It’s happening again.

Those blessed individuals who were chosen to go on Hajj this year have started to make their way towards Madinah and Makkah – leaving the comforts of their homes, their families, and their everyday lives to fulfill the fifth pillar of Islam – likely their own spiritual pinnacle, too.

The departure committees oversee elaborate farewells in homes, and the airports are packed with well-wishers – annual occurrences that never fail to bring tears to the eye, as the elite of the ummah set off on the journey of a lifetime.

Seven years ago, I was one of them. Our house was packed to capacity the night before our departure. Our families came to the airport to see us off, with the most difficult separation – for me – being leaving our then-2-year old daughter. I cried the night before, as I watched her sleep. I made such desperate, deep duas for her well-being. This was my personal journey – my calling, which I had so yearned for, and now finally needed to answer. But what if I never came back? What if this journey was to be one where I left not only my residential home, but my earthly existence, too? How would she survive? Would she remember me?

I feel for those who leave their kids behind to undertake this trip. It’s heart-breaking…but it’s a necessary pain. It teaches us that, no matter how strong our attachments to the people we have in this life, we have to leave at some point. We have to meet our Creator. The same goes for attachments to material possessions and status.

Hajj is a journey to Allah in this life – which prepares us for our journey to Him in the Hereafter.

We shed our attachments. Literally. Because when we enter ihraam – for men, at least (because women dress differently) – there’s nothing to distinguish us. We all wear the same 2 white cloths. We do not adorn ourselves with special scents that show what we can afford. The prince and the pauper look the same. We are humbled. We are indistinguishable. We are equal.

In a world where ‘equality’ is a holy grail – a buzzword thrown around so loosely – Hajj is an experience that truly levels the playing field.

We all sleep in simple tents on Mina. We all go to Arafah and stand – in the burning afternoon sun – pouring our hearts out in desperate supplication to the Almighty. Our Creator. Our Nourisher. Our Sustainer. The One Who has been so close to us from our time in the womb, and remains with us until our demise. The One Who knows what we say and do, and what lurks in our thoughts, our desires…our hearts.

We all make our way to Muzdalifah, finding a patch of cement to call our bed for the night, after which we return to Mina for the symbolic pelting of mankind’s common enemy – who has been deceiving our species since the very beginning.

Everyone returns to the Kabah for another tawaf and sa’ee – pushing our weary bones to the limits of physical exertion – before returning to Mina to see out the final days of what we hope will be a transformational experience.

These are priceless moments. A journey like no other – where you witness the bounties of your Lord, and attain spiritual highs that you may never reach again.

My wishes for you

• For those who are going this year:
  My duas are with you. I hope you can take some benefit from the stuff I put together years ago…lessons extracted from my own experience, which I reduced to a few tipsheets. (Find those here, along with advice for you once you get home.)
• For those who have yet to go:
  May your calling come soon, and may all obstacles melt away so that your path is clear for the fulfillment of this dream. Maybe you’ve been yearning for it for the longest time. Or maybe you don’t consider yourself ready yet (here’s advice for that). Or maybe you’re not ‘religious enough’ and think this isn’t for you…whatever the case, we plan, but Allah is the best of planners. This is something you need to do…and once you do, you’ll realise the value of it.
• For those who have already gone:
  These are exciting times, but tinged with sadness and much nostalgia – because we yearn to be among those chosen guests this year. Please turn this emotion into spiritually-beneficial actions. And once Dhul Hijjah arrives, make sure that you make the most of those blessed days – particularly the Day of Wuqoof. We can’t be there this time, but we can still make it an amazing day, insha-Allah. (Some advice on that is here.)
• For those who are not Muslim:
  If you’re not familiar with the terminology, this post is probably a blur. It’s difficult to fully convey what the Hajj means to Muslims, but I hope that my words have – in some small way – at least given you some idea. I actually started writing an entire series documenting my Hajj – aimed at a multi-faith audience, but that project didn’t get too far. I may return to it at some point. Please browse through the early pieces, though: Pre-series piece | Part 1 | Part 2 | Part 3.Either way, it’s my deep wish that you’ll take an interest in this year’s Hajj – discussing it with some of your Muslim colleagues, friends, or even Muslim religious leaders in your area; and perhaps also watching some of the live footage once the Hajj begins…particularly on the Day of Arafah, in which you’ll witness the incredible sights of millions converging onto a single plain. (You can watch live pictures on Huda TV, Islam Channel, or ITV South Africa.)

For those interested, my detailed account of my Hajj journey is available as an e-book: Hajj Chronicles (PDF).

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