The sad thing, though, is when people start using inappropriate and derogatory language to insult the ulama of our country. Yes, we have the right to be angry with this situation and the way it was handled (both the actual ‘crime’ and the public relations disaster that followed) – but that doesn’t give us the right to overstep the Islamic limits of speech.

I’m not saying that we can’t publically criticize them – that we should just sweep this under the rug because we must protect our ulama. This is a public issue, and one that can be discussed publically – whether on Facebook, forums, or other platforms.

But what is wrong is when ulama are insulted with language that is not befitting of any Muslim. There’s a way to criticize without getting nasty, and unfortunately, some have fallen into the trap – the trap that shaytaan has laid out for us in this incident.

There’s debate about whether critiscising the alims is ‘backbiting’ – and on that point, I refer you back to an old post that covered backbiting.

I won’t accuse anyone of backbiting in this case, because I don’t want to argue with individuals, and I’m in no position to judge anyone. But what I will say is that the proper Islamic etiquette is required if you’re going to criticize anyone in public – whether an alim, organization, politician, celebrity, or ordinary person. In fact, this applies in private too.

This whole thing really is a test for our community: in the actual halaal industry (which has long been criticized and in need of reforms, according to many), but also in the way we respond or react to it.

Let’s remember that every word we say or write is something that goes on our record – which we will be held accountable for. We should seek the truth and speak from a position of solid knowledge – and not jump to conclusions and say things based on rumours and unproven suspicions (because, as verse 12 in Surah Hujurat says, “…. Avoid much suspicion; indeed, some suspicions are sins…”)

Let’s take some lessons from this incident, and make it a means of improving our own understanding of how to conduct ourselves correctly (in addition to the community-level issues that need to be addressed with the MJC and halaal certification industry).

This story, from Voice of the Cape (the leading Muslim radio station in Cape Town), sums up a lot of what I think:

We must do better: Mufti

There were several lessons to learn out of the Orion halal saga, in particular as it played itself out this week after the screening of the etv expose on 3rd Degree. This was the view of Mufti Abdul Kader Hoosain, speaking on VOC’s Q&A on Thursday. The alim said what was seen on the documentary was “a real disgrace” since it showed Muslims “being caught with their pants down”.

The first lesson, mufti said, was for organisations like the halal certifying bodies to realise that they needed skilled public relations officers to deal with the media.  “This is not something that anyone can do. Muslims cannot be caught offside like this again. It is not only bad for Muslims, but also for Islam since there are so many non-Muslims watching us. So it is imperative that we have professional people in this regard,” the alim said.

A second lesson related to the issue of giving halal certification to non-Muslim businesses, especially where it was not under Muslim management. “This is something I have personally always been opposed to. I could not agree with the Muslim Judicial Council (MJC) when they first certified McDonalds and I still cannot agree with this practise, because once we give halal certication to a non Muslim owned business that is not under Muslim management, how can we trust it? So my humble appeal is for the ulema to review this policy.”

Inspections

Thirdly, on the matter of halal inspections, he said much tighter controls were needed. “When meat comes from abroad, it is recertified upon its arrival here. However, once it leaves the port and goes to importers like Orion Cold Storage, who is responsible for checking it? We now saw how these products were deliberately relabelled and someone must be held accountable. These people have committed a criminal offence by relabelling these products fraudulently, but we also carry blame because we left the door open for them to exploit.”

He said it was critical for halal certifiers to ensure that there were no loopholes in the halal certification process so that the purity of the halal chain from the point of origin to the Muslim table can be ensured. “Having said that, I don’t think it is a good thing to bring in ‘halal’ imports in the first place, because sometimes they have lower halal standards in that country than in South Africa,” he added.

According to Mufti, the public was justified in feeling that the halal certification business was only about money. “No wonder people speak about ‘scholars for dollars’. We cannot be upset about these perceptions, because where there is smoke, there is fire. It is a tragedy that, as Muslims, we may have unwittingly found ourselves holding pork in our hands, cooking and eating it. Someone must be honest and take responsibility for that. We must apologise to the public and admit that it was an oversight,” he advised.

MJC

Asked about the public anger, especially towards the Muslim Judicial Council Halal Trust (MJCHT), the alim said a bit more perspective was needed. “The MJC is an organisation that is older than me and it has done great work since 1945 which we cannot wipe away. If one has an axe to grind with them, then it is your personal issue. You cannot now blame the entire MJC for it. That is totally wrong. The Quran urges us not to let our hatred of a people make us forget to be just. This also applies to people with whom we disagree. That is Islam.”

The alim pointed out that while the MJC had done sterling work since its inception, in this instance, they handled things incorrectly and not only needed to rectify it, but also take steps to ensure that the same mistake was not made again. “At the same time, the public must not go to the other extreme to call for boycotts and the like. That is the wrong approach,” Mufti stated.

“The MJC made a mistake and they must apologise for it. Allah alone knows everyone’s intention, therefore we cannot set ourselves the task to get even with the MJC. Islam teaches us to forgive people when they make mistakes. More than that, let us not just look at people’s shortcomings. We don’t have the time to look at another person’s shortcomings when we have so many faults of our own. So let us hope that sanity prevails,” Mufti said.

Criticism

With reference to the ulema bashing that had been part of the public criticism on the Orion issue, the alim pointed out that there was a fine line between legitimate criticism and ulema bashing. He said many members of the ulema do not appreciate being criticised, including by their peers. “As alims we must admit that the public has the right to criticise us. Sometimes alims act as if they are above reproach and this is incorrect,” he said.

“At the same time, people must remember that our ulema are the heirs of the prophets and they have to be respected as such. However, this does not mean they cannot be criticised. In criticising the ulema there are three things to remembers. Firstly, the intention must be to offer sincere naseega, rather than simply focussing on looking at their faults,” Mufti explained.

“People often become obsessed with the latter and then run the ulema down just for the sake of doing so. We are taught that once you start looking for the faults of others, then Allah will disgrace you, even if you are right. Therefore when we criticise, we must also be magnanimous in our approach. Our deen is a deen of the heart and therefore if advice needs to be given, let it be sincere,” the alim advised. VOC

Top left: A sign warning Hujaaj against begging. The English isn’t too great, but you get the message.

Top right: A fast food place near the Haram in Makkah, catering for pilgrims not so well off (of which there were many). To give you an idea, the prices quoted there are in Saudi Riyals, and one riyal is worth just over 2 South African Rands.

Middle left: No explanation needed. But despite fine efforts like this, it seems that smoking is still big in the country.

Middle right: I don’t know why, but I have a strange liking for this advert. I don’t know exactly what it’s advertising, but one of the logos on the poster is for the Saudi mobile operator Mobily.

Bottom left: Taken in Cairo, referencing the revolution that took place in Egypt a year ago.

Bottom right: Taken in Palestine, referencing the Palestinian attempt to gain recognition at the United Nations late last year.

And so we come to the end of another calendar year, which will predictably be accompanied by year-end reviews, personal reflections, and ‘best of’ lists. For me, it’s been a momentous year – with Hajj the biggest highlight of course (as you may have noticed from the content of posts for the past few months).

But there were also other significant happenings. For example, it was the year my physical attachment to the city of my birth finally came to an end. It was also the five year anniversary of my entry into the world of blogs – significant because of how important this platform has become to me as an outlet for self-expression. And Ramadan, of course, was one of the most special yet – not just because of the beauty of the month, but also because it served, partially, as a preparation for the most important journey of my life – Hajj.

Hajj itself was incredible – starting in the most amazing city of Madinah, then Makkah, and the actual days of Hajj, then the beautiful yet embattled land of Palestine afterwards (all of which are being chronicled). If you’ve been disappointed by the lack of variety on this blog in the last few months, you can blame it all on Hajj – because it’s a journey that’s so consumed me, not only during the period I was away, but even up to now. In addition to the series started on this blog, I’ve also begun the version for a multi-faith audience (which you can find here) – and I have big plans for that insha-Allah, and if you have a chance, please have a look – and direct your non-Muslim friends or family to it, if they’re interested in what the Hajj is.

Coming back home after seven weeks, I’ve gone through different phases of inspiration and deflation – highs and lows, but always yearning to retain the specialness of that experience; but knowing that I can’t hold onto it like I want to – for feelings fade, as will memories…but that’s why writing about it is so important to me; as a capturer of the experience that I hope to re-read for years to come, until – insha-Allah – I can go back and make some new memories.

The last couple of weeks have been tumultuous at work, with a sudden disaster that’s knocked half the company’s employees out of a job. Thankfully for me, I was one of the survivors – but I still recognise the instability of the situation, and know that I’ll need to get out of my comfort zone and start looking at other opportunities – in case the worst happens next year.

It really hit me this week, when all the members of my team said their goodbyes – leaving me the only one left, other than my team leader. Four years I’ve been at this company, and things have always been good. And then, in the space of a few days, everything shattered. Jobs were lost, families affected, some fortunate enough to keep a job were humbled by demotion due to downsizing – and the happy-go-lucky atmosphere that so often prevailed in that building turned to one of somberness and idleness, as many either didn’t have work to do, or didn’t have motivation to do the work they were still being paid to do.

It’s a lesson for everyone that we can never put our reliance on a company, boss, or other created being. God alone is the Provider, and He alone provides for us – with jobs and companies only the visible means we perceive.

And when a calamity like that hits, it serves as a wake-up call – a reminder of human fragility, and a means of drawing us closer to Him.

As I worked my last day of the year today and then left, I remembered the times of old – the other ‘last days’ of my life: the last days of the school year; the days of the final exam in a varsity year; the other last working days of the year in this current job.

And while I can go into this holiday relaxed, I know that it may be the last time I can do that for a while – because come this time next year, if I’m alive to see it, circumstances may be very different – and I might not be able to relax.

In any case, whatever must come will come; and from my end, all I need to do is my best – putting complete reliance in Allah, trusting that He’ll bring the best out of whatever my future holds, and being content with the outcomes – even if they look bleak at first.

It may seem like a depressing year end for me, but it isn’t. Personally, I’m in the best state that I’ve been in for all the year ends in my life; and I hope to keep the drive up and go on to greater things – in line with the personal ambitions which have now been defined for the rest of my life.

It feels good to know my purpose in life. Not just the general one that we as Muslims believe in (i.e. to worship Allah) – but a specific one, uniquely fitted to who I am, what I have, and what I can – insha-Allah – achieve in my remaining days on Earth.

So to close off this post (though not necessarily my last of 2011), I ask you – dear reader: what were your highlights of 2011? And, going forward, what significant things do you hope to achieve in the coming years?

Image source

Previous parts: Introduction | Part 1

How it started
I’d wanted to go for Hajj for a long time – but had only planned to go two years ago, in 2009. Generally, that’s the wrong approach to take. You’re supposed to go as soon as you’re capable (physically, financially, etc.) – because it’s an obligation, and you may not live long enough to go when you think it’s your time. But I was immature and selfish, thinking that I knew best. I didn’t want to go until I was married – believing that I wasn’t ready until that time.

Once marriage came, that self-imposed barrier dissolved. But another one came up soon after. The year my wife and I had intended to go was the year that our daughter arrived – meaning we had to wait at least a few more years. In terms of timing, this taught me that Allah controls the schedules – not me. And that I need to submit to what Allah wants, and not what I think is best.

As new parents, life obviously became very hectic, and Hajj seemed something on the distant horizon – a hazy, faraway dream that would maybe come true… someday.

But the end of Ramadan 2010 brought it back into focus for me. The months of Hajj start immediately after Ramadan – and it was then that this immensely strong pull came over me; this deep desire to go – for all of the reasons mentioned in the previous post. And this feeling only intensified as the Hajj of 2010 got underway.

We took the first necessary step that November – SAHUC registration – and actually ended up registering just a few days after SAHUC opened up applications for the year 2011.That was my first sign that Hajj may become a reality for us – because the earlier you register, the better your chances of getting accreditation.

Being prepared
With most things in life, it’s important to be prepared. Hajj is no different. In fact, it’s even more important – because this is the most important journey of a Muslim’s life. We study so hard for exams, and prepare so much for job interviews and other things – yet when we compare those worldly events to Hajj, there’s almost no comparison in terms of what deserves our best preparations.

After registering, we faced at least a four month wait until accreditation would be announced. So we busied ourselves trying to learn about Hajj. There are plenty of books, articles, lectures, and videos you can use to prepare – but one of the most effective learning methods, for me at least, is attending classes. And that’s where the first test came for us.

The new year (2011) soon arrived, and things got extremely busy at home. The feelings for Hajj, which were once so strong, soon got buried under the burdens of day to day life. But still, I tried to keep up – eventually failing, and resigning myself to the fact that Hajj class would probably be the biggest motivator to keep going.

It was quite a struggle trying to find a Hajj class that suited us (both in terms of schedule and our being comfortable with the scholar who taught it) – one that I realise was one of our early tests on this journey. But – alhamdullilah – that part of the process fell into place eventually, and we got an awesome teacher; one who was a real character – animated, passionate, and very unique in his style of delivery.

In Cape Town, it seems we go overboard when it comes to Hajj preparation. I’m not a native Capetonian (though I’ve been here 12 years) – so I can’t speak from much experience, other than my own. But I use that term – ‘overboard’ (and not in a negative way here) – because we have Hajj classes for months before people actually leave for Hajj. In other parts of the country – like Durban and Joburg – all they get is a one day seminar, or a few classes on Hajj not long before it’s time to leave.

Part of the reason for this is that Hajj classes of this type teach you your religion again – the important aspects – so that you can assess your current state of Islam, make your changes on Hajj, and when you come back, be in a position to improve as well as make up for the things that you neglected in the past – such as salaahs or fasts you’d missed, lack of concentration in salaah, etc.

So we had six months of classes – which comprehensively covered more than just Hajj alone.

On the individual level, I’d made a plan of all the things I’d wanted to do personally to prepare. That preparation included an analysis of my current state of religious practice, life, and character; the ideal states I’d want those aspects to be in; and how I would improve myself to those levels.

It also included writing down a detailed dua list; that being the most important aspect, because as the hadith goes, dua is the essence of worship. It’s the heart of your connection to Allah – because it’s your speaking to Him, in your own words, asking for what you want and need…the most intimate of matters that involves no one other than you and your Maker. By communicating with Allah – through dua and otherwise – you strengthen that bond. And, as the hadith goes, when you take one step towards Allah, Allah takes ten steps towards you. The importance of dua cannot be overstated. And it’s not confined to Laylatul Qadr, or Ramadan, or Hajj only. That communication line is always there. And you don’t need to pay high cellphone costs either, because it’s absolutely free

As it turned out, procrastination and time wasted on other things meant I ended up not doing most of the things I’d planned to do. And as time ran out, I feared I’d be boarding that plane unprepared. But Allah had mercy on me, and gave me a bout of sickness a few weeks before we left. The time off work was just what I needed. I did get some rest (as per doctor’s orders), but I didn’t have time to waste resting half the day. So I took the time I had alone to write and write and write – my duas for myself and my life, for other people, and just about everything I could think of.

Also, preparing a will is one of the things that we traditionally do before Hajj. Actually, Islam teaches us that it’s something we need to do regardless of whether we’re going for Hajj. Seeing the tragedies of family disputes over the estate of the deceased, it should become very clear why a will is essential (and a proper Shariah-compliant will at that). Anyway, so in thinking about my own death, I realised there was a lot that I wanted to tell the people closest to me – yet now in life, I didn’t have the courage. And if I died, I would want them to know those things. So I wrote letters to them, which I kept with my will. I adopted the mindset that if I die on Hajj, these would be my last words to them – the messages I want to leave them with. It was liberating to write those letters, because from my side, it helped me express all that I’d otherwise left unsaid, and tie up loose ends that were otherwise not dealt with.

Madhouse
In Cape Town, Hajj is treated with all the fervour of a wedding, or Eid. For the week before the Hajji leaves, the house is pretty much open to visitors at most times of the day (and late into the night too – even if you have young kids at home!). Family, friends, neighbours, and others all come to ‘greet’ you, wishing you well for your Hajj, asking you to make dua for them and convey greetings to the Prophet Muhammad s.a.w. in Madinah. They also give you some money (called a slavat) to help with the trip, and those who have been before share their Hajj stories with you and give advice.

The ‘greeting’ thing is a cultural custom – it’s not a sunnah or religious injunction. Culture often pollutes religion, and many cultural practices actually violate the laws and purposes of the Shariah (just look at the way many Muslim wedding receptions are conducted). Cultural practices are fine, as long as they don’t contradict Islam. And this particular custom is one that does have a lot of good in it – for the sense of community it builds, and the way it reminds people of the Hajj and Islam (which, unfortunately, is sometimes forgotten in the secular lives we sometimes live). Some people think that this greeting business is for show – to put on this event to show off that such and such a person is going for Hajj. I disagree with that. I would like to believe that this is just a misperception – and that no Hajji (or their organisers / family) actually has this intention in mind. Sincerity of intention is not something for us to judge – Allah alone judges.

Anyway, so while I see the good in this custom, sometimes it’s just overboard (and this time I use that term in a negative way). Some people pitch marquees in their yards to cater for all the expected visitors; and the amount of food, preparation, and spending that goes into this event in some cases is just excessive. It’s possible to cater for people without going so overboard, but for some (or many?), no expense is spared – which I think is very wrong, especially if the Hajji (who already spent so much to pay for Hajj) is the one that has to pay for all of this.

You’re supposed to be preparing for the most spiritual journey of life – one where you’ll learn sabr, forge close ties to Allah, and learn restraint. One where your personal preparation requires time alone to reflect and build spirituality and get your heart ready for this immense event.

Yet the preparations that go into the departure back home are ones of lavish spending on all kinds of foods, chaos and stress about logistics and catering, and just generally a period of time that is not peaceful at all. And even though you need to pack and get your travel logistics sorted out, you can forget about leaving all that to the last few days before you leave. When the people come, you need to be there with them – regardless of how much travel-related stuff you still need to do. (Which is why it’s best to get your packing and arrangements done early, if possible.)

For me, I didn’t want any of that. I was content to just get a few visitors here and there, and handle things in a more relaxed way – without all the markings of a wedding. Being a very private person, I didn’t want a lot of people in my house at one time; and being conscious of financial responsibility, I didn’t want money wasted unnecessarily.

I hated the fact that we were expected to follow this big local custom, having to focus on these things which diverted attention from where our real focus should have been. But, when you live in a place, you can’t dictate the cultural practice of its inhabitants – when the people will come to visit you, and what they’ll expect.

My wife’s family took control of the situation, and although I was upset at times, my frustration was not at them as individuals – but at our having to go through this custom in the first place. I think my wife also didn’t want it to be a big thing, but like me, she didn’t have much say. Indian families – particularly Indian mothers – are big on traditions, and as the mere ‘children’ in this situation, we weren’t strong enough to fight for the simplicity we wanted. And causing a fight at that time would have just turned things ugly – which is not something you want on the eve of your Hajj.

Still, we appreciate all their efforts, even if we didn’t agree with certain aspects of how things happened. And to be fair, we actually didn’t have it so bad – alhamdullilah. We didn’t need a marquee or caterers, and it was really only the weekend we left that was busy – not the entire week.

That said, it was a whirlwind few days, with little sleep and little food (the latter being ironic, given the amount of food catered). We left on a Sunday morning, and the craziest time was the night before we left. After maghrib, I came home to a jam-packed house full of people, and felt overwhelmed by it all. There wasn’t much space to even walk, and I don’t even know what the neighbours thought about all the noise (one of the neighbours was pregnant, and also had a toddler at home). It was exactly the kind of thing I didn’t want – and here it was, being presented before me – almost mockingly.

But then came Allah’s mercy. Almost simultaneously, my parents, uncle and auntie, and granny all arrived – and I was able to escape the madness for a little while and go out to the car with my parents, granny (who stayed in the car), and my (now two-year old) daughter. Taking her was the most important part  for me, because in all this chaos, I hardly got any time alone with her. I felt like this whole time she was being kept away from me – by all these people and activity, and I just needed to escape it all and go to my comfort zone; which was away from the crowd.

In those precious moments, things became calm for me again, and perhaps the most touching moment was my grandmother’s request – a specific dua she wanted me to make for her.

To me, that was really an important part of the whole greeting thing – when people ask you to make specific duas for them. It’s not that they can’t make those duas themselves, but – like Ramadan – you’re going to be in a very special state, and it’s very likely that your duas will be accepted. So to find out what things are so dear to them, and then have the opportunity to pray for them in the most sacred places, in the most sacred times, is something that really is a blessing of the process of going for Hajj.

Also very helpful was the spiritual experiences shared by those who had been before; as well as their advice – advice which was immensely important, such as how to make wudu and salaah on a plane when necessary. (Yes – you do have to do that. You can’t just skip salaah using the flight as an excuse.)

Anyway, so I only got about 3 or 4 hours of sleep that night, and the next morning was again hectic – but hardly any people this time (thankfully!).

Leaving the house, and at the airport, the goodbyes were very emotional, and our daughter sensed it – because she was quite passive for a while (which is very rare indeed), and seemed a bit sad. I got a lot of hugs and kisses in – without her fighting me – which I appreciate a lot .

And so off we set. The two of us alone – finally away from everyone and everything else. The journey truly began. As we walked, my wife commented on how she felt it (ie. the drama of the preceding days) fading away – which I felt too.

Next up, insha-Allah: The beginning of the travels, and the tests faced early on.

Lessons:

First life
I was a latecomer to Islam. No – I didn’t convert into the religion. I was born a Muslim, but for most of my life growing up, I wasn’t really one – not the way I should have been, at least. I lacked the proper understanding, knowledge, and, most of all, commitment to the religion. As a result, much of my life was spent without real attachment to Islam – confined to merely ritualistic acts of worship I was expected to do, and not much interest beyond that.

As a child, I learnt Islam’s basics in madrassah, and my family acted as a good moral compass in guiding me through the racially and culturally diverse society that was South Africa in the 1980s and 1990s. I had plenty of exposure to other religions – Hindu family friends, where I’d see their prayer lamps and idols; a Christian junior school, where every morning’s assembly included the Lord’s prayer; and my Jewish high school, where Jewish Studies was a compulsory subject for a couple of years.

I always had a conscience about Islam, and what my Creator expected of me as a Muslim. But without practical action, conscience can’t lead you very far. In school holidays, for Friday prayers, and on other religious occasions, I’d attend Islamic religious services, and hear the religious advice given by the imams and moulanas. I’d sometimes be inspired to want to be a better Muslim, but the feeling would fade a few hours later, and I’d continue as normal – not really thinking about my purpose in life or how I could be better to my fellow human beings.

Turnaround
That changed ten years ago, when I reached a turning point – a ‘spiritual awakening’ that

changed my entire focus and orientation in life. Such events are common in any religion – not just Islam. Anything could act as a catalyst – from a near death experience, loss of a loved one, a period of desperation, or any other event. Different people have different experiences, yet all end with the same result: a movement from a state of heedlessness to one of consciousness.

Over time, I came to learn more about Islam, and firmly believe in its truth – understanding the wisdom behind its acts of worship and social values, and its timeless message of pure monotheism, which was the message of every prophet, including Abraham, Moses, Jesus, and Muhammad (peace be upon them all). I came to understand how, as a comprehensive belief system, it links an individual to their Creator, without any intermediaries; guiding them to live in the way that would bring true happiness, inner peace, and success – both in life and in the realm beyond death.

Journey of a lifetime
A few weeks ago, I was honoured to perform the Islamic pilgrimage to Makkah – the Hajj. As far as mandatory religious activities go, it’s one of the most important acts in Islam. It’s a journey that re-enacts the life of Prophet Abraham and his family, and draws millions each year – promising great reward from the Creator; and immense liberation, such that the pilgrim returns from the journey completely forgiven from every sin – spiritually, like a newborn baby.

It’s a journey of sacrifice, self-purification, and great humility. Pilgrims leave their families and comfortable homes to go all the way to the Holy Land, spending days and nights in a simple, unflattering tent – where the only physical comforts are a mattress, blanket, and pillow. They leave behind the ease of cars for a journey involving walking for miles and miles on dirty, congested roads, in huge crowds that they’d normally run away from. They shed the adornments of plush clothing to wear nothing but two white, unstitched pieces of cloth – wherein they’ll look exactly like everyone else, with nothing to distinguish between a king and a beggar. They go out to a flat, empty plain – in the middle of a desert – to stand in the scorching sun for a few hours, reciting a few words, pleading with their Creator, and crying their hearts out. And they walk around an ancient building, the first house of worship dedicated to the Creator, praising Him and supplicating for all that they desire.

Second chance
The experiences and lessons of Hajj are numerous, but for me, the most important result was the liberation I spoke of earlier – a second chance at life. A person who survives a near-fatal accident may relate, as could a reformed convict who leaves prison as a ‘new’ person.

After repentance on Hajj, the feeling of being completely forgiven – for every single sin you’ve ever committed – is truly amazing, and beyond words. It’s like a lightness of the soul – like there’s no longer this burden on your shoulders, and you literally feel pure and clean. Your mind feels more free, your spirit feels light, and you feel so much closer to your Creator. It’s really the most awesome feeling imaginable.

And it’s also empowering, because you now have this ‘clean slate’ – this second chance to start your life again, from a state of purity. And with that feeling, you’re more sensitive to every wrong you do. You can recognize it more easily, and you feel the need to repent or make up for it immediately – because now that you’re ‘clean’, you want to stay that way, and never let any spiritual ‘dirt’ pollute your heart again.

Naturally, it isn’t possible to remain on such a high for a sustained period. And in the few weeks since Hajj, such feelings of spiritual euphoria have decreased. But the effects of those feelings, and that experience, remain with me, and have hopefully benefitted me as I returned to my normal environment and responsibilities.

In Muslim circles, it’s a common cliché to say that Hajj really begins once you get home – meaning that Hajj itself is not the main challenge. The main challenge is what becomes your life’s mission after Hajj: to ‘live’ that Hajj by taking forward what you’ve learnt, and being that better person you were inspired to be.

I thank you for allowing me to share this account with you, and I hope that – regardless of your religious persuasion or belief system – you can take some benefit from these words, and that you yourself will have an experience of such magnitude in your life, if you haven’t already.

Note: This piece is a deviation from the current Hajj Chronicles series (part 2 of which is due this weekend insha-Allah). This one is a separate article, written for a non-muslim audience, which I hope to publish elsewhere at the appropriate time. As always, comments are welcome.

Image source: http://stevelummer.wordpress.com/2010/02/27/life-cycles/

Inside of a tent on Mina – the main camp site for Hajj

Why?

“Why would a person go for Hajj?”

It’s a simple question, and if you didn’t know enough about Hajj – or have a deep emotional attachment to it – you may struggle to find the answer.

Why would someone leave behind the security of their home, their family, their enjoyment – to go halfway across the world and spend days and nights in a simple, unflattering tent – where the only physical comforts are a mattress, blanket, and pillow (if they’re fortunate enough to get that).

Why would they leave behind the ease of riding in their car for a journey where they’ll be walking for miles and miles on dirty, congested roads, in huge crowds that they’d run away from?

Why would they leave behind the beauty of their clothing to wear nothing but two white, unstitched pieces of cloth – wherein they’ll look exactly the same as everyone else, with no physical adornments to separate them from the others?

Why would they go to a flat, empty plain – in the middle of a desert – to stand in the scorching sun for a few hours, reciting a few words, making a few requests, and crying their hearts out?

It comes down to motivation, and intention.

Intention

Everything starts with the intention, and the journey of Hajj is no different. Hajj starts long before you get to Makkah; and long before you leave your home.

In Islam, we know that the intention is absolutely critical. As the very famous hadith goes, actions are judged by intentions – and you will be rewarded according to what you intended. It’s a beautiful teaching that empowers one to know – without doubt – that every single (halaal) thing you do in life – if done with the right intention – can be considered an act of worship, which you will be rewarded for.

So when it comes to Hajj, it makes sense that the intention must be good – or else you’re wasting your time, energy, and money.

For me, my intentions were threefold:

1. to fulfil the obligation of Hajj placed upon me by Allah, thereby pleasing Him
2. to be completely forgiven for my lifetime of sins and mistakes, and
3. to be spiritually purified and strengthened to such a degree that I could make the important life changes and improvements that I wanted to make – thereby living a better life until my time on Earth expires

Danger

We also learn that intention is one of the most difficult things to maintain. The heart is unstable – always turning in different directions, so it can be hard to remain consistent in your motivations when you intend something.

But on top of that, the sworn enemy of mankind (shaytaan) is constantly trying to attack us – knowing that corrupting the intention would spoil the entire deed.

And the latter is most dangerous. Shaytaan works in the most subtle ways – slowly introducing thoughts, feelings, and temptations into our hearts and minds. And if we allow them in, they act like a slow poison, gradually infecting that intention and polluting it to the point that it’s no longer sincere or pure.

When it comes to Hajj, several things could spoil intentions, including:

• the promise of a ‘holiday’ from the rigours and responsibilities of everyday life and work
• the luxury and enjoyment of fancy hotels and good food which await in the hotels and restaurants (which you’ll frequent before the days of Hajj begin)
• the opportunity to shop, shop, and shop some more – finding Islamic clothing, books, and other items that you wouldn’t normally have the opportunity (or money) to get
• the esteemed status that many people in the Muslim community ascribe to you via the title Hajji (though I’m not sure if this is universal – it may just be a Cape Town thing)

As you can see, it’s a potential minefield to navigate.

So once you make your intention, your work really begins. For Hajj – like many things in life – we’re advised to regularly examine our intention and renew it; over and over – because if we preserve and protect the foundation / heart of the deed – then we preserve the deed itself.

Lessons to learn:

• Actions are judged according to intentions – so it’s important to always try to make the right intentions
• Intentions can be easily corrupted, so it’s important to stay on guard against all that which would pollute your intentions – both internal forces and external
• It’s important to consistently purify and renew your intentions

With this, I end this first part of the series. I realise that this post didn’t actually start on the trip yet – but I felt it important to cover this, since it’s the very foundation of the journey. I have many lessons to share later in this series, as well as experiences – like the nine hours I spent lost after Arafah, the time I got hit by a bike, and the phone that disappeared in a place nobody would venture to go.

But those stories are for a later time – and I hope you’ll stick around long enough to read about it. Stay tuned for the next part – hopefully up in two weeks insha-Allah.

 For now, I welcome your feedback – so feel free to leave comments below or send me a mail.

]]> http://dreamlife.wordpress.com/2011/11/26/hajj-chronicles-part-1-why/feed/ 1 Dreamlife Mina_tent http://dreamlife.wordpress.com/2011/11/22/hajj-chronicles-introduction-part-1/ http://dreamlife.wordpress.com/2011/11/22/hajj-chronicles-introduction-part-1/#comments Tue, 22 Nov 2011 09:46:54 +0000 Dreamlife http://dreamlife.wordpress.com/?p=1017 ]]>

As salaamualaikum everyone. I hope you all had a good Eid, a blessed 10 days of Dhul Hijjah, and a spiritually uplifting few weeks around Hajj time.

As you may know, if you’ve read the last few posts, I was away on Hajj, and returned a few days ago. And while there, I was able to do a lot of writing – some of which was posted on this blog – but most of which was not, since it was a personal journal.

Many people write Hajj journals or diaries, and I’m no different. Many people also publish those (or extracts from them)– and again, I’m no different.

Without doubt, I can say that this journey was the greatest – and most important – of my life. The experiences and places were amazing, and the lessons and insights I gained through the days and weeks were abundant.

And because of this, I’ve decided that I want to share that with my readers – in the hope of not only passing on what I’ve learnt, but also hopefully inspiring you to make this journey yourself – if you haven’t already been.

And for those who don’t think it possible, I again reiterate that there’s no need to consider current limitations – be those financial, physical, logistical (e.g. visas and quotas) or other – as barriers to this journey. It’s one that happens regardless of any obstacle that we can see or perceive. Allah chooses who goes – and if you sincerely want to go, and you make a good intention and follow that with dua, patience, and the right practical steps and attitude, then insha-Allah your time will come – even if you think it difficult or even impossible.

Hajj truly is the ‘journey of a lifetime’ – one that liberates you from your lifetime of sins and bad qualities. One that gives you a clean slate – a chance to start life again, in the spiritual sense, as if you’re a new-born baby. It’s one that teaches you how to re-orient your focus to what’s really important in life. It’s one that forces you to grow – because it takes you out of your comfort zones; teaching you qualities of character that you know are virtuous – yet you find difficult to practice in everyday life, in the absence of such challenges. And most importantly, it’s one that draws you closer and closer to your Creator – nurturing the relationship that is most important in life, and putting your existence, your purpose, and your responsibilities, into the proper perspective.

I hope that this series will be of tremendous benefit to not only you, but me as well – as lessons and reminders of how I need to live. Because – as the clichés go – Hajj doesn’t end when you leave Makkah and come home. It really begins at that point. Hajj itself is not the main challenge. The main challenge – and life’s mission – is to live that Hajj: to take forward what you’ve learnt; be that better person you were inspired to be; and always be progressing further and further on the path of living the best way you can in this world, so that you’re successful here and in the eternal realm of the Hereafter.

Also, I just wanted to note that the posts on this blog, insha-Allah, will be written for a Muslim audience – in terms of assuming the reader is familiar with certain Islamic / Arabic terms and background knowledge.  I also plan to write another version – which may differ in content – for a non-Muslim audience – where these assumptions are not made, and things are put in a way that someone with no prior knowledge of Islam or Arabic can understand. Details of that will follow later on, insha-Allah.

Having been in Makkah for over a week now, I’d like to use this post to extract a few lessons from my time here so far. From this, I’m hoping to gain reminders that will benefit both myself and the readers.

1. Change demands change
The difference in physical environment – between Makkah and Madinah – is immediately noticeable. Unlike the calm, peaceful serenity of Madinah – even when it was full of people – Makkah is the opposite. It’s very urban – very much a big city; fast-paced, always busy, and usually noisy. Yet this city, like Madinah, is one of the holiest on Earth. And if you want to feel the spirituality here, you need to adapt to the situation and put in the effort to make it happen for yourself.

The lesson here is that change is to be expected, and every external change requires individual, internal change – to adapt to the situation. If you fail to do that, you can end up frustrated and having a negative perception of what could otherwise be a wonderful experience.

2. Understanding differences
The people here, too, are different. Most of us are pilgrims (i.e. locals are only a minority right now), and many have also been to Madinah before getting here. But the attitudes are different here. Some people seem more aggressive and stressed out. It’s not uncommon to see people becoming angry – even inside the masjid. And the cultural differences come through, too.

In South Africa, and other parts of the world, we value fairness – waiting in line for your turn. But here, people from some places don’t seem to understand that concept. For example, when in a shop, they’d impatiently push their way forward and hold their item over your shoulder – presenting it to the teller, who they expect to instantly ring it up on the till. We’d find that behaviour very rude – but maybe that’s just the way they operate back home – due to poverty or circumstances they face. Maybe they have to be that way to survive – and they bring that mentality with them here. But it’s easy for us to be quick to judge them – without understanding the situations they’re coming from. We just expect that our standards of etiquette are universal, and everyone that doesn’t follow is just rude or uncultured. Yet that’s not the case for those whose everyday lives follow different norms and rules.

Similarly, we regard English as the most universal language in the world. But being here, you see that that’s not the case. Most people do not speak English – or if they do, not very comfortably at all.

The lesson here is to never impose your own ways – be it social etiquettes, language, or other – on other people, even if they look similar to you, or share common attributes such as religion. The Earth is a vast, extremely varied place, and it’s rather self-centred to hold an attitude that your way is the “right” way – whether you consciously adopt that attitude, or it just comes in because you’ve always been surrounded by people like yourself.

3. Complaints come too easily
I’ve made many complaints about things that have happened so far, and also heard complaints from others. And what strikes me is how quick we are to complain when things aren’t to our liking.

Instead of looking at people who are worse off than us, we tend to expect that we’ll keep getting our pampered, easy standards of living – like we’re entitled to comfort and ease.

One complaint is the physical hardship of the rituals here in Makkah. For example, during umrah the other night, the pain finally kicked in for me. It was probably past midnight, and we were halfway through the Sa’ee – which is a walking of 7 circuits between the hills of Saffa and Marwa, representing the actions of Hajar (may Allah be pleased with her), the wife Prophet Ibrahim (may peace be upon him).

It was late at night, and with the tawwaf finished – which was already a physical exertion – we were halfway through sa’ee, and my feet started aching. But then I thought of who I was emulating in this act. How she did this – this distance 7 times. She didn’t have the comfortable building we had – no roof. And she did it in the daytime, with no fans or airconditioning, in the incredible heat of this Arabian desert. She had nothing around at all – and was driven by the desperation of her son’s imminent death, if she found no food or water.

These two hills that we walk between are Allah’s symbols – “…Al-Safa and Al-Marwa are among the signs of Allah…” (Surah Baqarah verse 158). These symbols are meant to help us remember the hardship of our pious predecessors. How close they were to Allah, and what they struggled through. And we re-enact that today, but in relative ease. And still it’s too physically intense for us. Still we complain or comment about its difficulty.

Another example is the heat. We complain about how hot it is here (and it is very, very hot – as compared to South African standards). But the companion Bilal (may Allah be pleased with him) was persecuted in this heat. He was tied down – out in the open, in the hot, burning, mid-day sun, and whipped – with his master trying to get him to renounce the faith of Islam. Yet his faith was so strong that it didn’t break him. He withstood that heat and punishment for Allah’s sake – even though he could have lied and said words to appease his master (which is allowed – as a show, to save your life when you’re being persecuted). Yet he withstood the pain and torment. And maybe that’s why the Prophet s.a.w. heard his footsteps in Jannah. It was that sacrifice of his – which we need to learn from.

So the lesson here is that whenever anything is not to our liking, it’s better to favour silence rather than speech. Stop and think of whether that complaint is really necessary. Think of those who went through it before, and how their patience earned them tremendous reward. And if those stories of the past are too far for us to imagine, think of those people who – in present times – face hardships and conditions worse than yours. When it comes to worldly conditions and things, always look at those below you, or who have it worse off than you, and you won’t complain – rather, you’ll be grateful for what you have.

4. Using precious time
Though we haven’t taken enough advantage of it, the time in the masjid is awesome. As one person said, you go there to charge your spirituality. And I’ve definitely felt that, particularly for some of the long stretches I’ve spent inside. For example, for Jumuah on Friday, you need to go very early to get a decent spot. Those couple of hours waiting provide immense opportunity to focus on the acts of worship that nourish your spirituality and help you focus on the important things – which you would be too distracted to do outside the masjid, given the distractions outside.

Whether it’s reading Quran in Arabic, or the translation of the meaning in English, or reading other material, making thikr, making dua, listening to a lecture (on an MP3 player), writing, engaging in self-reflection, or making plans for life improvements – there’s a huge amount you can do when you have to wait – particularly in that type of environment.

This is a lesson I’d like to take forward into the future – something that can help me be productive in any situation where a wait is involved. This is a simple lesson that can be applied not just here, but in any masjid – wherever you are – because all the houses of Allah (i.e. mosques) are places of barakah.

This trip has taught me the value of always having beneficial things to do to – whether it’s any of the abovementioned stuff, or just relaxing and unplugging your brain from doing anything at all.

In public, on trains and busses etc, people are always on their cellphones or BlackBerrys – checking email, on the Internet, Facebook, or Twitter. It’s like a plague that’s swept the general population – myself included. And while those activities are important at times, I think it’s worth it for each of us to honestly analyse the time we spend on those things: what proportion of that time is actually necessary? And of that, what proportion is actually beneficial? And then compare that to the proportion of time where we’re just doing it to pass the time, or keep our hands and minds busy.

Time is precious, and instead of wasting it on things that are of no/little benefit – or even harmful – it’s better to always be prepared, and have something beneficial to do.

That’s it for now. I hope to share more lessons or other posts later on, insha-Allah; but in the meantime, I hope you’ve benefitted from these last few Hajj-related posts.

I like rooftops because they are freedom.

As I write this, I’m seated on one.
No ordinary one, mind you;
but one in a city of immense peace;
on top of a building so blessed that only one other is greater than it.

Generally, people aren’t aware of rooftops.
They live their lives down below,
never thinking of how serene and peaceful the world above is.

It’s the same in this place:
hundreds of thousands have come to this city,
to this building,
yet only a fraction have ventured up to this rooftop.

Down below, the crowds are swelling -
with new faces each and every day,
from places far and wide,
each with a culture,
a nationality,
a family,
a unique life story.

We meet each other -
all speaking different languages,
sometimes not able to communicate at all,
other than in sign language -
yet our greeting is the same;
a universal greeting of peace -
taught to us by the Messenger of peace,
who established this,
our community,
in this very place
some fourteen centuries ago.

He would be proud
to see his nation gathered here today -
such variety in colour, speech, and manner -
but all committed to the way of life he brought.

All here to visit him,
and honour his resting place -
the ground where he,
along with the giants of his generation,
strove to build a society
based on justice,
peace,
and universal principles of goodness –
recognised by every single soul –
whether they know it or not.

They walked this very earth -
by day and night,
in wartime and during peace,
hardship and times of ease;
knowing that their time here was only temporary -
a short period of tests -
the results of which would determine
their home in the eternal realm.

And some were assured of their success even before their earthly life ended;
yet still they struggled,
still they strove,
still they feared
that they weren’t living up to the life expected of them.

Yet that generation
was the best of people raised up for mankind.

They enjoined what was good,
and forbade what was evil;
and most importantly,
they believed in God.

And our generation today
doesn’t live up to that example –
instead succumbing
to the cultural pollution
of nations that do not truly believe in their Creator.
For if they did,
their lives would reflect more justice,
God-consciousness,
and eagerness to fulfil the responsibilities placed upon them
as stewards of this Earth.

Yet in this blessed place,
this generation –
those who have come to visit –
witnesses the way life should be.

We feel the tranquillity of the way of life we call our own.

We experience it first hand –
in ways we could never experience back home.

We feel spiritually rejuvenated
by this environment –
re-establishing our connection to our Creator,
the Owner of Peace,
the Master of all things –
both worldly and beyond human comprehension.

Grown men break down in tears –
begging their Lord for forgiveness,
and supplicating for all that they need in their lives,
and all that they desire in their existence.

Desperate pleas,
made with such sincerity –
both in private,
and where others can see them –
but without inhibition,
for in those moments,
nobody else matters:
it’s just them and their Lord –
without anyone or anything to break that bond.

And so
this City of Peace
serves as a purifier for the souls that visit it;
helping to wash away years,
decades,
and lifetimes of mistakes –
and giving hope that maybe,
just maybe,
when our journeys take us back home,
we’ll be able to recapture some of the magic we felt here,
and live lives of peace, justice, and submission
to the One we owe everything to.

*This piece was inspired by my time in Madinah, on the rooftop of the Prophet Muhammad’s (peace be upon him) mosque, a few weeks prior to Hajj 2011.

I know I’d planned to not post anything while I’m away, but the opportunity came up, so I’d like to share some of the experience so far.

We’ve been in Madinah for about 24 hours now, and just this first day has made me feel like this is a piece of Jannah. Of course, quite literally, there is a piece of Jannah on the earth here – the rhodatul jannah – which is a piece of land, from this earth, that will be in Jannah.

But beyond that, there’s so much else that makes it feel like an other-worldly experience. People always talk about the calm, peace and tranquillity here, and I’ve definitely felt it – alhamdullilah. To be fair, we haven’t ventured far at all yet – just Masjid un-Nabawi (the Prophet Muhammad s.a.w.’s mosque), the hotel, and a few streets around the area. But in this limited time and geographical range so far, what strikes me most is that this place in such an environment of Islam. The atmosphere is unlike anywhere I’ve been.

The radio station we heard in the bus, and the shops so far, contain no music. Just Quran and narrations of hadiths. It’s a contrast to other Arab countries, like Egypt, where the cultural influence means that music is just a normal part of life – be it Arab / eastern music, or other. It’s refreshing for me, because living in South Africa, and having been to other Western countries, music is ubiquitous. You can never escape it.

It seems like almost everyone here is geared towards worship – the visiting pilgrims, I mean; as well as the locals in the masjid. As I write this, it’s after maghrib in the masjid, and there are Quran classes going on for kids. Teachers and students sitting together in some places, with kids taking notes as the teacher teaches. Others are reading Quran. There are study circles – halaqahs – of adult men. Other people are making tasbeeh. Some make dua. Others are sleeping. Some are just talking to each other.

This is the ultimate environment of deen. It’s so perfect, and something that I think the heart yearns for. Like it’s so natural. Like this is home.

Since I’m in the male section, I can’t speak for the ladies section – so I don’t know what the experience is like there. But here, there are old men, young men, boys, and just a mix of all different ages. And different nationalities. It’s like the Ummah is here – so many different people. A lot of Turks; some Indians; many Malaysians and Indonesians. On the flight in, we had a large group from Thailand. And in the coming days, apparently, many more will be arriving.

It’s interesting to see how different nationalities identify themselves. The Turks all wear khakis. The Malaysian women – or some other country (not sure) – were wearing bright pink hjabs. Some Indonesians had bright markings on their clothing. And not a group of them are walking past – wearing what seems to be their traditional cultural clothing, which is very colourful.

I imagine Jannah is something like this. All different types of people in one place – all united by Islam – and all worshipping Allah in the various ways available. Alhamdullilah.

And the zam-zam water! It’s here – so abundantly. Anytime you want, you just go and get. It’s not only a thirst quencher, but also – as one of the sheikhs here said – ‘magic water’, in that it’s a cure for every sickness, and something that every person – each and every unique person – can drink with the intention of Allah using it to cure them of whatever they need cure from. As the hadith goes, it is what you intend it to be. Which is why it’s good to make specific  intentions / duas each time you drink. If you can get it back home, do so.

The other great thing is that you have to be early for salaah, or else you may not get a spot in the masjid. And coming so early is filled with blessings. Every moment in the masjid, while waiting for athaan, is an act of worship – even if you do nothing at all. There’s time to make extra salaahs, read Quran, make thikr, or just anything you want. And at salaah times, the imam takes his time to read – no rushing. And after salaah, the imam doesn’t make a congregational dua. You’re free to read whatever you want to – it’s not like home (and other places, probably), where the imam makes his thikr and dua over the speaker system, which means that you either follow along, or you go and do your own thing while still hearing him (which isn’t so easy if you need to concentrate). Here, you’re totally free to do whatever thikrs, or make whatever duas, you want.

Alhamdullilah – this has been an amazing journey so far – even without siteseeing, and even despite some difficulties of travel. It’s a journey that I wish for each and every person; and one that is possible for everyone – no matter what their circumstance; since Allah can grant it to whoever He wants.

May Allah take each and every one of us on this journey, and to this blessed city of Madinah – over and over again.