Makkah Al-Mukarramah

MAKKAH AL-MUKARRAMAH

Dedicated to my loving mother:

Hajjah Soprah Binti Haji Abdul Madjid

By Ninie G. Syarikin

The first time the word Makkah

dawned on me was

when I saw the picture of

a relatively young man

with a pleasant face

in an Arabian attire,

complete with his headdress.

I was a little girl then,

about 6 or 7, I think.

But I knew that the outfit

was not our native costume,

Malay, or Indonesian.

I ran to my mother

who was cooking in the kitchen,

and asked her:

"Mama, who is that in that picture?"

My mother knew who I meant.

"It's your grandfather, my father,"

she said almost proudly.

"Why was he dressed in that way?"

I asked curiously.

"Well, he was in Makkah,

and had his picture taken

in the local costume,"

my mother explained.

I became silent for one minute,

while scrutinizing

the black and white photograph.

That man was in a long white robe

that reached his ankles.

He was wearing a white scarf on his head,

pressed by a squared black frame.

'He is my grandfather,'

I whispered to myself,

trying to sink in what grandfather meant.

Aha, ...... my mother's father;

the father of my mother,

I confirmed to myself.

Then I heard my voice again:

"Where is Makkah, Mama?"

"Oh, it is in a faraway land, Holy Land,

somewhere in the middle of the desert,"

she answered dreamily,

with her right hand waving deprecatingly,

as if she didn't bother

where it was located.

"What was Kakek doing in Makkah?"

I pursued.

"Well, he was performing his hajj,'

again my mother responded patiently.

I nodded my head several times,

trying to digest the answer.

"And, what is hajj?”

my curiosity continued.

There was a moment of silence.

My mother looked at me, straight,

for a few seconds.

Apparently, she had become impatient.

She dismissed me by pointing to

my father who was working in the yard:

"Well, now, you go ask your father.

I am busy."

Then she just turned to her pots and pans.

Rejected, hurriedly, I walked to my father,

and immediately squatted near him.

"Ayah, what is hajj as was done by

Kakek in Makkah?"

My father picked up the subject instantly,

and replied:

“Hajj is a journey a Muslim makes,

to visit the House of Allah."

"Have you and Mama visited

the House of Allah?"

"Not, yet, ‘Nak. One day, Insya Allah.”

But, his voice sounded daunting

to my ears.

I was wondering why,

considering that I saw them pray

all the time.

I didn't understand.

In my innocence,

I thought it was because

Makkah was a faraway land,

as my mother told me.

And, so,

I remember making it a point

to see my father in his face,

and to touch his shoulder with

my right little hand and fingers;

I offered him company:

"Don't worry, ‘Yah, I shall go with you.

Just wait till I grow up,

and I'll grow up fast.

I promise, I'll accompany you."

For many, many years

since my first encounter,

Makkah seemed like a distant memory.

Life had been fully occupied.

Only now and then,

I would read and see pictures

about the Holy Land and the Baitullah,

while reciting the talbiyah in whisper:

“Labbayk Allahumma Labbayk,

Labbayk la syarika laka Labbayk!”

“I have come to respond to

Your call, ya, Allah! Here I am!”

Makkah sounded like a world away

with the Indian Ocean,

Bay of Bengal, and

the Arabian Sea,

so wide in between.

In the mean time,

I’d grown to a pretty young lady.

A pretty young lady I was,

who remembered her childhood promise

to accompany her father

to the faraway Holy Land.

But, to fulfill it, felt like

wanting to embrace a mountain,

while the two hands

couldn't reach each other,

as nicely put in our old Malay proverb:

“Maksud hati hendak memeluk gunung,

apa daya tangan tak sampai.”

Then,

the chapter of Makkah opened again,

when our neighbors, an old couple,

at the end of the street in our village,

came back from their pilgrimage.

We, neighbors,

came out to greet and welcome them,

while some of us were chanting

the title of honor

that they had just earned:

“Haji, haji, haji, haji.”

The husband and wife looked shy

at being called by their new status;

yet, at the same time,

they also felt justifiably pleased.

I especially came to visit them at their home,

and asked about their trip.

From what and how they told me

with their glittering eyes and

continuous smiles,

it really sounded like a life time journey;

and that they said, if possible,

they’d like to go back again.

Still many, many years

after my second encounter,

after I’d grown to

a mature beautiful woman,

Makkah still seemed far away

with the North Atlantic Ocean,

the Mediterranean and

the Red Sea in between,

so wide separating,

only now felt more tangible.

A mature beautiful woman

I had become,

and a mother of three

who still remembered

her girlhood promise to her father

to accompany him

to the Holy Land.

Until, finally, one day,

the call of the hajj

rang so loud

and clear

and strooooong

surpassing obstacles

coming like a flood

destroying dams,

almost unbearable

unpreventable

to execute her childhood pledge,

that she and her parents

were flown from Washington,

to New York,

to Amsterdam,

to Amman,

and Jeddah.

Like butterflies

flying and hopping and stopping briefly

from petal to petal of

different flowers and colors,

with Makkah, the last destination!

That was my third and

real first encounter with Makkah,

one early morning

in the month of Dzulhijjah.

When I saw a sight

that would stay eternally

in my memory.

When the shadows of white

were waving in the dark of dawn.

When the sea of men and women

in white ihram were walking briskly

towards the Baitullah.

When the voice of the Mu'azzin

from the Masjidil Haram,

echoing the adzan:

“Allahu Akbar, Allahu Akbar!

Allahu Akbar, Allahu Akbar!

Asyhadu Alla ila ha illallah!

Asyhadu anna Muhammadar Rasulullah!

Hayya 'alas salah!

Hayya 'alal falah!

Allahu Akbar, Allahu Akbar!

La ilaaha illallah.”

“God is Great, God is Great!

God is Great, God is Great!

There is no God, but Allah!

And Muhammad is the Messenger of Allah!

Come to prayer!

Come to Victory!

God is Great, God is Great!

There is no God, but Allah!”

evoked

a particular feeling in my early teens

back at my hometown,

when I used to get up at dawn

to do my morning prayer,

and make fire to boil water,

then study my books.

Makkah Al-Mukarramah!

A city bestowed with honor

A city surrounded by grey rocky hills

where its roads are steep, up and down,

where the bright morning sunshine

emerges gradually and gently from

behind those hills

before it shifts to extreme heat.

Makkah Al-Mukarramah!

A city blessed with dignity

A city that never sleeps

with world pilgrims circumambulating

the House of Allah all year long

at any time of day and night

during hajj and 'umrah;

where chanting and humming

and echoes and vibrations of the praise

to the Creator

are bursting out the domes and minarets

and reaching out

to the sky and outer space,

till the whole universe

joins in singing and reciting

in glorifying His names.

1. Allah, God

2. Ar-Rahman, The Most Kind

3. Ar-Rahim, The Most Compassionate

4. Al-Malik, The King

5. Al-Quddus, The Holy One

6. As-Salam, The Peace

7. Al-Mu'min, The Trusted

8. Al-Muhaymin, The Protector

9. Al-'Aziz, The Almighty

10. Al-Jabbar, The Comforter

11. Al-Mutakabbir, The Majestic

12. Al-Khaliq, The Creator

13. Al-Bari', The Maker

14. Al-Musawwir, The Fashioner

15. Al-Ghaffar, The Forgiver

16. Al-Qahhar, The Dominant

17. Al-Wahhab, The Bestower

18. Ar-Razzaq, The Provider

19. Al-Fattah, The Opener

20. Al-'Alim, The All Knowing

21. Al-Qabid, The Restrainer

22. Al-Basit, The Expander

23. Al-Khafid, The Humbler

24. Ar-Rafi', The Exhalter

25. Al-Mu'iz, The Honorer

26. Al-Muzil, The Degrader

27. As-Sami', The Hearer

28. Al-Basir, The Seer

29. Al-Hakam, The Judge

30. Al-'Adl, The Just

31. Al-Latif, The Gracious

32. Al-Khabir, The Aware

33. Al-Halim, The Gentle

34. Al-'Azim, The Great

35. Al-Ghafoor, the Pardoner

36. Ash-Shakur, The Grateful

37. Al-'Ali, The Most High

38. Al-Kabir, The Grand

39. Al-Hafiz, The Guardian

40. Al-Muqit, The Sustainer

41. Al-Hasib, The Reckoner

42. Aj-Jalil, The Glorious

43. Al-Karim, The Bountiful

44. Ar-Raqib, The Watchful

45. Al-Mujib, The Responder

46. Al-Wasi', The Omnipresent

47. Al-Hakim, The Wise

48. Al-Wadud, The Affectionate

49. Al-Majid, The Exhalted

50. Al-Ba'ith, The Resurrector

51. Ash-Shahid, The Witness

52. Al-Haqq, The Truth

53. Al-Wakil,The Trustee

54. Al-Qawi, The Strong

55. Al-Matin, The Firm

56. Al-Wali, The Defender

57. Al-Hamid, The Praiseworthy

58. Al-Muhsi, The Counter

59. Al-Mubdi', The Originator

60. Al-Mu'eed, The Restorer

61. Al-Muhyi, the Life Giver

62. Al-Mumeet, The Death Giver

63. Al-Hayy, The Alive

64. Al-Qayyum, The Self Sustaining

65. Al-Wajid, The Opulent

66. Al-Wahid, The One

67. Al-Majid, The Noble

68. Al-Ahad, The Only

69. As-Samad, The Eternal

70. Al-Qadir, The Able

71. Al-Muqtadir, The Powerful

72. Al-Muqaddim, The Advancer

73. Al-Mu'akhkhir, The Deferrer

74. Al-'Awwal, The First

75. Al-'Akhir, The Last

76. Az-Zahir, The Manifest

77. Al-Batin, The Hidden

78. Al-Muta'ali, The One Above Reproach

79. Al-Barr, The Beneficent

80. At-Tawwab, The Acceptor of Repentance

81. Al-Muntaqim, The Avenger

82. Al-'Afuww, The Effacer

83. Ar-Ra'uf, The Most Merciful

84. Al-Muqsit, The Equitable

85. Al-Jami', The Gatherer

86. Al-Ghani, The Self Sufficient

87. Al-Mughnee, The Enricher

88. Al-Mani', The Supporter

89. Ad-Darr, The Afflictor

90. An-Nafi', The Benefactor

91. An-Nur, The Light

92. Al-Hadi, The Guide

93. Al-Badi', The Incomparable

94. Al-Baqi, The Everlasting

95. Al-Warith, The Inheritor

96. Ar-Rashid, The Concious

97. As-Sabur, The Most Patient

98. Malik Al-Mulk, The King of the Universe

99. Dzul-Jalali wal-Ikram, The Lord of Majesty and Generosity

Makkah Al-Mukarramah!

A city poised with rainbows and splendors

A city with many shops and vendors

with long business streets

and lines of buses

honking impatiently to pass through.

A meeting place for mankind

A market for the exchange of

goods and news and ideas

from all parts of the Muslim world.

The crossroads of civilizations.

“Ayah, this is Makkah," said I

to my father who was devouring

all he could take in with all his senses.

Looking straight into his eyes,

he and I instantly broke into a smile,

a big smile of victory and gratitude!

"What did I tell you, Ayah?

'Wait till I grow up'

It’s been a long wait, indeed,

a very long wait,

but we made it."

And I sealed our pact with

a gentle kiss on his wrinkled forehead.

"Mama, this is Makkah,

where Kakek had his picture taken

in his Arabian dress,

the faraway land

in the middle of the desert

that you couldn't care less

where it was located."

And I saw tears in her eyes

glowing with her motherly pride

that only I knew.

We spoiled and gratified ourselves

in the grand mosque, Masjidil Haram.

We expressed

We praised

We prayed

We worshipped

We pleaded

We implored

We besought

We poured out all our heart

to The Almighty

in different sites and corners

on all floors of the masdjid.

In the space between prayers,

sometimes, I’d slip out to the souq

nearby the mosque compound.

I let my eyes feast on

so many varieties of souvenirs

that the pilgrims would love to bring

to their home countries.

White ‘galabiya’ from Egypt,

women's loose garments and scarves

-- wonderfully and colorfully embroidered --

from Bangladesh and India,

red-checked ‘kafiyyeh’ from Jordan,

shirts and pants from Indonesia,

sarongs from Malaysia,

prayer rugs from Pakistan,

velvet wall decorations made in China,

and unique designs of table cloths

from Afghanistan.

Masya Allah!

Makkah is actually the headquarters

of a world trade union!

On another fully occupied day,

I managed to visit another section

of Makkah's business center.

I saw many different types,

colors, and shapes of prayer beads

which I bought plenty for

my friends and colleagues in America.

I went to jewelry stores,

where they sold gorgeous gold ornaments,

as well as pretty and intricate silver filigrees

made by the Yemeni silversmiths.

I strolled along the streets of Makkah,

stopped by a bank to withdraw

some cash from an ATM machine.

I dropped by a music store,

and bought a few cassettes of Arabic songs,

as well as some Qur'anic recitations

of which to my dismay,

none of them was any recitation

by a qori'ah,

which I was particularly looking for.

I asked the storeowner why it was so,

to which he answered that

a female voice was forbidden!

I protested, mentioning that

reciting the Qur'anic verses and

praising Allah were not

the sole domain of male reciters;

and that in Indonesia, my home country,

we had both qori and qori'ah

on cassettes.

The storeowner merely shrugged

his shoulders, indicating that

it was none of his concerns;

but I was satisfied, anyway,

to have made my point,

for him to reflect.

In Makkah,

many kinds of foods were served,

including my country's food.

You pick your choice,

to eat in a restaurant,

a canteen,

a cafeteria,

or by a street seller

in the corner of the road.

The same food

different settings

different prices.

In Makkah,

I got used to seeing

in the broad day light

black figures in triangle

covered from head to toe

with the edge of the cloth

sweeping the streets

with just a small opening for the eyes

to peer into the world.

Those were the Saudi women

in their unique black cloaks, abaya,

hiding whatever adornments

they had underneath.

Sometimes there was not even

an opening for the eyes

which made them look

-- with all due respect to them --

like the Japanese ninja.

All the head was covered neatly,

and smoothly, that I couldn't tell

which was the face,

and which was the back of the head.

One day,

I encountered a young mother,

through my guessing of

her slender figure and

her young handsome husband.

She seemed to be very gentle

from her graceful movement.

She was sitting on a sofa

holding her baby lovingly.

From my experience as a mother,

I understood from her gesture

when her head was stooping

towards her little one.

She must be smiling, cooing, chiding,

and playing peek-a-boo with her child.

However, I was wondering

if that precious baby

could actually see and read

the mother's facial expressions.

Wallahu'alam, God alone knows!

And, yet, to this day,

I still get frozen with this image.

The first time

I encountered all of this,

I couldn't help feeling eerie.

Slowly, however,

I became accustomed to the sight

of this black abaya

and came to respect the local custom.

And eventually,

I got to admire them

since they actually had more of

the freedom to watch

the wide wild world behind their veils

without the world being able

to peep into their beauty.

Even an inch!

Those Arab women appeared

like a mystery.

An enigma!!

I was observing all of

these strange and unique things

through my foreign eyes

without any intention to pre-judge.

Subhanallah! Glory be to God!

My praise is only to Allah,

the Most Rich and Most Creative!

"Oh, Mankind!

We created you from

a single pair of a male and a female,

and made you into nations and tribes,

that you may know each other,

(not that you may despise each other).

Verily, the most honored of you

in the sight of God is

he who is the most righteous of you."

Each with distinct characteristics

and customs.

We may be different in our looks,

but we worship the same God!

Allahu Akbar!God is the Greatest!

Makkah Al-Mukarramah!

A city bestowed with honor

A city blessed with dignity

A city poised with

rainbows and splendors and colors

of the universe!

A city with so much life

A meeting place for human races

The crossroads of civilizations!

When I ended my hajj rituals

with tawaf wada’,

I disappeared for some time

to a photo studio in Makkah.

I did like what my grandfather had done.

I took off my Indonesian outfit

and posed in the Makkan woman attire.

Then the photographer aimed

the camera at me, and shot:

Click! Click! Click!

There, she was!

A Saudi woman in her abaya!!

At our lodging that evening,

I showed some pictures to my parents:

“Ayah, Mama, look at these pictures!

A Saudi woman! Aren’t they awesome?"

They looked at the photographs with interest.

Yet, none, whatsoever, was there

any sign of recognition on their faces.

Innocently, my father asked me, unbelievingly:

"She let you take her pictures?

Just like that?"

"Ya, Ayah, just like that," claimed I proudly.

My father knew, of course,

that his daughter was a photographer,

but considering so strict restrictions

on taking pictures in the Holy Land!!!

Yet, he knew better,

how stubborn his daughter could be.

However,

at that particular fleeting moment,

my mother looked at me mischievously

with her peering eyes.

I never could lie to her;

I stayed in her womb more than

nine months, after all!

But, she just smiled whimsically at me,

without betraying my secret

to my father.

After all, my grandfather's blood, her father’s,