Letters to my son from Hajj (part 2)

Arriving at Mina, the day at Arafah. and the night in Muzdalafah

Part 2 of a 3-part series revisiting my Hajj journey. You can read Part 1 here.

Day 1: 8th Dhul Hijjah | 10 September 2016

Arrival at Mina

Dear Rohaan,

I’m now writing to you from our camp in Mina. The bus journey from our hotel in Makkah took about 30 minutes. We arrived here just before dawn, when the desert breeze still carried a slight chill.

The camps are decorated with welcoming signs. We are led to our tent, where each of us chooses a spot - a sofa bed will be our living area for the next four days. We’ve each been given a pillow, a sheet, and a thin blanket.

I look around and see that many spots have already been taken by women who arrived before us. I pick a space and lie down to rest a bit before Fajr.

Your father is in the tent next to ours. The men’s and women’s tents are segregated so that women can dress and live comfortably.

I’m sharing this camp with almost 50 other women. Our sofa beds are lined up right next to each other - just wide enough for one person. If we’re not careful, it’s easy to roll onto someone else’s mattress!

Soon, the camp is full and every space is taken. We gather for Fajr prayer and then try to sleep again. It’s going to be a long day, and we need to conserve our energy as much as possible.

Before long, I’m woken up by intense heat. I reach for my phone - it's almost 10 a.m. The sun is now beating down on the tents. It is almost 40°C. There’s just one fan in the whole tent, and I happen to be directly under it, which means the breeze skips past me and reaches the women on the other side.

I decide to go to the washrooms to do Wudu (ablution) and begin my Quran recitation.

What I imagined would be a quick trip turns into a 45-minute ordeal. There are about 4 toilets to be shared by hundreds of people. I try to wait as patiently as I can in the long queue.

I’d love to describe these toilets to you - no flush, no roof, just a hole in the ground. You can imagine the smell… I try to hold my breath as I wait for my turn. When I finally finish and head to the taps for Wudu, I am shocked by the boiling hot water that comes out of the taps. If I was hoping for a bit of relief from the heat - this wasn’t it.

We do have coolers placed around the camp, filled with ice blocks and stocked regularly with small water bottles. I can’t even count how much water is being consumed, and wasted at the same time. After just 30 minutes out of the cooler, the water turns too hot to drink. Bottles also get mixed up, and no one wants to drink from anyone else’s.

Hajj is a hub of germs, and every pilgrim is on a mission to stay healthy for as long as possible.

Rohaan, after arriving here, I realized that I am not the only one who has left their children in others’ care to perform Hajj. People have left behind their kids of all ages, from toddlers to teenagers.

But there’s a young boy in our tent, much younger than you. His parents didn’t have the option to leave him with someone, so they brought him along. He’s such a brave little soul!

All of us mothers who are here without our kids look at him as our own.

I pray for his safety and ease for him and his parents. He’s doing well, keeping himself entertained. The only time he cries is when he’s tired and struggling to sleep in the tent… But he’s not the only one.

It’s hard to sleep in a place like this, surrounded by strangers. You have to be careful not to step or roll over onto someone else while sleeping. Everyone has their own rhythms. Just as you drift off, someone nearby stirs or moves, breaking the silence.

The women in my camp are kind and generous. Many have brought lots of food with them, and they make sure to share whatever they’re eating.

The day has passed with prayer after prayer, Quran recitation, listening to lectures from our Imam, and eating in between.

Meals come in lunch boxes. Today we had fried chicken and fries, with chilled drinks. And like the water, much of the food is getting wasted too. The portions are large, and in this heat, no one feels like eating much.

As I end my first day in Mina, I’m reminded of refugees around the world. This has been one of the toughest days of my life, but I know it’s temporary. In a few days, I’ll be back in a comfortable hotel, and then, insha’Allah, back in the safety of my own home.

But for the refugees, this is their daily life. They live in such conditions without knowing when, or if, their circumstances will ever change. I say a prayer for them.

In these conditions, I’ve forgotten all the prayers I had planned to make. All I can pray for now is forgiveness. My sense of gratitude has grown deeply. I realize how much we take for granted and how truly fortunate we are. Maybe this is why Allah wants us to come for Hajj…

This is what Hajj is for me: I find myself constantly thanking Allah for everything I have. And no matter how many times I say it, it doesn’t seem enough. It can never be enough.

Tomorrow morning, after Fajr, we’ll leave Mina for the plains of Arafah, insha’Allah. I’ll write to you from there.

Take care and good night.

Love,
Mama

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Day 2: 9th Dhul Hijjah, 11/09/2016
Day of Arafah – Day of Forgiveness – Day of Hajj

I have made it here with the help of my Allah. May He always guide me in my life ahead and never let me go astray.

Dear Rohaan,

Today is the Day of Arafah - the main day of Hajj.

We’ve been up since Fajr for yet another bus journey, this time to the vast plain of Arafah. Since we are traveling in daylight, I can look outside and see the roads filled with people walking towards Arafah on foot.

Allah promises that on the Day of Arafah, He pardons the sins of all those present on this plain - and I am praying with all my heart to be one of the fortunate ones.

I’m grateful to your father for recognizing how deeply I yearned for Hajj, and for accompanying me on this journey. Coming here together has only strengthened our bond and deepened our love.

The feeling of being at Arafah is overwhelming. I keep thinking of the Prophet (SAW), who stood here with his companions during his own Hajj. This plain is immense. There are about 1.5 million people here today, yet everyone is spread out in their individual camps, making it feel neither crowded nor chaotic. It is quiet, serene, and unbearably hot.

The spirit of the people around me is humbling. In our group, there are three elderly men in wheelchairs - two are accompanied by their sons, and one by a young neighbor who cares for him like his own father.

I feel so small in front of them. If I had even a shred of pride in making it to Hajj, it has melted away in the Saudi heat and the presence of such kindness and sacrifice.

The women in my camp spread out some mats on the carpet in our tent to designate a small sitting area for themselves. We have to spend the whole day here, and it’s not even noon yet.

I quickly busy myself with prayers - praying for you, for our family, for friends…

Soon it’s time for Dhuhr, which we offer in congregation. The sun is now at its peak. I cannot pray anymore. I cannot sit. I cannot lie down. My entire body feels like it’s burning, and I want to cry. I take some ice blocks from the cooler and press them to my face and head for a little relief.

Some people go to see the sacred site of Mount Arafah - the spot where the Prophet (SAW) gave his final sermon. Your father convinces me to go with him, saying it’s not far. But once I catch sight of the mountain from a distance, I ask him to turn back. I simply can’t take the heat anymore. I realize others came more prepared - with umbrellas, sun hats, and cooling cloths. I didn’t expect the heat to be this brutal.

I spend the rest of the day in the camp, consumed by repentance. The only thing I find myself saying over and over is: Astaghfirullah - “O Allah, forgive me.” That is all I want. That is all I need.

After Asr, our Imam leads us in a prayer and a long, emotional dua. Everyone around me breaks down in tears. I watch people weeping in front of Allah, with their eyes shut tight, oblivious to the world around them. It is a sea of white, bowed in submission.

As I sit there in silence, an older woman passes by and gently pats me on the shoulder with a smile. I am suddenly reminded of my own mother, and I wish I could share this moment with her. But my phone battery has died, so I turn to your father instead. He wraps a loving arm around me, and I break down in uncontrollable tears.

The Day of Arafah has passed. My Hajj is done.

It is nearly Maghrib now. The sun begins to set. The plain of Arafah, which felt like an oven all day, is finally cooling. We are tired and quietly queue up to make our way to Muzdalifah.

We arrive at the valley of Muzdalifah after sunset. There is nothing here - no tents, no structures. Our group leader guides us to a designated area and instructs us to settle down. We spread our light sheets and mats on the rocky ground.

Here, we combine our Maghrib and Isha prayers, and each of us collects seven pebbles, which we will need for the next step in the Hajj rites. After that, all that’s left to do is rest. But sleep doesn’t come easily.

Muzdalifah is a wide open valley, surrounded by mountains. The wind here carries dust, and soon I’m sneezing uncontrollably, regretting not having covered my face. I lie directly beneath a bright streetlamp that pierces my eyes. I doze off for ten minutes at a time, only to wake again.

If Arafah was the longest day of my life, then Muzdalifah was the longest night I have ever spent.

When we arrived, the area was still quite empty. But as the night wore on, pilgrims kept arriving. By dawn, Muzdalifah was packed - 1.5 million people lying shoulder to shoulder, among strangers, each one here for the same reason: to please Allah.

I look around and wonder: surely among these are the rich and highly educated. But here, every man is dressed in two plain white sheets. Every woman is covered in dust. We all sit on bare ground, like beggars on the roadside.

If in Mina I felt like a refugee, here in Muzdalifah I feel like a homeless person.

And I recognize the signs of Allah. How step-by-step He strips us of all our comforts. How He brings us to a point where we have nothing except the earth He created to sit on, and the sky He created to cover us.

At Muzdalifah, Allah shows us our worth. All pride and ego… vanished - dissolved in sweat, or carried away in tears.

This is Hajj, my son. And it is beautiful.

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Thank you for reading the first two letters in this three-part series.

In the next and final part, I’ll share what followed next: the symbolic stoning of the devil, the final days back in Mina, and the deep reflections that followed.

Continue reading part 3.