The quietest place I have been: reflecting on Umrah in Ramadan

From the archives – March 2024

I remember the first time I saw a medieval world map and noticed Jerusalem at the centre. It was years ago, in the middle of a medieval literature class I liked the idea that the medieval imagining of the world was a spiritual one marked by the holy land in the centre. Their maps were both an assertion of geographical and worldly knowledge and both inscribed the importance of the pilgrims’ journey; how special and sacred a journey it could be. When I began, what has been the most special and wonderful journey I have made so far, to Makkah, I thought of this. I thought about how the pilgrim’s journey is one of the oldest and most documented. And this is the journey, far from the trendy glimmery reels of travel highlights nowadays, that I have awaited. The Kaaba is an anchor guiding our daily and frequent direction and prayer, but also our entire imagining of the world. The place where Islam began, the place we will return to on the day of Arafat, and the place that every Muslim hopes to be invited to.

One of my favourite thoughts reappeared too and felt more important: the sacredness of travel in Islam, how travellers’ duas have a special acceptance with God.

These thoughts continue to accompany me now, as I sit down to edit this writing from the archives about my own journey to Makkah. Everything I felt then, and now, is contradictory. It is both the busiest place I have ever been and the quietest place I have ever been to. The wonder of why I am here, only to be reminded I was *invited here*, was frequent. On a practical level, my travels have always existed with a layer of guilt, too, for not travelling with a mahram and for experiencing things without my family. I often feel guilty for having strong preferences, for preferring the stability of my own routines, to the company of those I love very much, and I wonder if I should let go, more of my own conveniences and preferences.

So, when the opportunity arose for my sister and I to accompany my uncle and two aunts on pilgrimage during Ramadan, it felt like it had been made easy for me and this usual thinking was taken out of it – and soon enough, I found myself welcoming the best of months in the best of places. Nothing has felt the same since. I feel something has changed, and months later, I cannot yet place it or give it tangible meaning. Before then, I had not fully realised that there was a place that in Allah’s own words, has been made a sanctuary – nor did I know the reward of an accepted Umrah during Ramadan – or that people from all over the world, who fear they cannot make Hajj in their lifetime will come to perform Umrah during Ramadan in the hopes of acceptance.

I miss my sense of time being marked by the adhaan, I miss the rush after iftar to get an iced coffee and joining the only orderly queue –  for qahwa –  that you will find in Makkah, I miss hearing someone turn to me after prayer saying they hope my duas are accepted, I miss hearing the adhaan for tahajjud. I miss climbing over the gates, trying to bribe the guards with coffee, and making a promise to myself that this is the last time. I miss the quiet. I miss the scent of the perfume I bought in Makkah, the only one that has ever appealed to me to buy, that has now run out. I miss cycling around Medina and feeling like the entire city is within my grasp at this point.

So, I found myself, with my younger sister, on our first trip together, with my uncle and aunts, hoping to be accepted by God among millions. And I wondered, how vast God’s mercy is – to make something as sacred as pilgrimage easy and possible for me. And perhaps some things are difficult because others will be made easy, and if I tried to list all of the things that God has made easy for me, I could not stop. So, I look forward to being surprised by Him and from this journey. I have better understood what it really means to think good of God and expect good. It is beyond what my own hopes and desires can utter or even goodness I can quantify and detail – and His caretaking of my needs is at an emotional and spiritual level that surpasses anything I can think of.

We had a stop in Istanbul, at which point we showered and changed into the clothes that would be our ihram. This is when it began to feel this journey would be quite different from every trip I have ever taken before. At this point, my sister approved of my planning and enjoyed the temporary luxuries of the lounge at Istanbul (one of the best). On our connecting flight from Istanbul to Jeddah, the plane became quiet, full of pilgrims who were reciting from the Quran and getting ready for what awaited us.

We arrived in Makkah a few hours before fajr and made intention for the first day of Ramadan, praying our first fajr in the haram. I had not seen the Kaaba yet at this point, and the significance of this trip had not fully sunk in. Nothing could have prepared me for my first meeting with the Kaaba –

This religion has always felt like a challenge and sanctuary from all of the overstimulation and problems of modernity– but encircling the Kaaba seven times, making tawaf, epitomised this for me and in no other context would encircling what is, a building, make sense – and yet I felt myself, with every tawaf, letting go, and remembering that at the end of it all, is me, bare-faced, literally and symbolically without the usual embellishments that life affords us – in front of God, hoping for His acceptance and mercy. I felt myself unravelling each time, but with the loss of this also came clarity –

I wanted to be alone and experience quiet, but I could only feel this amongst the million or so pilgrims that congregated at the Haram every day in Ramadan. I alone am weak. The strength of communal striving, to be one amongst so many seeking His pleasure, is transformative. And the feeling of agency. It felt so freeing to take ten days out of my usual life and all of its reminders and pulls, to be here, solely to worship Allah, to be with God and myself.  

There is so much more, and a side note is I have been thinking about how to make Umrah more accessible, and two things are at the top of my list. 1. Queuing (I love telling the story of how drinking Zamzam water was peaceful for me because I would politely insist people queue up) 2. Some sort of temporary confinement for people who behave badly here.

There is so much more, but the most pertinent reminder is the quiet I experienced – from the absence of music when queuing for coffee or walking around the supermarket, to the loudest sounds being the Adhaan or the sound of birds. There is a lightness that accompanied me on this entire journey – truthfully, I am not a minimal person, and I wondered many times, anxiously, about whether I’d find healthy food and salads in Makkah. On the first day, I discovered the fresh salads at Carrefour and felt immediately overjoyed and relieved from the chaos of the food court upstairs.

My feelings are at odds with each other because I felt free and the closest to God, but also in disarray when I thought about how to get here next Ramadan. And so, when I encircled the Kaaba, I could not think of a more repeated ask of God than to be here once again. In some sense, I have nothing at all to say about this trip because my biggest takeaway is how I felt and the quiet I experienced. And in another sense, if I think about this for long enough, it overwhelms me and I think about how far my day-to-day is from this feeling and experience.

I came back home and tried to make sense of this experience, to return to normal life with enthusiasm, but nothing appealed in the same way, and quickly the feeling of being far from myself came back. I found myself reading Malcolm X’s chapter on Hajj and how his arrival in Mecca allowed him to finally feel equal and part of one, how his sister helped him save for Hajj, and so many people along the way made his journey possible, and easier. I was reminded again that God hears me, He sees me, and He thinks of me, despite that I am just one amongst billions and I offer nothing that the billions of his loving servants do not offer. And it is just me, my bag consisting of a pair of sandals, some tissues, lip balm, sunscreen, a notebook, and a Muji 0.5 ballpoint pen. Hoping for acceptance, for every step and deed here to be recorded, to weigh heavily on my scales.

I returned home for the remainder of Ramadan, and as I attended qiyaam at my local masjid for the last ten nights, I met aunties who had just returned from Umrah and those who were just about to leave. I found myself once again nestled amongst many, hoping for God’s acceptance. And I wondered if my Grandad (may Allah have mercy on his soul) knew that the place he had planted our roots would have an ever-growing and beautiful Muslim community opening doors for us the entire month.

And there is a single question that I have been contending with since  

‘So where are you going?’

In writing this, I have maybe overshared a little and repeated quiet one too many times. There is not a word of this that is a marker of my piety. Everything I found this experience to be is because of my state going in: disheveled, clouded, anxious. What I found on pilgrimage is the complete opposite – and I hope this finds the right person. The one who feels unworthy, not yet ready to be unravelled and unveiled and face God at His home – there is a sanctuary that awaits you – a piece of Jannah in this world – and it is not too good to be true. May Allah invite you – may He accept it from you and from us all. And may this experience be transformative and remain with you, shaping you till the end of your days.