Hajjnotes (1)

Bismillah -il-'rahmaan -il-'raheem

“This pilgrimage to the Holiest of Cities has been a unique experience for me, but one which has made me the recipient of numerous unexpected blessings beyond my wildest dreams.” (Malcolm X) (1)

Even though it’s not yet been a very long time,(2) what has surprised me somewhat since I returned from hajj is how quickly my memories blurred, and how glad I am now in retrospect that I even briefly noted down bits and pieces of what I was thinking at the time. (3) The intervening period has allowed some time for the thoughts to germinate, and occasionally, often in the most unlikely of places, a seed will suddenly sprout, or some link will forge itself, and flesh out an inchoate thought into something more coherent, and that is so helpful now that I no longer have the luxury of that instinctive and heightened sense of feeling that I had then, or even, regrettably, the ability to really recall what that was.

Quite fortuitously, I recently came across a lovely quote of Fanon that goes some way in describing how I feel about writing this, and how I was moved out of inertia to actually do it.

“The discovery of writing is certainly the most beautiful one, since it allows you to recall yourself, to present things that have happened in order, and above all to communicate with others even when they are absent” (4)

My primary interest with this particular piece of writing, selfishly I suppose, would be the first, but of course, the other reasons are there too. I’ll try to make it at least slightly beneficial in terms of including some points I’ve remembered from sh. A’s teaching when it’s relevant or I found it particularly helpful in shaping my perspective on a situation. (5)

On the gathering of people for Hajj

(i) It is said, “Ibrahim made a call.” And yet what a call, and what an acceptance from God. He called, and God facilitated the call, and so the people came, and came, and came, and come, and will come.

وَأَذِّن فِي النَّاسِ بِالْحَجِّ يَأْتُوكَ رِجَالًا وَعَلَىٰ كُلِّ ضَامِرٍ يَأْتِينَ مِن كُلِّ فَجٍّ عَمِيقٍ –22:27

I kept thinking of this verse. When I was young, I remember learning the meaning of fajj, and looking up the meaning in English, and then having to look up what a ravine was. That imagery has always stayed with me. When I first read Asad’s Road to Mecca many years ago, (6) I remember breathlessly reading the scene about the camels thundering past, and all I could think about was this verse. I have read that extract many times since – it is a beautifully written scene – and resonates all the more having done hajj. (It makes me smile in my heart until it spills out onto my face). I don’t recall seeing any camels during my hajj, but no doubt even now, parts of the journeys of some will have been made on camels, and many more on foot. Consider this: Ibrahim made a seemingly bizarre call in answer to God’s command, and God made all of this happen. All of this that you see around you happened because he submitted. Just because he submitted. Then what of you, unyielding, even whilst your nose is in the dust?

(ii) There is something that really must be witnessed in person, and is almost inexplicably overwhelming, about the sheer number of people that travel for hajj, and assemble in Makkah and the other sacred places.(7) Yet it is not merely, or even primarily, about the number, because in years past, certainly that number was much smaller, and yet I feel that the awe that I felt was shared by all those who came before me. Of course, there is something utterly unique about the reason all these people have gathered, and what they commemorate, and what they seek. But also, I think it is something to do with the number of people being - really and not just apparently - from not simply so many different places, but so many different backgrounds: the rich and poor, educated and illiterate, healthy and sickly, motivated and lazy, happy and grieving, observant and sinner; almost any distinction you could make between people, apart from that of believer and non-believer, is a distinction that, even if only temporarily, is shown to be meaningless, as it will ultimately be – and this is somehow perceived instinctively and completely within the very core of your being. There is no doubt in my mind whatsoever that I would never meet people, together, from such a variety of backgrounds, on such a level of equality, in any other circumstance in my life. Of course, I meet people who are different to me all the time – I meet poor people, people who have no home or family, people who have never been to school, who can’t read and write, who had children at 13 years old, people who have experienced horrific trauma and circumstances one finds difficult to even imagine; I am even witness to their stories in the most intimate of ways. But whilst this happens in this country, there are always similarities between us; and of course, there is always the imbalance of power. They see me because I am their doctor; I see them because they are my patients; the wall is erect, invisible, permeable even at times, but ever present. (8) It is almost impossible, certainly if you live the conventional life, to meet people who are very different to you, and most importantly, I include in that, ‘different’ at a very fundamental level in how they view, engage with, and make sense of the world. This is notwithstanding the fact that  more people than ever in the West travel, including in the course of ‘volunteering’ or suchlike, and apparently have rather a lot of interaction with people who live seemingly different kinds of lives to their own. (9) Even performing umrah at any other time of the year cannot come close to the experience of hajj, because I am sure that the rich and local (and both are relative terms) are vastly over-represented. Much of the Muslim world could not even conceive of the possibility of a voluntary umrah, when the hajj itself remains a distant dream. For many, this will be the first, and perhaps only, time they will travel out of their country, and many others now in their old-age, have waited heart-achingly long years for this opportunity. It was simultaneously humbling and exhilarating: oh, I am part of this? Somehow – and I am not sure exactly how – I was whisked away in a ray of His mercy, and ended up here, with all these people, who are nothing like me and yet just like me. My people. The ummah who responded.

(iii) I read or heard somewhere before I went for hajj a reminder to think that every year without fail for over 1400 years, people from all over the world have been leaving their homes, and travelling for hajj. Despite all of the events that have happened in history, empires risen and fallen, wars fought and lost, massacres and famines, corpses buried and children borne - throughout all of this, the hajj remained: enduring, immutable, both transcending time and being necessarily of it. I thought about this a lot, often during tawaf or whilst walking to the jamaraat, when I had the opportunity to see the backs of people, what they wore and carried, and what that indicated about where they were from. Of course, there were people from every country I could imagine, places I could not even, to my shame, point to accurately on a map. Yet more than that even, there were people from Syria, Iraq, Kurdistan, Palestine, Afghanistan, China; people who were hurting so much, so much, their very hearts riven, yet in spite of that, in the midst of all the pain and turmoil, had left their countries and travelled, only God knows really how, to be here, walking next to me. They had somehow understood something I hadn’t, something about the millah of Ibrahim, and that it had to be upheld, that the call is to be answered, that even in the most awful of circumstances, or perhaps certainly in the most awful of circumstances, God is to be turned to, to be travelled to, to be submitted to, absolutely. It made me think about things I have always taken for granted because they made intuitive sense from my experience, like Maslow’s hierarchy of needs, and realise that it was simply that – my flawed experience – that made me accept it unthinkingly and uncritically, and yet be so critical of the possibility of achieving the higher ground that Islam calls to, that is necessarily entailed in submitting completely to God, because I had never really seen this enacted, and possibly on some level have never really believed that it could be, by mere humans like me. Many of these people did not have security and food, yet desired something beyond self-actualisation! (may God give them what they desired and more). It is as if even now I read the names of cities stamped in blue on the long white burqas of the old Afghan ladies, read the names of cities on the dusty brown waistcoats of the men from Kurdistan, read the names of cities on the shawls of the women from Syria; read the names of cities I know only from the news, Kunduz and Kandahar, Suleymaniyah and Dohuk, Halab: cities of the believers, their people, noble in peace and war, unwavering, resolute, answering the call. My world is all upside down; everything is in disarray; what made sense no longer does, and what did not make sense now does. All I know for certain is that their Lord and my Lord is One. (10)

(iv) After completing the sa’y of umrah, I was trying to make my way back to the hotel, and due to a combination of various exits being blocked and my dire navigating skills, was unable to orientate myself in the crowd of people, and I found myself lost, having to take a long detour around the courtyard of the masjid. I was feeling tired and sad, and annoyed at myself for having ended up so far from where I wanted to be. I trudged along, weaving slowly between, and against, the flow of people, trying to get back to a landmark I recognised. Looking up, suddenly, I saw a very large group of African men, over a hundred I am certain, stretching backwards into the distance, in ihram, reciting the talbiyah loudly, walking towards one of the main doors of the masjid. Impossibly, as it seemed to me, as they filed forward, the huge crowd I was in appeared to part by itself in deference to this group. There was something so striking about this picture, this never-ending line of men surging forwards and the crowd parting to let them through, the white ihram against black skin, the talbiyah repeated, loud and exultant. I looked around me, and all around were people who had stopped to look. On my right, a young man who seemed to be from a Western country looked on in obvious awe. As the last few men of the group passed us, a charming little scene played out in front of me. The man next to me, as if unsure of how to respond in a fitting way to such a sight, finally put his hand up for a high-five; and even as he marched past, one of the men closest to us turned slightly and put his hand up in response. And as their palms met, their eyes met, and their smiles met, and I suppose, in some odd and beautiful way, their hearts met, bursting with joy. I thought: God must have willed for me to lose my way so that I could be here now and witness this.

(vi) Sometimes, the crowds were so large, and I would be bothered by the sheer number of people, that I couldn’t even carry out the movements of prayer properly, nor concentrate on my prayer; I could never really relax, and that would frustrate me. I would wonder whether this prayer could even be inferior to many others I had prayed at home, quietly, alone. Then I would remember that all of these people, and I amongst them, came to establish the prayer as we were commanded to, and that was the du’a of Ibrahim, that the prayer be established at the Sacred House. How pleased is God with all of them, even in their imperfection, and how He boasts to the angels about them.

Toenotes

(1) I know it seems ridiculously uninspired to start with Malcolm's hajj letter, but apt, so apt. I’m so glad that people wrote letters by hand then and posted them, so that 54 years later, I could read what he thought and felt and wrote just when he completed the hajj, and then I could feel everything I feel now, rahimahullah.  

(2) Nowhere near a year - how good am I?! Of course, it can’t be as good as me in person (nothing is :)), but I will imagine you sitting in your (/my?) room and having a small part of me there (but without actually stealing your bed) to make up for all the Frenchies and their, well, just Frenchiness I suppose. Anyway, I wasn’t entirely sure how best to do this, as I didn’t end up keeping a proper journal, but made some notes on my phone as I went along so I used those. Surprisingly, I’ve quite enjoyed writing it (ok, it was bittersweet – at some points I had to stop), and don’t think I would’ve got around to it for a long time if it weren’t for the not-quite-promise I had made to you (and a few other people) that I would write something, so jazakillah kheyra.

(3) Recently, I’ve had a few times where I’ve been really surprised by how unreliable memory is, particularly after The Awful-Squashing-Incident, and that I couldn’t really recall, accurately, even key parts of the sequence of events, and it was surprising to watch the recording (luckily, I wasn’t doing anything embarrassing like picking my nose). There is a whole very interesting area of study about memories and trauma. (I’m trying to be careful how I use the word ‘trauma’ but it’s really hard [I’m reading a really interesting book called The Empire of Trauma by Fassin and Rechtman {but I haven't got past the first chapter because there’s a lot of Foucault, and that’s ermm...really hard?}]).

(4) This is from the recently published ‘Alienation and Freedom’- 24 December 1953, no. 1. Memory and journal – The whole entry for that date is so interesting, profound even, and I just happened to hear the writing quote in a talk (on nothing to do with writing!), scribbled down a few words, and later looked it up, and then found the rest of it. Now of course I need to buy the book, and it’s far cheaper than I expected on Amazon. But how does one justify that – how does one justify breaking the commitment to only buy books in emergencies; to read all the important unread books one has already bought first; to spend more time with the Qur’an and less with Fanon (thanks Mohamed Ghilan); to not let Fanon influence me too much because of recent experiences and how much he resonates, and to remember I strive for something even higher, even against my own will and pride? How does one justify that? (But actually, I need to read it at some point soon just to understand how to make sense of his psychiatric practice - some of the bits and pieces I’ve read are so fascinating, and of course, there is all the delightful inconsistency… [but perhaps not too soon or I might make some rash decisions and be left destitute]). Anyway, I’ve been thinking about Fanon, and especially of how he died at 36, and of Malcolm X dying at 39. You know that slightly surreal feeling when you’re reading the introduction to a book and just idly work out how old the author must have been at the time they wrote it, and then suddenly remember how old you are and feel so, so, sad? I remember when I was a teenager and read that sh Abdul Hayy Lucknawi died when he was 38-39 and it still seemed a bit old, but now it seems almost incomprehensible to my mind that someone could die at that age and have achieved so much, and such a dispiriting reminder of my own failings :( (perhaps I’ll have to try and find lots of books written by old people to make me feel better [or maybe that’s not quite the way I should be approaching this problem? {maybe I am the problem..?}]).

(5) What is slightly annoying here is that there will be things I will have to paraphrase as I can’t remember where it was in my notes, and I haven’t figured out a way to efficiently code and cross-reference hand-written notes, so you will have to overlook that. If I come across things later, I’ll try to link back to the relevant references, but I’m pretty sure that will not happen any time in the near future. In the meantime, if I put a reference to the class, it’s from him (ish), but if not, I’ve just remembered it from somewhere and can’t guarantee its accuracy (obviously in that case I’ll try not to say anything spectacularly controversial [e.g. about qira’at!]). Also, I might just put link reminders for myself when I can’t be bothered to articulate the whole thing in writing, so if you’re interested in what it means, remind me at some point.

(6) You can read some nice excerpts here. I only got round to re-reading the final chapters before hajj, but I really need a nice cozy Sunday afternoon-evening with some tea and biscuits just to sit down and read the whole book properly because I can’t even remember all the exciting things that happened, and often his writing is just exquisite, it’s actually a pleasure to read.

(7) This makes me smile, because I actually began writing it a while ago, and then Sh A was teaching about balaghah and how the jahili poets observed things and then described them so well that even if you had no experience of that thing, it were as if you did (I think he was talking about the line from the mu’allaqah of Imra’u-l-qays which really impressed him about the dung of deer ترى بَعَرَ الأرْآمِ في عَرَصاتِها*  وقيعانها كأنه حبَّ فلفل ). He said how most people are very different, they see but don’t observe, e.g. if you ask them about hajj, the first thing they will say is how there so many people. I felt so uncomfortable and thought he must be talking about people like me because those are actually the first words that come to my lips whenever anyone asks me about hajj! I felt like a little girl again, when my dad would tell me whenever I asked a question which he thought (with his Big-Adult-Brain) I ought to be able to work out myself, that I was just like Watson whereas I should try to be like Sherlock Holmes, “You see, but you don’t observe.” (I’m wondering whether it is less unattainable to aim to be like Sherlock Holmes [who may well be fictional but was based on a surgeon, so a tenuous link {must improve my clinical acumen}], or a jahili poet [who may as well be fictional considering I can barely even understand a hemistich {must learn to notice animal excrement on the floor and make similes with spices in rhyming verse}]).

(8) The wall is, of course, amongst other things, a psychological defence. (But then what is the minimum thickness required and how to determine the variables involved in this decision?) There is a really-interesting-for-medics but also readable-for-an-average-person book called Also Human (The inner lives of doctors) by Caroline Elton, an occupational psychologist which addresses some of this, and has reminded me of this quote from William Osler in Aequanimitas: “Deal gently then with this deliciously credulous old human nature in which we work, and restrain your indignation…Curious, odd compounds are these fellow-creatures, at whose mercy you will be full of fads and eccentricities, of whims and fancies; but the more closely we study their little foibles of one sort and another in the inner life which we see, the more surely is the conviction borne in upon us of the likeness of their weaknesses to our own. The similarity would be intolerable, if a happy egotism did not often render us forgetful of it. Hence the need of an infinite patience and of an ever-tender charity toward these fellow-creatures; have they not to exercise the same toward us?” (I never fail to be surprised by how wise everyone seems to have been even one or two hundred years ago [he describes sabr and hilm so well], whereas now we’re all just mainly stupid).

(9) Here is Ivan Illich telling it how it is in To Hell with Good Intentions (If I haven’t told you about him before, you will love his mind to bits – look up some of his work on modern medicine and education)

(10) Malcolm X in his letter from hajj: "You may be shocked by these words coming from me. But on this pilgrimage, what I have seen, and experienced, has forced me to rearrange much of my thought-patterns previously held, and to toss aside some of my previous conclusions. This was not too difficult for me. Despite my firm convictions, I have always been a man who tries to face facts, and to accept the reality of life as new experience and new knowledge unfolds it. I have always kept an open mind, which is necessary to the flexibility that must go hand in hand with every form of intelligent search for truth."