The Hayaa Oasis

Makkah is no longer the safe haven of a Muslim or Muslimah. When pilgrims bring shocking behaviours so nauseating it would humiliate the ummah if the Prophet (salallahu ‘alaihi wassalam) witnessed it, what can we do but hide in isolation?

Weekly Writes written by Umm Idris. 11.04.24, 12:00pm.

Almost two decades ago, I had the privilege of experiencing Umrah as a child during a period where the number of pilgrims didn’t flood the tawaf so much so you can barely see your feet. As vague as the memory was due to the age of innocence, I remembered the weight of preparations made for such a spiritual journey. You would take weekend classes for months before the trip. I recall my first time stepping into the Haram boundaries and feeling a level of seriousness in the air. You must watch over your actions and intentions at all times and you were afraid of even the risk of breaking your ihram. The first sight of the kaa’bah astounds you, and your breath hitches at the shock of this reality. Your mind goes straight into what you spend weeks memorizing and learning – the duas (supplications), the process of umrah and exactly what must be done, in its exact order and in a precise manner. You’re afraid of even making a single error for your first umrah. Your heart attaches itself to Madinah and you forget life because in Madinah, the hustle of dunya conceals itself. Globalisation, consumerism, and all that reminds you of living disappears as you focus on only ibadah and Allah (subhana wa ta’ala). When you travel to the lands of Haram, you become set free. You feel as though you finally reached home for the first time in your life!

But today, everything has changed so much. I feel nauseated at the thought of parts of our spiritual journey that went incredibly wrong. The instance you enter Makkah (because that was where we first landed) felt familiar, the quiet empty lands, that feeling of connectedness the more you utter the talbiyah and internalised its meaning. Your heart is exhilarated and you feel joy at returning home once again. You find yourself imagining what would be when you step foot into Masjid Al-Haram again, and your eyes well up in tears. Until you’re 5 minutes away from it, heading straight to your accommodation first to drop off the luggage. Suddenly, you’re hit with an overwhelming visual stimulation of multiple high-rise buildings blocking what was once a gentle serene view, theglaring lights and endless streams of shops assaults your senses as you take in the shocking masses of pilgrims about. The peace you craved never came. No matter. It is a great joy to witness that our numbers have grown by the millions! But for some reason, my heart grew unsettled and I thought to myself that perhaps it was the anxiety of wanting to complete a perfect umrah as an adult. It wasn’t until much later did I realise that the trials and tests I experience during umrah have multiplied tenfold, a growing exponential that followed the growth of the crowd over the years.

While I was and still am so incredibly grateful for His invitation to return for umrah with my husband, I am frightened at the experience I had as a fellow pilgrim. What used to be a purely spiritual experience for a tawaf had turned into a battle of prioritising one’s safety and needs (for completion of tawaf in a timely manner) and balancing immersing oneself in their own umrah experience. The crowd in the ground floor was charged with incredible energy. People – especially those who didn’t travel in groups – had to be responsible of their own safety and security, and the ownership of caring for their hayaa. The task was simple: do not get overwhelmed by the crowd while you focus on reciting your duas (supplications) and while you ensure that you do not miss all the fardh steps of the tawaf.

I was incredibly lucky to have my husband who, despite it being his first time, was very prepared to guard me and keep me on track with my tawaf counts whilst reminding me the small details that were drowned out by the overwhelming atmosphere. For a woman of my physical state – smaller than most men, introverted and incredibly hesitant to take a stand -, I was mostly drowning in the crowd and I could feel myself reeling in away from anyone and everyone shoving their way through. Wearing a jilbab that covered almost all of me ensured that I would not come into physical contact with non-mahrams. I recalled keeping my hands pressed tightly against myself, my guide book of duas (supplications) and transliterations in hand for me to focus on and my left arm locked with my husband. While I buried my head into my book and focused on my ibadah, I felt sensations of being jolted, jostled and even shoved forward. I was only so thankful that my husband took strict precautions in keeping me out of harm’s way, and away from the male pilgrims who for some strange reason found it rational to maintain the sunnah of trotting the first three rounds despite the massive crowds and the high risks of harming women, elderly and children. Upon reflection, I realised just how frightening this moment was. Imagine our day of Qiyamah. When everyone stops caring for another and only thinks of themselves. Imagine on that day, even your own closest beloved will not be there to save you. And you won’t be there to help them either. This is just a glimpse of what Muslims will all be like upon Qiyamah, isn’t it?  

Doesn’t it make your blood run cold at how we still worry ourselves over what other people think of us rather than what Allah (subhana wa ta’ala) thinks of us? Makes you wonder why our people today are fixated on reputations… Why do we worry about the perception of the created over that of Our Creator?

Anyway, the experience of the sa’i was so much less intense. Granted, we did our umrah a lot later after midnight. It was calmer, and it gave me plenty time to think clearly and really make time for my curated duas (supplications), dhikr, and sending salam to our beloved Prophet (salallahu ‘alaihi wassalam). Our walk back to the hotel was thankfully easy, despite the crowd. Upon breaking ihram in the hotel, I reflected on the morning I had and what I witnessed but tried so hard to block out. As I tried feverishly to simply focus on my own ibadah, my heart cannot help but feel unsettled as the sight of a good portion of pilgrims who make tawaf, attend jum’aah and even go about in public without the proper conditions of the hijab. Both the men and women! I discovered many men in ihram who neglect the severity of the penalties that come with improper coverage of the ihram. Those who found no need to cover their belly buttons, even carelessly leaving their top half of the cloth carelessly open in view of women. Yes, that part of the chest not haram per say to expose but where is the modesty in this?! Women who are perfumed heavily, some clothed in excessively attractive hijabs, jilbabs or abayas, many in make up with no care as to how this constitutes as an adornment for women. The unnecessary amount of jewelry only adds on to the distraction it brings for the pilgrims around them. What filthy  form of fitnah this is. In the heart of where we direct our prayers toward?!

I recalled my heart felt heated and constricted at the sight of many casually take social media photos and poses for over an hour with the kaa’bah as they block pilgrims who are trying to complete their ibadah. My husband recalled one woman even took so long that we kept bumping into her when we completed another tawaf. Is this all we are reduced to today? A bunch of Muslims who take pilgrimage so lightly that it is only ever truly completed if we get to take a selfie to commemorate this? Is the kaa’bah just a backdrop to us now? I wanted to take a photo of just the kaa’bah for my own memories. So that I could look back and remember the last moment before we left. But what I witnessed repelled me so much that I never took a single picture in Makkah except that of my children in the hotel. The humiliation of being one of them who would trivialize the act of pilgrimage nauseated me to my very core. I swore to myself that our umrah that day will not be a chapter of our travel book. It was our act of ibadah and that alone.

Unfortunately, what I witnessed was not the worst of what was yet to come. Our experience with a handful of pilgrims at Makkah permanently tainted our umrah. Yes, in hindsight, that was a true test and trial given to us by Allah (subhana wa ta’ala). Maybe a trial of patience, perhaps a trial of protectiveness for one another as spouses. You see… in two separate occasions, both my husband and I – both with strollers where our sleeping children lay during those events) – were either sexually assaulted or almost sexually assaulted.

On many occasions I would often experience a grazing and smacking sensation against my waist or bum, and I often attributed to accidents because of how packed the streets and malls were. Husnuzon, they say. Unless you are confident and sure of one’s intent, accept that it may very well be accidental and not one of evil desire. But one incident confirmed my suspicions and truly broke me within the boundaries of Masjid Al-Haram. As we carefully and patiently made our way through the crowd in the day to go to a mall and purchase some food for the children for lunch, we had to get creative in our pathway so that we didn’t inconvenience others due to our strollers. While my husband led the way with our son, I followed closely and cautiously with my daughter in another stroller, passing by two elder ladies who walked in the same direction as us.

Not even ten seconds later, a solid smack was felt on my bum and I jumped and froze in shock. Swiftly turning around, the two women looked at me in surprise, wide – eyed as a blur of white disappeared past them. I tracked its direction with my eyes and met the gaze of three men who looked at me. They looked shocked and wide-eyed, rage and disbelief slowly brewed amongst them as their body instinctively leaned even further away from me to give me additional personal space. They were barely a 2 metres away from me, and yet five witnesses saw the exact same thing – judging from their expressions of horror and disapproval. A man had taken advantage of the rush of the crowd to simply… assault any woman he chose within his reach, and because of the amount of people, he was easily able to disappear as quickly as he came by. I felt my eyes well up in tears as the anger of my witnesses turned into sympathy and frustration. My husband sped to me alarmed and unaware. I do not blame him at all, barely two seconds had passed since he turned and checked on me last. I still recall the shock in my voice when I told him, “Someone just touched me.”

You never forget the pain in your partner’s eyes when he discovers that despite his best efforts, especially in a land of Muslims where we are held to such high standards of caution for such matters, the woman he is charged with the responsibility of maintaining and protecting was harmed in the most immodest way by a stranger who felt that he had a right to take what he desired. As I sit here reflecting in land of the disbelievers where Qurans can be burned in the name of free speech, where the hostile would glare, hiss, and react hatefully at the existence of myself, I realised that I had never felt physically unsafe in a manner where I would be in real danger. Goodness sake, the immigration we first crossed in Europe before we arrived in Dubai respectfully asked the disbelieving men to turn away from me so as to not look upon my face or even on my passport while their female colleague completes the necessary checks for a niqabi. But when we arrived in UAE? The muslim male employees paid no discomfort at openly gazing upon a husband’s wife despite having a camera to authenticate me and my passport, without the need for his longer-than-necessary roaming gaze.

Even then, you anticipate sexual assaults of such form would likely happen to a woman – that is the saddest reality of today’s fitnah. However, what I still get furious about whenever I remember what happened was the near sexual assault that occurred in the mall to my husband. While we were queuing to order some dinner while our sleeping children were with their grandparent in their strollers, a woman in her early 40s started queuing uncomfortably close to us. I stood by my husband’s side and noticed it first. Immediately thinking well of others and assuming it was because the malls were incredibly crowded, I assumed that she may be pushed forward or was forced by the lack of space behind her. It wasn’t until I felt her creeping closer that I turned properly and saw only one or two behind her and a rather spacious area around her vicinity that I realise she was intentionally moving closer to him. My senses were instantly overwhelmed by her unnaturally tight abaya that hugged the shape of her breasts tightly – her bosoms strangely pushed up as she stared confrontationally at me. Her face caked with make-up, and her bright red lipstick curved upwards, a smirk condescendingly confident as she met my gaze.

Her mockery accompanied an eyebrow raise that immediately irked me. I gazed pointedly at the closing gap against my husband’s back for a couple seconds to indicate to her that she needs to put some distance between them. I turned away hoping it was enough to embarrass her and caution her against her recklessness. It was Makkah, I was not about to start a fight with some random dull woman. Fights are haram and incredibly disliked with these holy boundaries! I tried to shake my discomfort off, but before I could, I felt her presence creep closer not a second later, the warmth of her body could be felt even through my jilbab. Realising exactly what was happening, my protectiveness kicked in and I whipped my head back and faced her, my eyes casting daggers as rage fuelled me. HER BREASTS WERE BARELY INCHES AWAY FROM HIS BACK! In the split second I made a sharp motion with my hands, indicating that she was causing fitnah by pressing herself closer into his personal space on purpose and swiftly shoved myself behind him so that she couldn’t get nearer.  The woman laughed mockingly and rolled her eyes. She looked around her and I and made a mockery of the severity of her actions, brushing her disgusting display off to the people around her as though she did not just try to seduce another woman’s husband. It all happened so quickly that my poor husband barely made head nor tail of what happened – he was overwhelmed by the crowd and distracted by the spam of business messages to notice even a hovering presence inching closer behind him as he was already uncomfortably sweating from the rather hot day.

In one umrah trip, both of us faced challenges beyond our imagination. Trials of fitnah right in the very lands where we used to believe that we are safest. I still remember the sensation of being sexually assaulted on my bum. I memorized the face of the woman who tried to assault my husband. I recall the aggressive pilgrims around me during my tawaf, many of whom had to be pushed away by my husband for my safety. I didn’t forget any of it. I just want to understand… why is this becoming more and more common?

What have we Muslims become? How are we okay with such experiences being a new normal for other Muslims? This is not to say that I only have complaints about our umrah experience, no. But in this article, it is what I am fixating on because I cannot for the life of me understand how one can proudly declare that they are a Muslim while pissing on the rights of others around them. Tell me, is the dignity of the elders, the women, and the children not more important than you having to slow down and take a longer time to complete your tawaf? Are starving so much so that you need to press your very being against others in a queue for food? Do you think it is honourable to sexually harass or assault another woman within these holy lands? Are you not afraid of returning home after your pilgrimage, only to one day realise that your ibadah wasn’t accepted because you dishonored others around you?

Perhaps this is the world of Muslims today. We are gradually deteriorating and turning into the people of ignorance as predicted. And for those of us who are still awake, I pray that we will be granted mercy during the toughest of trials. Amin.