a sense of humor; winking broadly in our direction, she sank to the ground and pretended to burst into tears to convince the soldiers of her womanly weakness and weariness, compelling her to stay where she was. Probably one of them noticed the wink, for we were moved forward firmly to find new places at their feet.

We had become part of a small sea of women of various types and colours. Now and then, a few worshippers threaded their way through our ranks towards the stairs leading to the upper balconies. A handful of intrepid men who tried to find space among the hajjas was repelled with disapproving cries of “Hareem! Hareem!” Despite the feminine objections, however, certain bold men battled their way to find places in the midst of the feminine throng, and there they stayed. Indeed, during the prayers, a hajji behind me gave me a sharp push for stepping inadvertently on his prayer mat. When later I remarked on this ungentlemanly behaviour to Yusry, he pointed out to me that probably the pilgrim in question was brought up to believe, wrongly, that the prayer mat when spread must not be touched by anyone but its owner.

Still the faithful came pouring in to the Haram, where there is room for everyone, even when it seems not an extra inch of space remains unoccupied.

Considering the vast numbers, the crowding, the unfamiliar languages, and the differing races and temperaments gathered together in close proximity, it is a wonder tempers are not lost more often. For the most part, everyone shows self-control and patience, but naturally occasions arise when fiery temperaments get the better of these virtues. The soldiers above us formed an amused audience for a little scene played out between two hajjas, one ebony and Junoesque, the other ivory and slightly built. A battle of wills was taking place for a few inches of room. Voices were raised. The next moment, the ivory hajja lost her temper and gave Juno a stinging slap across the face. At once cries of “Haram! Haram!” resounded from all sides. (“Forbidden! Forbidden!”) Quieted, the ivory hajja sat down, but her adversary was making strange grimaces in the direction of the soldiers, rolling her eyes towards the other hajja and gesturing a knife stroke across the throat. Her meaning was clear enough, but the absurdity of it had the soldiers grinning. Eventually the injured party calmed down, soothed by the sympathy of her neighbours.

I must record the fact that throughout all my pilgrimages, this was the only incident of its kind I saw. . . .

MECCA TO MINA The taxis and buses, cars, vans, and lorries now pouring out of Mecca were loaded with pilgrims and their camping equipment. The chanting of “Labayk Allahumma, labayk!” from passing lorry loads of hajjis sounded every now and then above the roar of traffic. Yusry and I shared a taxi with the Gambian hajja and her solemn brood of grandchildren. I wonder how she managed during the tough period of camping; we lost sight of her once we arrived in Mina. We had decided to take with us only the cooking equipment, sufficient food for four days, a blanket, sheet, and pillows, all bundled into the old green rug.

Mina is only about four miles from Mecca, so it is soon reached. It is a small, attractive town encircled by rocky mountains. In summer, the heat there is said to be murderous; the mountains reflect the heat and keep out most of the cooling breezes. Now the mountains, dotted over with white tents, appeared to be sprouting mushrooms among the rocks. The houses of Mina looked surprisingly tall to me. Many of them are plastered in blue or grey with carved, unstained woodwork.

Mina’s main street, long and broad, is the setting for one of the final rites of the Hajj; the symbolic stoning of the devil.

The house provided by Hajj Thakafy for his pilgrim guests was three storeys high. It had a very narrow entrance with a blue door and thick stone walls to keep out the worst of the summer heat. When we arrived, all the rooms were already occupied, mostly by hajjas on the upper floors, the Egyptian hareem occupying the largest room on the top floor. Two of the hajjas called to me to join them. They made room for me between their pallets, but they had hardly enough space for themselves. It would have been uncomfortably cramped sleeping there. I preferred to stay out of doors with my husband and other hajjis, both men and women, in the large tent pitched in the yard at the back of the house. I was glad to see Hajja Wadida settled among friends, her pallet against the wall. Safe with the Egyptian hareem, she had no need of Yusry’s care then, although he was able to assist her a few days later. The formidable Turkish Tyrant had not yet arrived with the rest of her family, I noticed.

In the yard, Yusry and I found several tented areas sheltering Pakistani, Indian, Sudanese, and Egyptian hajjis. Suppers were prepared on spirit stoves. We were tired, and soon after supper we said our prayers, spread the rug and blankets on the ground, and quickly fell asleep. . . .

ARAFAT Arafat is a vast plateau ringed by low hills. . . . We stepped out of the taxi to see the entire plain and lower hillsides covered with a multitude of tents of every description. Tent sites belonging to individual mutawwifs were identified by large signs. Roadways through the encampment were alive with the din and bustle of arriving motor transport and disembarking passengers. Luckily for us, Hajj Thakafy’s tents were pitched near the edge of the sea of canvas, or we could easily have lost our way.

The gigantic encampment was very well organized; there were tented accommodations for half a million or so hajjis, plentiful pure drinking water supplied from nearby reservoirs, and any number of individual tented latrines. The World Health Organization later congratulated Saudi Arabia on the complete absence of any epidemic, no mean achievement, considering that the entire pilgrim companionship is collected in this place for one day, and at Mina for three, under inevitably crowded conditions.

Not so very many years ago, serious epidemics used to break out among the pilgrim fellowship staying in the Holy Cities and making the journey. Smallpox and cholera in particular took a deadly toll of casualties in certain years. Nowadays, when the Saudi authorities take such good care to prevent epidemics and to hospitalize at once any serious cases of illness among the hajjis, it is sad to read Doughty’s account of the cholera years, when “the deceased and dying were trussed with cords upon the lurching camels’ backs . . . and all was fear, no man not musing he might be one of the next to die and never come home to his house.”

As Yusry and I gazed around, Hajj Thakafy emerged from one of his tents.

“The hareem are collecting in that tent with the Hajja,” he told us, referring of course to his mother-in-law.

“Your wife would do best to join them,” Thakafy said to Yusry; “the hajja will explain the rites of Arafat to her.”

Yusry objected quickly, “I can explain them best to her—after all, I’ve done so from the beginning.”

“The hajja will explain them better,” Hajj Thakafy insisted, growing visibly annoyed.

“In English?” asked my husband pointedly. Thakafy looked daggers. Clearly, he was rarely crossed, and no doubt he thought me dreadfully rebellious. But how could his mother-in-law explain the rites to me when she knew no English and my Arabic was so elementary? The logic was inescapable. Besides, Yusry, with his experience of two previous pilgrimages and his extensive reading on Islamic subjects, was as well qualified as anyone to instruct me. Also, quite simply, I felt more comfortable with my husband.

Seeing Yusry was adamant, Hajj Thakafy pointed out another tent in which he found a space for us among its Pakistani occupants, who, as it happened, were not many. The hajjis were sitting in quiet meditation, reciting prayers or reading from their Qurans aloud or silently. . . .

RETURNING TO MINA Once again back at Hajj Thakafy’s house, ready for a long drink of water, we noticed the well water had developed an unpleasant taste. In fact, the well was situated too near the overworked drains for health. We stopped even boiling the water for drinking, preferring to buy it from a purer source.

Our tent was pitched beside the back entrance to the yard, which led directly to the street. The cooking for the camp was done in giant iron cauldrons heated over wood fires that snapped and crackled a mere couple of yards beyond the canvas wall of the tent. At times, the heat became uncomfortable as the flames burned fiercely under the bubbling cauldrons. Alongside the cooking fires was a large pond for the slops, which seemed hourly in danger of overflowing and inundating the tent floor with greasy water and scraps of food. However, when I rather nervously asked Hasan, Hajj Thakafy’s burly, good-natured assistant, if this could happen, he assured me with a beaming smile it was an impossibility.

Camping next to us was a little family of very poor Indian pilgrims. The poorest hajjis, often slightly built and frail, could not help showing their poverty-stricken condition by their emaciated physiques and clothing of the humblest kind. To achieve the Hajj obviously represented the expenditure of a lifetime’s savings, leaving precious little over for everyday expenses once they arrived.

There was a marked contrast between these poorest of the faithful’s physical condition and that of their more prosperous brethren, whose rounded forms were clearly used to comfort and plenty.

Our tentmates consisted of the young husband and his timid, silent wife and mother. No doubt to the little wife, our more numerous possessions suggested a more affluent state, because one morning, after exchanging smiles, as I cooked our meal, I suddenly felt a hand take mine from behind and a finger tickle my palm. It seemed the little Indian hajja was asking for money. I smiled at her, pretending not to understand, and when Yusry came, I told him about the incident. Yusry told me it was rare to find a pilgrim begging. For one thing, the Hajj is obligatory only for those who are financially able to accomplish it. Also, cases of want among pilgrims are generally looked after by charitable organizations representing various Islamic countries. The number of hajjis who are reduced to begging for money is very small, but of course it can happen that every penny gets spent on the journey and nothing is left for the stay. Later, in Medina, we were approached by a couple of hajjis, heads of families, who told us this is what had happened to them. We did not give the Indian hajja money but, instead, invited her small family to share some of our food. They accepted gladly, afterwards offering us a dish of their own made from wheat grain brought from their home village, where it was specially treated to be suitable for a dish similar to porridge. . . .

BACK IN MECCA Upstairs, the hajjas were making themselves at home again, sorting out their belongings. The suitcases had to be stowed on the roof, or the room would have been impossibly congested. The only drawback to this arrangement was that the morning sweep meant a different order of stacking each time. The result was a certain amount of confusion as to the whereabouts of a clean petticoat or headkerchief when needed.

As the days passed while we awaited permission from the authorities to move on to Medina, the hajjas grew to know each other a little better. We became very friendly with one another, and even our masterful landlady seemed less fierce. The picture remains in my mind’s eye—the circle of ladies sitting chatting or lying in the little room, the Tyrant reclining odalisque fashion, her head tightly bound by a cotton kerchief, her ample form wrapped in the comfortable expanse of a purple flowered housedress. Contentedly she puffs at her hubble-bubble, every now and then suspending the mouthpiece to take part in the conversation.

The chief diversion was shopping, and everyone would compare purchases and prices in the evening. Mecca, Medina, and Jidda were a joy to shop in, particularly for anyone from Egypt, which country was suffering the inevitable shortages following a war. Watches, electrical appliances, dress materials, and perfume were items in great demand. Of course, everyone looked for the best prayer rugs and beads for herself as well as for gifts. Prayer rugs, chiefly in reds, greens, and blues, depicting the two Harams [in Mecca and Medina] are sold everywhere. Rosaries of a wide description can be found. Perhaps the prettiest are the ones of mother-of-pearl in the little shops around the Prophet’s Mosque in Medina.

Mecca has a fascinating souk, a long, covered way sheltering a profusion of small, open-fronted shops whose goods glow and glitter in a riot of colour: ruby-, emerald-, and sapphire-hued prayer rugs; diaphanous saris and scarves of rose pink, midnight blue and snow white, threaded with gold; rich brocades and materials shimmering with sequins, golden earrings and bracelets and tiny Quranic medallions, rosaries gleaming in pearl, garnet, jade green and jet; rosaries of wood and coloured glass; silver trays and platters; coffee cups and jugs with slender, gracefully curved spouts; perfumes in bottles of every size and shape; precious carpets from Persia and Afghanistan. And these are only a few of the wares displayed to tempt the pilgrim to part with too much too soon!

The perfumes of Mecca and Medina are popular with men who like to follow the Prophet’s example of perfuming themselves before prayers. Another custom of the Prophet’s was the use of a small tooth stick of aromatic wood. Bunches of tooth sticks are sold today by pavement venders. When cut, the wood divides into bristles at one end, useful not only for the teeth but to massage the gums. Because of their association with the Prophet and the Holy Cities, perfume in small coloured vials and bunches of tooth sticks are valued gifts for pious men.

Day and night during the Hajj, the souk is a bustle of activity. The covered way, the shops, and narrow winding lanes on each side swarm with shoppers. Every now and then, a heavily laden porter calls out for people to make way for him. Shop owners are in their element as they parry the pilgrim’s hopeful attempts at bargaining, often reclining at ease among their goods. . . .

Little shops sold a variety of imported goods, ranging from sophisticated Japanese tape recorders to packets of English cigarettes. There are no theatres, no cinemas, few advertisements, but many café owners entertain their clients with television in the evenings.

The Turkish Tyrant’s Amira owned a set, and sometimes we hajjas would watch with her family. Mostly we liked to sit chatting outside on the roof as the nights grew warmer; later we would spread out mattresses out there and go to sleep under the stars.

But now the time had come for us to leave. About a week after our return from Mina, official permission was granted for us all to travel on to Medina. Porters came to fetch the baggage. One by one, we of the Egyptian hareem went to kiss the lady of the house good-bye. I had by this time become less intimidated by her. Perhaps I had imbibed some of the spirit of submissiveness shown toward her by all the hajjas. Anyway, I bent to kiss her rosy cheek, and suddenly . . . the trailing end of my veil caught for a moment in the glowing embers of her charcoal burner. I took that as my cue to vanish like the jinn in a cloud of smoke. . . .

THE MEANINGS OF THE HAJJ Yusry and I walked to the Haram to make what is known as the tawaf of Farewell, the final circling, out of respect to God. Like all pilgrims, we felt very sad at leaving the Haram, our inspiration, our comfort, and our refuge for most of the time we had been in Mecca.

Ahmad Kamal274 has this to say about Mecca: “And yet Mecca is not so much a geographic location, or pilgrimage, or ritual, as it is a frame of mind. Pilgrims will discover in Mecca only what they take to Mecca. We are not come here in search of inspiration, but because we are inspired. Pilgrimage is a declaration of belief not a search for it.”

There is a great deal of truth in what he says, yet I personally would differ with his opinion to the extent that pilgrimage does mean different things to different pilgrims. My husband, for instance, says that he goes on the Hajj to get his spiritual batteries recharged and to increase the spiritual sensitivity of his heart. For myself, the Hajj meant a voyage of discovery ending in the opening of a door to a far deeper spiritual experience, even though my travelling to Mecca was indeed a declaration of faith.

272 The Arabic root that links this word to haram confers the meaning of a protected area on two types of sacred territory: the land on which a mosque stands and that part of a dwelling reserved for the women and children of a family. [Ed.]

273 hubble-bubble: a waterpipe, hookah, or shisha.

274 Ahmad Kamal: contemporary Turkish author who wrote a popular pilgrim guide, The Sacred Journey (English translation, 1961). [Ed.]