After two and a half years of having a child, today I have finally become a mother. I have finally made a decision that is solely in the best interest of my daughter. The taste of sacrifice is bitter-sweet indeed.

Reaching the decision to be a stay-at-home mom almost landed me in a mental home. I have never experienced such conflicting views as I have about putting my daughter in school. After a trial period of two weeks, I realised that school is not the best thing for her.

So I’ve quit my almost perfect half-day job to be at home with her. We will be poor, the domestic help will not have a job too, and my brain will probably rot at home. But I am doing it for my daughter.

It feels ok. To be in this position of- no position. It feels ok to be a house-wife, sorry if the term is outdated. I am scared, I must admit. But not desperately so. No, I don’t think I’ll be a desperate, uh, housewife.

If this does not work then at least I gave it a shot- I can say that I did not dump my child at an institution merely for my own financial and social benefit. I never wanted to be that kind of mother. I wanted to be a soccer-mom. The kind that revolves her entire life around her kids.

But I wasn’t reared to be that person. Instead I was raised to succeed in a career, find a good job and be ‘independent’. Yet as a mother one can never really be independent as one will always have dependents.

This is by far the hardest thing I have ever done- motherhood.

I knew this day was coming but I never prepared as I should have. It was kind of like a bad interview at a company that I reallllly wanted to work at. I’m not sending her back- I’ve made up my mind- I’m keeping my baby!

So now the question is: when do I send her to school? Do I quit my job and stay with her for another year? Certainly the nanny/domestic worker is not going to stimulate her mind as it would be at a play-school but what if I scar her emotionally? I’m sure I will if I force her into something that she is not mature enough to undergo.

Something about this smells kind of nostalgic- the way that I have given up after a bad day. I’m not one to persevere I know that, but where do you draw the line between perseverance and what’s good for Maryam?

I feel like a lost teenager again- so much confusion. It brings back memories of my childhood, when I refused to go to crèche, crying and holding onto any object I could grab whilst my mom dragged me to the lift-club car.  I hated school; I hated primary school, I despised high school, and I kind of lost the whole point of university: that you actually have to learn there! I guess I chose the right career then, being a teacher and all.

Somehow I feel as though the decision to keep Maryam at home has more to do with me than with her. It may be because I remember the feeling of being left at school, as if i was rejected, and then of being rejected by my peers, and being made fun of, having no one to play with besides a family friend, and then even that gets taken away.

I remember the feeling of being claustrophobic in a class full of happy children. Of being a sad lonely girl in the middle of a buoyant playground and of waiting and watching as the hand gets closer and closer to the hour of midday, when my mommy would come get me. But would she forget me today? Would she have something else on her mind? Tragic- would she be alive to come get me? I can still recall these thoughts- maybe they were too sad for a 6-year old to think of, maybe it was normal, I never knew, still don’t.

Thus is it so traumatising to witness Maryam going to school, to see her cry and feel alone in the company of strangers. They say a mother knows. This mother knows not. I do not know what to do or how to make this better for Maryam. I only know how to take it away, and that’s what I’ve done.

I wish I could be a headstrong positive influence for her, the kind of mother that will thrust her into the masterpiece that God intended for her. I need to be that person, but how if I myself am so full of negative thoughts?

Nothing can prepare you for the five days of hajj. In my opinion. Tomorrow is the day of Tarwiyah, the 8^th of Thul Hijjah, the first day of the five days of hajj. I am nerve wracked. Even as I write this my fingers are unsteady over the keyboard.

Even more unsteady is my mind, racing back and forth between the arkhaans of hajj, the compulsory acts, the sunnah acts, the concessions to make it a little bit easier, the dua’s for Arafat, the dua’s for people back home, the spiritual nature of hajj, the physical strain it will take on me- subhanAllah- the list can go on for a while.

Forgotten is Madinah. Forgotten is my first Umrah, the first sight of the Kaba. Even forgotten is the haram. My mind’s eye can only see Arafat. There is nothing now but Arafat and my relationship with Allah. Not even the beloved Prophet Muhammad (PBUH) is a thought in my mind- all I am searching for and all I hope to find on the day of Wuqoof is my Allah.

For so long I have been waiting for this moment, and yet it seems as if it came too soon. Why did I not prepare enough? All that time wasted shopping in Madinah, sitting and talking in the Haram between waqts- time wasted, time gone! Regrets that is perhaps pre-emptive of the Day of our return to our Lord; the Day of Judgement.
Regrets aside, there is only now. The best advice I can take for myself and give to others is to focus on the moment. Every moment in these five days is precious and if I look ahead too much I might find myself having gone through the entire hajj rituals, without really finding my hajj. Finding my purpose. Finding out why Allah has called me here, out of billions to choose from-me.
Since the time I knew I was going for hajj I had always felt myself unworthy of the invitation. During this trip that thought has been amplified. I have seen people whose backs are bent at right angles to their legs- making tawaaf around the Kaba, in the heat of the blazing sun. I have seen women as old as the oldest lady I know and even older than that, prostate for long periods, right down to the floor. I have seen men without arms, women without an iota of meat on their bones- stay the entire day in the haram, just to be close to the Kaba. I personally know of a lady who has cancer eating away her ribs, but ready to Labayk in the presence of her Lord-constant pain and all. My sheikh told us about a man who was doing a walking hajj on his hands, as he had no feet!
What am I doing here in the midst of these dedicated people?  I have no idea. That is me being brutally honest. I don’t deserve this, yet Allah has called me to find Him. My sincere hope in myself is that when I return I will return as someone who met her Lord, like Moosa (AS), and who has been given an instruction in that meeting, to carry the message of The One Illah. That I will fulfil this covenant and live only for the Pleasure of Allah.

When I see how others react to the Kaba-how they want to physically be up against it, touch it all the time, how they push and hurt each other to get to the black stone, I cannot fathom it at all. I don’t have that kind of emotional attachment to the Kaba.

The first time I got an opportunity to touch the Kaba one night, all I could do was touch it lightly and pull my hand back. I was too overwhelmed by the people around me who were hanging onto it, crying and pushing to rub themselves against it.

All I could do was stand there and think: “It’s only stone.” The way the hujaaj touch each item of significance and kiss their hands reminds me of the time when the Kaba was surrounded by idols and people were tawaafing around these idols. Not to say that these people are idol-worshippers, Astaghfirullah, no, but their actions are reminiscent of that kind of worship.

I cannot understand how people can hurt each other to kiss the black stone and to hang onto the multazam. Today at supper however, I got a glimpse into the emotion behind these acts: An old aunty who has travelled with me and whom I have likened to my mom, told me about her experience.

She managed to hang onto the door of the Kaba, touch the Multazam and make 2 rakaats right infront of the Kaba. She said that she made her niyaat to do these things when we first arrived at the Kaba and that she wanted to be close to Allah’s house as when will she get the opportunity to be back here?

This was such an emotional experience for her, one that I could not understand no matter how hard I tried. Maybe it had to do with her age, that this was the first time she was here and that she doubted she would be back. Maybe her love for Allah is so much stronger than mine or maybe these tangible objects made her belief stronger. I don’t know. All I know is that I would not do that, so there might be something wrong with me.

I have no wish to touch the black stone if it involves pushing up against men. I keep playing in my mind a narration of Bukhaari that states that as Aishah RA was making tawaaf, a woman said to her, “come kiss the Hajar Aswad, O Ummul Mu’mineen.” She refused to do so (because of the crowds). And: Abdullah bin Abbaas RA said to never crowd the Hajar Aswad, never harm anyone and never be the target of harm.

I guess it’s different for everyone. It’s true what people say: everyone has a different experience of the Kaba. We are all unique with regards to our relationship with Allah. While that aunty felt comfortable pushing her way to perform those acts that meant so much to her, I am not even comfortable making tawaaf so close up against men.

Despite our differences though, we are all here for the same reason: to seek the pleasure and forgiveness of The Almighty Allah, and that’s the beauty of Makkah.

Living in Makkah is not easy. When Sheikh Alexander said back home that shaytaan is rife here in Makkah I didn’t want to believe it. Being here these past few days however, I can now bear witness to that statement.

The love that I had for all the hujaaj in Medinah has fast grown into irritation. I get so disturbed with the Turkish and Indian women who have a habit of pushing one from behind, even when there is no need whatsoever to do so.

It takes so much out of me not to stand erect and use all my body-weight against them when they push me. I know that they are older women and that I could easily hurt them back if I put in the effort, but of course I would not do such a thing. But these are the kind of thoughts that run in one’s mind- a prominent example of the power of shaytaan over here.

Makkah during Hajj time is definitely not for the fainthearted. Or should I say for those who are used to being pampered, served on and being treated with respect and dignity. Makkah is hot, its streets are crowded with people who do not give a flying-fart about you; who won’t even give you as much as a glance let alone a smile, and it is dirty and dusty. And you better watch where you walk, lest you step into green sputum lying all over the roads!

There are always people- wherever you turn you will bump into somebody. There is no peace, no calm. Even when you are in the midst of ibadah, somebody will knock your head with a bag, or tramp on you whilst in sujood, or push you so that your entire body turns away from the Kaba. I am struggling so much to find that tranquillity that I had in Medinah. It’s hard and you have to be a strong person, a focussed person to be able to reach a spiritual peak over here.

I am also struggling to connect to the rich history of the place- dating as far back as to the first creation of mankind, Nabi Aadam (AS). The tall buildings, huge crowds, overpowering lighting and building equipment do not help the situation. Was this the same Kaba that our beloved Prophet Muhammad (PBUH) would sit in front of and make dua’? Find peace at? Talk to his Rabb in front of?

While I am saddened by all of this I have come to the realisation that this is supposed to be hard- hajj is not about that feeling of ecstasy that you get when speaking to your Rabb alone in a darkened room, or that high that you feel after you know that you have done something that will please Allah.

Instead it is about sacrifice- are you going to still make Tahajud even though you know that you are not feeling good about it? Or are you going to leave it because you think, in your narrow mind’s-eye, that it is not worth it? Are you going to still be kind to that Indian aunty who just shoves your kind gesture without even so much as a thank you? Are you doing these acts for Allah or for yourself?

It is a test of patience, endurance, sacrifice. Makkah was established on these qualities, the sacrifices of Ebrahim (AS), Hajar (AS) and Isma’eel (AS). The sacrifices of the last prophet, his companions: the likes of Sumayyah RA, Khadeejah RA, Abu Bakr RA, Bilal RA… the list is exhaustive.

It is with this frame of mind that I have to perform my ibadah here. That I look forward to the days of hajj with- the heat, the crowds, the lack of infrastructure.  I have to remember this, or else I will fall into the devil’s web of deception: by complaining, being ungrateful and being lazy. May Allah make it easy for all the hujaaj, amen.

My initial reaction upon seeing the Kabah for the first time was: is this it? it didn’t look real to me. Then I realised the beauty of it being so plain- it is not the stone structure that is holy, nor is it the Kiswah that grants miracles. The Kabah is merely a symbol; a representation of unity, history and the Omnipresence of Allah.

It is said that Allah’s Arsh is just above the kabah and it’s amazing how one can actually feel the energy vibrating in concentric circles around it.

Despite the day’s journey from Medinah, despite the aches and throbbing in one’s bones, everyone on our bus from Medinah seemed to be bursting with energy before the first Umrah. Old ladies in our group could even manage the sae’e ahead of younger ones and old men were more than ready to raml (type of running-action) between the green lights. Tears flowed in abundance from burning red eyes. SubhanAllah, it is the kind of adrenaline you hear about in fairy tales!

The highlight of my first Umrah was the plainness of the Kabah. This thought was so striking- it is the centrepoint of millions of worshippers, nay trillions over the ages, and yet it remains void of embellishment, trimmings and undue decorations. This is so fitting as we do not worship the kabah but Allah is the only One worthy of our devotions.

I visited the Rawdah and the kabr for the last time to say my farewell greeting last night and I knew that it would be a while before I returned, insha Allah. Despite it all I am ready to embark on the next step of my journey: my first umrah.

Excitement gurgles inside me just as I think about seeing the kabah for the first time, completing my first umrah, the five days of hajj. Ultimately this is the reason that I made this journey, that I left my two-year old daughter, my home, my family and my job, for seven weeks: to ‘labayk’ in the presence of my Lord.

I don’t know if it’s normal to be feeling excitement instead of compete sadness to be leaving Medinah. I don’t know how I’m supposed to part with Medinah- the proper etiquette as taught by a learned shaiykh. All I know is that I am ready for Makkah!

I am ready to chant: “Here I am, oh Allah, here I am.” I am ready to be washed clean of my sins, I am ready for my heart to be cleansed, my book of deeds to be cleansed, and my life to start on a clean note.

It is up to Allah to accept my lame attempts at worship, but I have faith and hope in His Acceptance, and in His Mercy. May He take us there safely, hearts bursting with hope, joy, love and at peace. “Labayk Allah huma labayk!”

The shops are open up until midnight, children are playing in the streets at that time and families with small babies are walking and doing their shopping. When do the people of Madinah sleep?!

I started shopping for those back home and realised just how stressful it can be- especially for someone who hates shopping! Here, shopping seems like a never-ending story. There are so many people that you want to buy something for-all those who have helped you along your journey to this place- and you want to buy the perfect gift. You want to buy something that will mean something to everyone, not just some scarf that was made all the way in China!

But, as usual I have buckled under the pressure of customary norms and so am out buying Sameeras for aunties and Itir for uncles. Rakams are a favourite too.

All this shopping and I haven’t even bought one thing for myself! On that note, I was so inspired yesterday by one of the Arab women who was giving us a naseeghah in English as we were waiting to get into the Rawdah.

She was saying that a woman is not supposed to dress in a flashy manner that will make men look at her. Woman are not supposed to wear perfume outside of their homes, and she quoted a hadith that the Prophet (PBUH) was reported to have said that a women who leaves her home wearing perfume is a fornicator, and he repeated it three times.

Thus I was inspired to not buy myself flashy abayas or scarves and I am being extra careful not to wear perfume out of the hotel room. I hope that I will be able to be strong enough to carry it through once back home. That, I suppose, is the biggest challenge- living back home the way you lived here, despite the test of modern society.

On a different note, I am extremely disappointed in myself. My level of spirituality has dropped rapidly since I first arrived here. Going to the Rawdah has become second-nature and such a common thing that I have begun to take it for granted. I am actually scheduling my time in the masjid so that I have time to shop! How could I let this happen in the city of the Prophet?

I was so saddened by this and then was reminded of a hadith when the companions of the Prophet complained to him (PBUH) that when they were with him their emaan was so strong, but when they went home to their families, it dropped. He (PBUH) then replied that there is a time for everything, including ibadah, family, sleep etc.

So with this in mind I ventured off to visit our beloved Rasul (PBUH) hoping for a lift in emaan.  SubhanAllah, it is like visiting him (PBUH) when he was alive! The mere presence of his kabr and the Rawdah opened up my heart again and it hit home- for the second time- that I was in Madinah tul Munawarah.

It is so important to actually stop what you are doing, breathe, take a long look around you and let the beauty of where you are at seep in. Otherwise it may all just be another day, in another city, living another way of life.

I kept hoping that I too, my family and progeny can be of those who are the fighters of this deen. I kept asking Allah not to make us of those who disobey the khalifah/ruler, like those 50 archers who disobeyed our beloved Rasool (PBUH) and left their post to run for the booty of this world.

The drive to Masjidul Quba was equally emotional- I imagined the beloved Prophet and Abu Bakr (RA) riding into Quba, the very same ground that I was standing on, and the people of Medinah chanting: “Taala-al Badru Alayna…”

SubhanAllah! I pictured the prophet carrying heavy bricks with his own hands to build this masjid. He was the leader of the muslims, yet he worked like your regular Jack. What humility.

And thinking of that made me realise that coming to Medinah is not only about making 40 consecutive salaahs in Masjidun Nabawey, praying on the Rawdah and greeting the blessed kabr of the prophet (PBUH). It’s about emulating his (PBUH) lifestyle- and what a perfect time to do so, when there are thousands of Muslims to help, hundreds of thousands to greet, to speak to, to smile at and to share with.

I was especially pleased today because I was touched so much by the history of Medinah that I managed to, for a day, polish my character. I shared my salaah mat with 2 Indonesians, I helped a malayzian old woman with her cellphone, I was able to help a Turkish woman with her Quraan and I gave some naseeghah to a fellow South African, Alhamdullilah.

I also managed to converse with a young lady from Medinah- she is studying Computer Science and so can speak English. Upon parting we wished each other well and I said to her: “Ini Uhibuka Fillahi- I love you for the sake of Allah”-and I did, I really did.

I love everyone here for that reason. I think my favourite people so far are the Turks. I have this spot in the masjid and it is usually occupied by Turkish women. Even though we don’t understand a word of each other’s language, we manage to communicate some way or other and they always share their food with me- they always have food with them!

The air of Medinah has crept into my heart and I think a part of me will never cease to yearn to be here. But I doubt that I would be able to live here- the people are too beautiful. I think Allah reserves this place for special people; beautiful people. I may be too corrupted to be of those. My Sheikh always says that Medinah will spit you out if you are evil, if you are not worthy. It cleanses itself in a sense.

One of the hardest things I have to endure though is being away from my husband most of the time. Many people said that I was lucky to be embarking on this journey with my husband; that we will grow in love and toward Allah, like a second honeymoon (well, in my case a first!) But I find that I am hardly with him.

Between every waqt I am rushing to get a place in the Masjid. The women’s section is far too small to accommodate all the women who frequent the masjid during the hajj period. We have about 3 sections/doors earmarked for women, the rest are for men. Most of the time we sit outside on the mataaf (area just outside of the masjid).

Sometimes I get angry since why can’t they open up another section for us? The men can leave their rooms while the athaan is going and still get a place inside the masjid while we women have to leave an hour before the waqt or we will be outside.

Then I remember that I am not in South Africa, particularly in Cape Town. We C.T women are spoilt when it comes to the masjid- we have our own places for worship, proper whudhu facilities, places for studying and learning and places for halaqah and ‘itikaaf, alhamdullilah.

I suppose I just have to get acclimatised to the way of life here. I love Medinah, and would love to come to study and live here one day, insha Allah. The deen is so pure and pristine here- there is no difference of opinion, no bi’dah, no following of sheikhs and people, just the sunnah, in its perfect form.

They care for their old, they have a strong sense of sisterhood, and they have an unprecedented love for the Beloved Prophet Muhammad (Peace and Blessings be upon him). So how different are they from us?

Turks are just one of the highlights of Medina. Of course, the main one being the Kabr of the blessed Rasull (PBUH), his companions; Abu Bakr and Umar (RA), and the piece of Heaven on earth: Rawdatul Jannah. One can never get enough of the Rawdah!

The Arab women are nice too, Malaysians are very polite, kind of remind me of South Africans, and I say that with as much modesty as possible!

I haven’t seen much of Medinah yet, going between the Movenpick hotel and the Haram, but already it seems so peaceful, calm and serene. I don’t think any other words can describe the city of the Prophet.

I’ve been largely on my own, not being a ‘groupie’ and all, and I’m glad for it, as I got to interact with the women from other countries a lot. People are all warm toward each other here. It’s amazing how the love for one person can unite such diverse nations. We speak different languages but our hearts beat with the same tune.

On entering Medinah I was so afraid of being deadened to the beauty of the place. Being in transit for nearly 2 days can wreak havoc on one’s emotions. I think I probably used all 12 bags of sabr on the way here!! Hehehe

But immediately after immigration I felt the coolness. It was amazing and all the voices of people back home kept replaying in my head: “Once you get off the plane in Medinah, you will forget everything back home.”

The bus drive to the hotel was awesome too- as we drove closer to the haram, the tears kept welling until my eyelids could no longer contain them and they came pouring down. I could feel my heart being cleansed already.

Once we received the keys to the room I immediately wanted to go to the haram- how can one sleep knowing that the Prophet (PBUH) is just outside? SubhanAllah! He is here now!

But that plan was crushed as the doors to the ladies section closes at 11pm. In hindsight I suppose it was better to have been fresh and clean when greeting the Prophet for the first time.

We went in at 7am the next morning and waited for about two and and half hours before we could make salaah on the Rawdah and do our greeting.

It was surreal- as I made sujood I could actually feel my body lifting-defying gravity, in a non-physical sense. And my shoulders just shook- my whole body shivered. I didn’t think I would have that kind of reaction-crazy-crowd and all-but I did.

I think what helped me a lot was the dua’s I made as a traveller: I asked Allah to make me worthy of this experience, to make my heart permeable to the barakah of it, so to speak.

The power of dua’ is something that I struggle to comprehend. I’m not a dua’ person.  But this trip has taught me a thing or two about making dua’ and its importance.  I’ve seen this manifested in the dua’ I made about being blinded to all evil, ugliness and negativity- on the advice of two colleagues.  It really works- I love everyone here! Even if they don’t love me that much when they nearly push me to the ground and trample on my head whilst making sujood! But I love them non-the-less. I love the air, the cleanliness, the truthfulness and the people of Medinah! May Allah bring me back again and again, let me live here, die here and resurrect me with those who are buried here, amen.