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Editor's Note:
This article originally appeared in
the online edition of The Christian Science Monitor on February 2,
2004. This article is part
two of a series.
Click
on the titles below to read the other articles
that appear in this series.
On Hajj, Battling Sin and
Doubt
Millions
of Muslims from around the world are attending the hajj (pilgrimage) in Saudi
Arabia.
By
Faiza Saleh Ambah
[Part 2 of 5]
FRIDAY, JAN.
29, MINA, SAUDI ARABIA � For the next five days I'm
asked to concentrate only on God. "We're not going to talk about guys, or
gossip or anything," Reem warns me. "I'm going to take advantage of
the next five days and I don't want the two of you to distract me," she
says, but I think she means mainly me.
 Consider
hajj a short board meeting, says my cousin Allal. "Concentrate on prayers
and God and trying to be a better person during the next five days and forget
everything else."
As we head to our rooms to
get ready for ihram (state of hajj-related sacredness; also the
pilgrims' garb), she looks closely at my hands. "Is that nail polish? And
on your feet too?" She shakes her head in consternation and fetches
cotton and nail polish remover.
"Hurry up, we don't
have much time."
As I pass the cotton over my
nails, I try to get into the right frame of mind. Alone in my room, I pack my
purse, removing my lipstick, perfume, and blush. Then I cut my nails, bathe,
and wash my hair. As I go through my ihram preparations I try
purposefully to shed the worldly and concentrate on the Godly.
I look in the mirror as I
put on my white head scarf, T-shirt, pantaloons, and white robe and talk
myself into a spiritual immersion to accompany the physical transformation.
Suddenly the smile of a man
I recently had dinner with comes to mind. I shoo the image away but continue
to trip over my thoughts as I try to clear my mind of everything but God.
"It's all right,"
says Reem. "Just do your best and try to get your thoughts back on
track." Soon it's time for the hajj intention prayer before we set off.
"You remember how, don't you?" she asks.
I don't answer and she lays
out a prayer rug in front of us. "Repeat to yourself what I say out
loud."
The Koranic verses are as
familiar to me as the voice of my mother and father. But the prostrations are
not. With a sideways glance, I follow Reem's choreography closely, checking to
see whether she will go down halfway, her hands on her knees, or if it's time
for us to prostrate fully with our forehead on the floor.
I make it without major
mistakes.
The sun is gentle as we set
off for Mina, where we will spend the night. On the way, I see cars and buses
and pickup trucks loaded with men in the ihram. I feel close to those
strangers, and it reminds me of the feeling of belonging when I was a child
and we would go to the beach with my uncles in a caravan of five cars. We
reach Mina several hours later and are led to our first-class accommodation;
luxurious prefabricated structures with open tent-like awnings for ceilings
and portable bathrooms with sink, shower, and toilet. With my cousin and his
wife's family there are 10 of us sharing four rooms and a living room with a
computer, television, telephones, and Internet access. But these lodgings are
atypical.
A dozen pilgrims often share
one room and many sleep outdoors on mats if the weather permits. After a nap,
I decide to go out exploring with my nephew. Taghreed, a heavy smoker who left
her cigarettes behind on purpose, gives me money when I head out.
"Marlboro Lights please," she says, then gives me a 'Don't cross me'
look.
My nephew Saleh and I put on
our badges, which get us back into our camp and help us find it if we get
lost, and head off. The tiny city of Mina, a valley partly enclosed by a range
of mountains, is like a huge picnic ground. There's a festive air to the city,
which comes alive one week out of the year, as cars compete for space on the
roads and bridges and highways with the huge crowds. Families spread colored
mats on the sidewalks and other open areas as they read, relax, sleep, and
eat. A man on a bicycle sells blue face masks, which a lot of the police
officers and hajjis are wearing this year. A peddler hawks Hajj Mats with
Inflatable Pillow Made in China to passersby. I hear Urdu, Hindi, Turkish,
Arabic, and English as we stroll.
 After
sundown prayers, mosques around the city are broadcasting Koranic verses,
sermons, and information about the hajj. The message: If you make it through
the next three to five days without sinning or harming yourself or anyone, you
will have accomplished a successful hajj. There's an aura of anticipation in
our camp; tomorrow everyone will get a chance to have their sins forgiven and
have their prayers answered, and they want to get it right. In the women's
lecture room, in a tent near ours, the Islamic scholar is asked about
cigarettes. Harmful, she says. And men who look at you? Try to avoid their
gaze, she advises.
Back in my room, I hear a
preacher talking over the loudspeakers about the meaning of the Day of
Standing Together Before God, or Yawm al-Wukuf, which takes place the next
day. "God will forgive us all our sins. We will be as sinless as the day
we were born," are the last clear words I hear before he breaks down
weeping. Soon I hear a second broadcast from another mosque.
I ask Taghreed what she's
going to pray for the following day, but I can hardly hear her for the
cacophony of the competing sermons blaring from the loudspeakers.
The lectures are over after
the final evening prayers and Taghreed finishes her list of names of family
and friends she wants to pray for. Reem, who's already done, contemplates what
she's going to ask for herself. "Tomorrow I'm going to forgive everyone
who has ever harmed me because I expect God to forgive me everything,"
she says.
An Egyptian sheikh comes
over to talk to us and I ask him about the significance of the Day of Standing
Together Before God. "This is God's favorite time and place. He has asked
us to come to Him with our prayers at Mount Mercy in Arafat on the ninth day
of this month. He has said he will forgive all our sins on this day."
"Why?" I ask.
"What's so special about tomorrow?"
"When you love someone,
you do as he says, and we love God and follow what he asks us to do. We don't
have to understand before we do it, we will understand later. It's a matter of
putting faith over curiosity and human nature."
The sheikh's answer sounds
familiar. You will only know once you believe.
I
am hoping that despite my doubts and curiosity, I will be considered enough of
a believer to reap rewards at the plain of Arafat, though I'm not sure exactly
what. As an outward sign of my good intentions, I refuse to kill the large
mosquitoes that are sticking their noses through my robe and biting my calves,
so that I don't break my ihram.
Click on the
titles below to read the other articles that
appear in this series.
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