My first time as a guest of God

Ever since reading, at the age of 13, Malcolm X's account of haj, I've wanted to go says Fatima Barkatulla

Pilgrims praying on the Mount of Mercy in the plain of Arafat outside Mecca

Fatima Barkatulla

 Labbaik Allahumma Labbaik! Here I am O God, here I am at Your service! Here I am, You have no partners, here I am!” millions chant in unison. As we taxi down the long, winding highways that meet at the foot of the Sacred Mosque, we crane our necks to catch a glimpse of the Kaaba. It slides into view and our eyes stream with tears. We have come home. Somehow our natural human instincts are bound to this once barren plot of earth an ocean away, where Abraham built the Kaaba — the first place built for the worship of the Creator alone.

Elderly and destitute people, having saved up for haj all their lives, have travelled here from every corner of the Earth. They sit cross-legged; gazing at the Kaaba or napping in between prayer times; as comfortable as if the palace-like building around them, with its gleaming marble floors and ornate lanterns, is their birthright. It is as much theirs as it is the next man’s. No need for intermediaries here, for you are a guest of God. You could have come from a mansion in Mayfair or a Mumbai slum and you would be standing shoulder to shoulder in prayer, one direction, one dress, one human family: all Children of Adam, all equal in the sight of the One God.

Ever since the age of 13, having read Malcolm X’s account of haj, I had wanted to experience it for myself. Its apparent ability to transform and humble human beings intrigued me. Malcolm, the firebrand black nationalist, with his “the white man is the Devil” rhetoric, experienced for the first time in his life the brotherhood that could exist between people of all races. He emerged from Mecca a believer in the equality of humanity regardless of race and, wanting to assert his orthodox Muslim beliefs, changed his name to El-Hajj Malik al-Shabbaz — “El-Hajj” being the title that many Muslims add to their names upon completion of the pilgrimage.

Here one feels the gravity of history in the various rites one performs. We make seven circuits around the Kaaba as Abraham (peace be upon him) did. We drink from the well of Zamzam that was miraculously unearthed by the Angel Gabriel to quench the thirst of the dying baby Ismail. We go from Mount Safa to Marwa in the footsteps of Hagar, the second wife of Abraham, as she searched desperately for water. Pilgrims, like a huge flock of white birds, cover Mount Arafat, hands raised in supplication. This is where Muhammad (peace be upon him) delivered his farewell speech 1,400 years ago and asked: “Have I conveyed the message to you?” and 10,000 voices replied: “O Allah, yes!” To which he said, raising his forefinger to the sky: “Be my witness O Allah ... I have conveyed Your message.”

Haj is physically and mentally demanding: there are the queues, the potential for upset stomachs, the traffic jams and the endless crowds. Inevitably there are those who behave in a less than brotherly manner. Exercising patience and forgiveness is paramount to a successful haj and it is those basic human courtesies that get one through it. At its completion I rejoice at changing my clothes and returning to normality, hoping that it is accepted by God and that I have left my sins behind me, born again.

Fatima Barkatulla is a columnist for Sisters magazine and a presenter on Radio Haj 87.7 fm (radiohajj.co.uk)