The Hajj, Accomplished?

We're happily back in our usual quarters, a bit tired from all the travelling, but starting to put things straight. And so the journey of a lifetime is complete.

But whether it has been accomplished is quite another matter. In Islamic terms the hajj needs to be accepted and approved by the Almighty to qualify as a hajj mabrur. This is clearly more than just a question of the pilgrimage fulfilling the conditions laid out in terms of procedures. It speaks to the sincerity of the pilgrim and the troublesome fallibilities with which we struggle. And so the struggle goes on, as it should.

Ustad Harun notes that there are signals that indicate a hajj mabrur, the chief of these being the change it effects in the individual. I feel that I have been changed by this experience, but feeling this is not enough, for those changes need to be apparent to the observer. Let's hope someone, somewhere notices something, eh, and I'm not just referring to my dramatic lack of hair on top.

The World Beyond

It's our last day here in Saudi Arabia. We'll be flying to Jeddah from Madinah this afternoon, insya'allah, and then on to Singapore, hoping to touch down some time tomorrow afternoon. It will be nice to get back to normality yet sad to leave the centre of things. Except, of course, that the centre of all things is always accessible assuming we don't make the mistake of assuming it's ourselves.

For the first week or more of our journey I felt almost completely cut off from the bigger world beyond. I didn't see a newspaper until three days ago - the Saudi Gazette, provided gratis by the Oberoi here in Madinah - and we didn't have any television in the apartment at Shisha. It was possible to go on-line for news, but I just didn't feel inclined to do so. The only thing I bothered to check were the football results - and I wish I hadn't. Then moving to the big hotel in Makkah I found myself occasionally glancing at CNN and BBC World, with those glances gradually turning to more sustained viewing, especially here in Madinah where I watched the whole of the first televised debate between the contenders in the US presidential election.

I suppose the race for the White House has comprised the most substantial part of my growing awareness of big events, along with the horror of the bombing of Aleppo. And in local terms exposure to the Saudi Gazette has made me more keenly aware of the challenges faced by the Kingdom, a place about which I have much to learn. Yesterday the lead story concerned some fierce cuts in government salaries - up to 20%, and no annual bonus for the current year - and when you consider just how many Saudis are government employees it isn't difficult to imagine just how disgruntled a lot of folks here are likely to be feeling. Another story about sudden lay-offs, 1300 of them, at a printing company dedicated to printing copies of The Holy Qur'an further suggested deep systemic problems.

As did the Clinton-Trump debate and reactions to it. When one of the contenders for the most powerful office in the world appears to offer little more than an almost comically blustering charlatanism and still gets taken seriously you've got to be more than a little nervous.

Feet

Last time we were here my feet got into a very bad state  Both developed suspiciously unpleasant looking cracks and the skin began to peel away on the upper and lower surfaces. This made doing the rites for the umrah particularly difficult.

I thought I'd face the problem again but, to my delighted surprise, this time round my feet look essentially like they usually do. It seems the application of some moisturising cream to them on a few occasions early on our trip here has done the trick. I'm very grateful indeed for this big mercy: our feet are as fundamental as it gets. (By the way, it's the Missus who has ensured the well-being of my extremities, rightly insisting I apply the cream.)

One of the odd things about regularly attending prayers in the mosque is how conscious you become of the feet of other worshippers - specifically the ones next to you as you complete prayers. Most of the feet I find myself glancing at have a rugged quality that mine definitely lack. A reminder of my privileged existence.

Lessons

Lingering in the mosque yesterday between prayers, I got talking to a guy from Birmingham. He'd completed his Hajj also, and had been in Madinah for a couple of days and was happy to share his impressions, expanding with enthusiasm upon some of the lessons he felt he'd learned over the days. I was struck by how extremely closely these matched my own experience.

The three points he expanded upon so convincingly comprised the absolute need for patience, the absolute need for awareness of the needs of others, especially the elderly, and the demands made upon the worshipper to focus in his worship, given the multiple distractions at every point. I can't really do justice here to the details of his analysis, but it was clear he'd thought each point through in some detail. I had the feeling I was talking to a man who'd been changed by his Hajj, in itself a strong suggestion of its success.

I'm hoping that I've been changed too, and really understood those lessons.

Relocation

We've just completed our farewell tawaf - the circumambulation of the Kaaba - and are about to take the road to Madinah. Looking forward to renewing my acquaintance with the beautiful mosque there. Al Masjid al Haram is deeply impressive in its way but it would be difficult to make an argument for its beauty, especially in present circumstances where parts of it still resemble a building site.

A Singular Place

It's our last full day in Makkah. Noi was already talking about missing being here yesterday evening as we came back from prayers in the evening from al Masjid al Haram.

A little incident which occurred after Friday Prayers over a week ago will stay with me as an example of the singularity of this location. Walking back through the rubbish-strewn back streets to our little haven at Shisha we passed a car, moving slowly along, wary of the stream of pilgrims around it. Suddenly the guy in the passenger seat wound down his window and proceeded to pass small, chilled bottles of a peach drink to us all. The drink tasted good, I can tell you, perhaps gaining in sweetness from the unusual circumstances in which I came to drink it.

Doffing The Ihram

We've just completed our final umrah of this visit, which means I donned (and doffed) my ihram for the final time, for this visit at least. I remember moaning about my inability to wear with any kind of grace at all the two unstitched pieces of cloth which comprise the dress code for the hajj and umrah the last time we were here in December 2014. Well nothing has changed since then, despite my increased familiarity with the garb. In fact, on this visit I surpassed myself in terms of embarrassment when wearing my ihram attending the zuhor prayer immediately after finishing our first post-Hajj umrah. The top piece of cloth just kept falling off, in the middle of the prayer, and I had to be saved by an incredibly helpful French gentleman, fortunately behind me, who somehow helped me fix it before a complete catastrophe ensued. I suspect I will have nightmares about this for years to come.

The funny thing is that I'm entirely sympathetic to the powerful symbolism inherent in wearing ihram. It's just that I'm no good at all in putting it on and keeping it on.

The Faces Of Islam

It's impossible to be bored here. Just viewing the sheer range of humanity on display is fascinating. This must be the most cosmopolitan place in the world - paradoxically, of course, since everyone is Muslim. That in itself is a reminder of the variations within Islam, despite its essential Oneness.

I reckon the average Taliban would get fairly depressed here. From my understanding they make something of a fetish of the notion that a male Muslim must be bearded in a luxuriant untrimmed fashion. But I reckon that despite the wealth of beards on display around fifteen per cent of the guys here remain resolutely unbearded or simply stubbled. And the variety of styles of facial hair matches the variety of physiognomies available. My favourite is a version associated, I think, with Pakistan, Bangladesh and India. The beard (for the old guys) is long and white, but has been dipped (I assume) in henna, often around the halfway mark. This results in a curious transition from the elderly white into a sort of youthfully flaming orange. The fact that no one tries to hide the complete artificiality of the colouring adds to its charm.

It's interesting to try and guess what part of the world folk hale from. Of course, eavesdropping on the language they're using sometimes gives a clue - and can occasionally completely contradict their appearance. A young pilgrim who looked for all the world as if he came from India heard me chatting to a guy from Thailand the other night, asked me if I were English, and told me he came from Leicester. (And, yes, he did support the EPL champions, as it turned out.)

But the great thing is just how many of the faces one sees here, especially those of the elderly, are so full of what used to be known as 'character'. They look as if they have really splendidly lived life. So many could easily grace a cover of National Geographic, and I mean grace.

It's A Scorcher

Just back from the zuhor prayer in the mosque. The temperature outside at noon was 45 degrees centigrade, which, I think, is the hottest I've ever encountered anywhere. How fortunate I am to be sitting in air-conditioned comfort to record this fact.

Tough Going

As I mentioned yesterday, every second person in Makkah has a cold and is coughing and spluttering and I'm agreeably surprised to have remained reasonably healthy so far. Of our own little group I think I'm the only one who hasn't yet been ill. Noi has had a bad cough and sore throat for several days now. In fact, we went to see the doctor in the medical centre adjacent to the hotel. We get free health care as pilgrims under some kind of agreement with the Saudi authorities and took advantage of it by getting hold of several kinds of medicine. Unfortunately these have not done her that much good. Since antibiotics weren't prescribed she decided to get these herself from a nearby pharmacy. According to the instructions (in French) on the box these should only be prescribed by a doctor - understandably. It seems the usual sensible rules don't necessarily apply here.

Anyway, despite the aches of pains of my companions we've been getting on with doing a series of umrahs, completing our second one since we came to stay next to the big masjid today. I didn't realise just how physically taxing they can be until we did one in the heat on Monday morning - and I'm talking 42 degrees centigrade here. It pretty much knocked me out for the afternoon. It also made me further appreciate the simple guts and staying power exhibited by so many of the older or more frail pilgrims. This is definitely not an experience for the wimps.