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Editor's Note:
This article originally appeared in
the online edition of The Christian Science Monitor on February 4,
2004. This article is part four of a series.
Click
on the titles below to read the other articles
that appear in this series.
Pelting
the Pillars, Again
By
Faiza Saleh Ambah
[Part
4 of 5]
FEB.
2, MINA, SAUDI ARABIA � Our
walk around the Kaaba Sunday night signals the
end of our sanctified state, but not of the
hajj. We perform dawn prayers Monday at the
Grand Mosque in Mecca and head back to Mina for
the two days of stoning the pillars representing
the devil.
My
sisters change into their regular clothes under
their black abaya robes. I find myself
clinging to the sanctity my white robes
represent, but add a black and white head scarf.
 Sunday's
deaths at the pillars give us pause. We want to
continue our rites, but spend the day at the
camp, waiting for the crowds to ease.
Monday
evening, my sister Reem runs into our tent
waving a set of pens and exclaims: "We won.
We won."
After
sunset prayers, religious quiz contests are held
in the men's and women's prayer rooms. Her team
came second. Reem's winning answer: a quote by
the Prophet about what to say after prayers.
About
an hour before midnight, my cousin Allal storms
into our tent's living room. "Get up,
girls. Get ready. It's time."
Like
soldiers preparing for battle, we put on our
face masks, strap on our waist pouches, and
count our pebbles - we need 21 today, seven for
each of the Jamaraat pillars.
We're
told that tradition dictates that we go from the
smallest obelisk to the largest. They represent
the devil's three appearances before Abraham.
Pilgrims throw pebbles to send away Satan in the
same way Abraham is said to have done.
There's
a sense of excitement and adventure and danger
as we move slowly behind a camp employee
carrying a banner with the name of our camp, The
House of Faith. "If he drops the banner,
I'll pick it up and continue walking,"
jokes Reem. "You guys just follow me."
It's
close to midnight when we arrive at the bridge,
lit up with fluorescent lights where we will
stone the pillars at the second open-air level.
Pilgrims with small red and white Turkish flags
stitched on their vests speed by us trying to
stay with a group led by a man shouting through
a bullhorn. By the side of the bridge eight
Albanians strike a pose like soccer players for
the camera.
I
feel a thrill when we get close to the first
pillar. I spot a narrow opening in the crowd,
grab the hand of my nephew Saleh, and move in.
The crowd in front of me is four meters deep. I
say, "In the name of God," and jump up
to free my arm so I can throw a pebble. After
the third throw my pouch is empty. My pebbles
must have fallen out while I was jumping. Saleh
is out of ammo too, and starts picking up
pebbles from the ground, and I join him.
 We
hurry to the second pillar, weaving through the
crowd. I get so close my stomach is pressing
against the wall surrounding the pillar. I can
see the pilgrims on the ground level throwing
their stones. Yesterday, my stones hit people in
the back of the head. Today, it's my turn to be
pelted. I smile. I am happy I've gotten this
close.
I
push my way out of the crowd and meet up with
Reem and Taghreed. We're all smiling, as if our
team's just won the stoning championships.
"We got him," I say, referring to the
devil.
We
head back to our camp, pushing against the tide
moving toward the pillar area. The main road is
packed with vehicles. A bus stops across from
the stairs that lead to the pillars, blocking a
motorcycle and a police car accompanying a V.I.P.
in a Mercedes with tinted windows.
Two
policemen on the street start hitting the bus
with their hands. "Move. Move now. "
It doesn't budge.
I
wait to see what happens. Such displays of
defiance of authority are rare in Saudi Arabia.
"I'm
discharging pilgrims," the bus driver
shouts back. I'll move when they get out."
I
smile at his determination and walk off to join
my sisters.
We're
strolling along beside people sleeping under
trucks, in the baggage compartment of buses,
under plastic sheeting, and in one-man pup
tents. We move forward, and almost step on a man
and his wife sitting on floor mats, chatting and
sipping tea. About a dozen Filipinos are eating
dinner - noodle soup with coconut shavings - on
mats spread out on the road. A file of young men
with long beards walks past chanting, Allah
akbar (God is great). We're across the
street from them but Taghreed joins in, chanting
until they pass.
I
look at her as she watches their receding backs.
Though everyone here is going about their
business, I sense that we are all connected by
the experience.
Reem
stops by a stall selling long robes and buys one
for Saleh. I buy some prayer beads. Taghreed
asks for cigarettes but can't find any.
She
bites into her apple. "That was really fun.
I feel exhilarated. I feel as if a huge load's
been lifted off my shoulders."
I'm
not sure if it's the disjointed sleep, or the
changed eating habits, or being in the same
tight space as 2 million praying pilgrims, but
I, too, have started to feel lighter, with an
unexpected warmth in my chest.
Next:
Our last trip to Mecca
Click on the
titles below to read the other articles that
appear in this series.
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