Hajj Contemplations 3: Brothers and sisters in Islam

Imagine the Irsyad field. Imagine that on every inch of the field stands an Irsyadian. There is hardly any space which separates them. Packed? Crowded? Unimaginable? That is about the closest I can try to describe the scene we went through daily as we walked on Masjidil Haram's courtyard. Only that the Masjidil Haram's courtyard is at least TWICE the size of IRsyad's field and that our brothers and sisters came in every shape, sizes and colour you can imagine. If you came late for a prayer, you might just have to literally stepped over legs and prayer mats, albeit trying to be apologetic at the same time. Feet fascinated me. The Nigerian ladies hardly put on shoes, nor do the Pakistani men. HOwever, these ladies are most creative - they had their feet smeared with henna and by covering their soles and half of their upper feet with this medicinal adornment, their feet actually looked like they were wearing darkish orange footwear. Since they go about bare-footed, henna seemed like an excellent, natural foot protector. Ingenious...



To say I was overwhelmed by the ukhuwah is still such an understatement. There is always magic when a Turkish or South African or Chinese sister smiled at you. I once peered into a prayer book of a Chinese sister and was fascinated by the Chinese characters/translation right underneath the Arabic text. Yes. I was. I had never seen the Arabic language translated in Chinese characters. Where we could not communicate, a smile would suffice to break all boundaries of languages, all cultures, all customs. We were one. To know that the about 3 million pilgrims there with me was but just a slice of Allah's believers on this Earth was humbling - most humbling. Yes. All pretensions and arrogance and distinctions of nationalities disappeared. We were all Allah's servants, after only one thing - His redha.



The Indonesians are the most well-organized, most visible. Each group coming from different districts wore their own distinctive 'uniform' - they drapped themselves in colourful scarves or wore different coloured batik outfits. They are also most systematic and organized - they would always move in their own groups, complete with matching flags and banners. Imagine a whole flock of pink-scarved or glitzy yellow scarved pilgims circling the Kaabah and you could guess how awesome they looked. There is definitely strength in numbers and togetherness. They are also the most congenial and most generous with their smiles and food. This, when you take into account that most of them are not well-off and came from remote Indonesian villages, who could barely afford the flight fees. However, they also had the most visible number of young pilgrims for apparently the younger ones could get bank loans easily and could repay at their own ease when they get back from hajj.



The Pakistani and Turkish men are the most caring to their womenfolk. They would walk their women into the women's area in Masjidil Haram, sternly warned their women not to move from that particular place and then walked off to the men's section. They'll be the first to pop their heads over the dividers, looking for their womenfolk again. Towards the end of my stay, Masjidil Haram started looking like a family picnic ground - the Turkish and Pakistani pilgrims would be having meals in the Haram itself. Also, men and women pilgrims could be seen side by side praying, something which I never got used to. It even irked me to have the presence of men just behind me or in front or anywhere where I could sense them.

There were also times when I am reminded of those who are back home. It became something I looked forward to. I 'saw' Mdm Suhaidah in a Japanese pilgrim, 'saw' Yati in the sparkling eyes of an Indonesian sister - was that 'Cikgu Zul' on the escalator? Yes, there was 'Ms Amnah' and 'Dyja' too. Was that 'Harith' cave at Uhud, where the Prophet s.a.w took refuge when he was injured? Or were my ears playing tricks? I used to 'see' Ariff Tan in the faces of almost all the Chinese brothers - there was old, wrinkled 'Ariff Tan' as he talked to his wife, there was 'Ariff Tan' in the sprightly young Chinese guy as he breezed past the marbled floors. There was a time too when I would be seeing 'Abu' almost everywhere... You'll have to guess in whose pilgrim's face mirrored his... :) And Ayse, dear Ayse..I saw 'her' in the faces of the lovely Arabic and Turkish ladies.

And thus, it goes without saying that Islam unite people of all races, creed and colour under the umbrella of Allah's Oneness.

( One thing that impressed me was the fact that English - despite its aristocratic nobility and status related standing when well spoken - was pretty redundant and obsolete back in the Land of the Prophet s.a.w. and in Allah's House. The same could not be said of Bahasa Melayu/Indonesia - that was extensively used. You know that the shopowners took pains to learn a few useful phrases - proof of the economic pull of knowing that language. I felt proud to see even translation in Malay at the major signs in Masjid Nabawi! The Arabic language was supreme - and it was beautiful when I heard it being spoken with all expressiveness. And the words of Allah were mesmerising in the simple beauty with which they were recited in His House. Yessir. Arabic lessons would be my top priority back home, insyaAllah.)