New arrivals resting at the lobby of Qutubah Barakah, while waiting for their luggage
The young men manning the hotel reception desk
In all honesty, I was a tad apprehensive at the idea of performing the Hajj. Was I ready to face my moment of truth? And with my chequered past, would He welcome me into His Sacred House? Would He accept my repentance and forgive me? Or would I receive my comeuppance instead, in the Holy Land of all places, for my past sins?
Horror stories abound about pilgrims denied the sight of Kaabah despite standing right in front of it, or about those lost to wander for days in Masjidil Haram looking for an exit (this despite the Grand Mosque having nearly 100 doors).
And then there were those perfectly healthy pilgrims suddenly struck by mysterious, debilitating illnesses, some even lapsing into a coma, just before the all-important ‘wukuf’ in Arafah, only to miraculously recover the moment ‘wukuf’ was over, thus rendering their Hajj a non-event.
While I didn’t know what fate awaited me, deep in my heart I knew my time had come. I must answer this seruan (call) and make this trip, for it could very well be the only opportunity I ever had to shed my past, cleanse myself and start anew.
Pak Abu, himself no angel in his younger days, naturally shared my sentiment. To say he was nervous was putting it very mildly. In our hour of reckoning, the fear of Divine retribution became very real indeed. Be that as it may, we prayed hard for His mercy to allow us the privilege of performing the Hajj without much hindrance.
We bid Malaysia goodbye in the wee hours of Tuesday, 25th November 2008, and touched down at Jeddah International Airport at five in the morning, Saudi time. We performed our dawn prayers at the airport while waiting for customs & immigration clearance.
It was a two-hour wait, the first of many 'waiting games' that we played over and over again in the Holy Land. But we had been warned by Tabung Haji of the thoroughness of Saudi authorities, so we were prepared for it.
Our ‘miqat’ i.e. pilgrimage boundary and the starting point of our ‘ihram’ (state of purity preceding the Hajj) where we had to officially express our ‘niat’ (intention) to do the Hajj, was Qarnul-Manazil, about one hour before touchdown. So a special announcement was made by a flight stewardess, to remind us to 'niat', as soon as the aircraft flew over the area.
Because our flight was among the last from Malaysia to enter the Holy Land, our route took us direct to Makkah Al-Mukarramah from Jeddah. Pilgrims who arrived earlier usually disembarked in Madinah Al-Munawwarah, where they spent some 10 days of ibadah at Masjid Nabawi before journeying by bus to Makkah 447 kilometres away.
For us, Madinah would come after the Hajj. As such, Pak Abu and I opted for 'Haji Ifrad', which means our 'ihram' period was much longer than usual 'Haji Tamattu’' and 'Haji Qiran'. Doing Haji Ifrad would mean completing the obligatory Hajj rituals first, before doing the Umrah.
[Note: Pilgrims who arrive 'late' i.e. within days of the all-important 'wukuf', usually opt for Ifrad while those who arrive much earlier, via Madinah, would have ample time to do their Umrah first, thus opting for Tamattu'.
As for Qiran, this means pilgrims only perform the obligatory Hajj rituals sans umrah. Pilgrims whose continuous ill-health does not allow them to expose themselves to the full rigours of the Hajj, for example cancer sufferers or those recovering from surgery, are usually advised to opt for Haji Qiran].
The eight-hour flight was uneventful, apart from a slight glitch that saw Pak Abu and I sitting one row apart. It was no issue to us, anyway. My seatmates were a couple in their late fifties, from Tanjung Karang, Selangor. Both were first-time fliers and were understandably nervous.
The wife shyly asked if I had flown before. When I answered in the affirmative, her face broke into a smile and she asked me to teach her how to buckle the seatbelt. We introduced ourselves and made some small talk before sleep overtook us all. Pak Abu and I were pleasantly surprised later when the couple, Masnah and Arshad, ended up as our respective roommates in both Makkah and Madinah.
The two-hour bus journey from Jeddah Airport to the holy city of Makkah Al-Mukarramah resonated with the Talbiyah "Labbaikallah Hummalabbaikk. Labbaikallah La Syarie Kalakalabbaik. Innal-Hamdah, Wan-Nekmatah, Laka Wal Mulk, La Syarie Kalak" from fellow pilgrims, which brought tears to our eyes. Reality dawned. We were in the Holy Land as guests of Allah swt.
"Here I am at Thy service O Lord, here I am. Here I am at Thy service and Thou hast no partners. Thine alone is All Praise and All Bounty, and Thine alone is the Sovereignty. Thou hast no partners."
Hamba-Mu datang menyahut panggilan-Mu Ya Allah! Hamba-Mu datang menyahut panggilan-Mu Ya Allah! Sesunggunya segala puji-pujian dan nikmat dan kerajaan adalah kepunyaan-Mu dan tiada sekutu bagi-Mu."
Our bus journey ended at Cordoba Hotel (known in Arabic as Qutubah Barakah) which was to be our home for the next one month. As we entered Makkah, I had my first view of the sea of humanity associated with the Hajj. It was a frightening yet wondrous sight to behold.
We were fortunate to be housed in Qutubah (a three-star hotel in the same league with erstwhile Holiday Inn in Malaysia), simply because it was only 500 metres, or five minutes’ walk away, from Masjidil Haram. Its CEO was a Malay hotelier who used to run PJ Hilton and the all-male workforce was a combination of Indian, African and Indonesian personnel.
Qutubah’s Room 914 housed six women (four grandmothers among them) in their late 40s and mid-50s, who were to become firm friends in the days and weeks that followed.
There was Zabiah, a quiet and soft-spoken ustazah (religious teacher) who hailed from Lenggong, Perak. Diminutive Nor Aziah, my only other English-speaking roommate, was a diabetic who had undergone a heart bypass. Nor, who was on insulin jabs twice daily, hailed from Sungai Buloh, Selangor.
There was reed-thin Jaimah, chirpy and talkative, from Parit, Perak; ever-smiling and very helpful Norizan, wife of a school headmaster, from Klang, Selangor; and kindly and observant Masnah, from Tanjung Karang, Selangor.
And then there was me, sticking out like a sore thumb, self-conscious and feeling utterly inadequate amongst the good, Quran-reading ladies. They good-naturedly took my hands and guided me through throughout our stay together.
Pak Abu’s room was just down the aisle on the same floor. At 56, he was the youngest amongst his new room-mates Pak Arshad, Pak Baharin, Pak Ahmad, Pak Abu Bakar the imam and Pak Azmi, all of whom in their 60s or early 70s.
Living in such close proximity with total strangers was a humbling experience, as both Pak Abu and I eventually learned. If at all, living amongst these honest kampung folks - the salt of the earth kind - stripped us both of whatever bourgeois pretensions that remained within us.
Barely rested, we trooped to the Grand Mosque after dinner for the required 'Tawaf Qudum' i.e. the first of our Hajj obligations. Tawaf Qudum is basically the ‘Welcome Tawaf' and must be done soonest when a pilgrim arrives in Makkah for the Hajj.
While Pak Abu broke down and cried upon seeing the Kaabah for the first time, I found myself strangely bereft of tears. Instead my mind was inordinately preoccupied with the size of Baitullah – it loomed large in my thoughts but wasn’t such a big structure in reality.
I was to have this detached feeling towards the Kaabah for the next few days, resulting in me questioning myself why wasn’t I emotionally affected like the rest. It was much later that I realised I was so much in awe of the whole experience that I was struck dumb, unable to comprehend the magnitude of it all.
That first circumambulation experience was quite trying. We were reduced to shuffling our feet, one tiny step at a time, while trying to ward off marauding pilgrims who descended upon us like a runaway train – arms linked together in an unbroken chain, pushing, jostling and elbowing their way aggressively, loudly chanting prayers and supplications with nary a care for other pilgrims. It took all we had to preserve our patience and dignity while doing the 'Tawaf'.
Pak Abu and I decided to continue with 'Sa’ei Haji' immediately after the tawaf, permissible to us since we were doing Haji Ifrad. Those opting for Haji Tamattu’ and Haji Qiran would have to wait until after the completion of the main tawaf – Tawaf Haji – to do the Sa’ei.
Sa’ei was the shuttling between the two hills of Safa and Marwah, to commemorate the trials of Prophet Abraham’s wife, Siti Hajar, in seeking water for their infant son, Ishmael. Prophet Abraham was commanded by God to leave mother and child in the dry, arid valley of Makkah, surrounded by rocky outcrops. It was here that the Archangel Gabriel (Jibrail) dipped its wing into the ground at Ishmael’s feet, from where water - the Zamzam Spring - miraculously spouted forth.
Much to my surprise, I enjoyed the Sa’ei – walking back and forth seven times between the two hills – probably because it wasn’t much different from our usual morning walk, and also because the shuttling was done in the relative comfort of air-conditioned walkways!
Malaysian pilgrims were known in Saudi Arabia for their discipline and good behaviour, their politeness and considerable restraint in carrying out the Hajj obligations and rituals. Wherever we were, be it Jeddah, Makkah or Madinah, all we heard was “Malizia? Malizia baguus!” Was I proud of my countrymen, to carry the banner of Malaysia so commendably.
Thus ended our first day in Tanah Haram – a very long, tiring day indeed - but a very satisfying one, being unceremoniously elbowed in front of the Kaabah notwithstanding!
The Jamrah as it is today
The Jamrah in the 70s
The Jamrah in the 50s
