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Fahd bin Abdul Aziz
Sultan Bin Abdul Aziz
Naef Bin Abdul Aziz
Salman Bin Abdul Aziz
Ahmad Bin Abdul Aziz
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God, Great and Glorious is He, said: "And
proclaim among men the pilgrimage, they will come to you on foot and on
every lean camel, coming from every deep ravine.
-Al Haj, 22:27
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THERE IS NO method to calculate the num ber of pious
Muslims who have perished while making the grueling journey across the
deserts of Saudi Arabia since the time of the Prophet Mohammed and the
first
pilgrimage, but the total is estimated to be in the thou sands. While I am
pleased to report that it is no longer necessary for devout Muslims to do
battle with bedouin raiding parties or even to travel through
Saudi Arabia on foot or riding lean camels in order to fulfill their
fervent de sire to perform one of the basic tenets of Is lam, the annual
pilgrimage to the holy city of Makkah, known as Mecca to Westerners, still
remains a chaotic affair. Each year, hundreds of thousands of pilgrims
converge on the cit ies, airports, and highways of Saudi Arabia for the
rite of pilgrimage during the time of Haj. (Haj begins in Dhu Al Qida,
the eleventh month of the hejira calendar, and ends during Dhu Al Hijah,
the twelfth month of the hejira calendar.)
I performed the traditional pilgrimage many times in my youth, as a
laughing child in my mother's arms, and later as a rebellious girl seeking
communication with my God, whom I prayed would bestow peace of
mind on an unhappy child.
To my great dismay, since Kareem and I wed, I had not worshiped in Makkah
during the official time of Haj.
While Kareem and I, along with our children, have made the Umrah, or the
lesser pilgrimage, which can be made at any time of year, never had we
joined the multitudes in the massive annual celebration of
Haj, a time when Muslims remind themselves of the les sons of sacrifice,
obedience, mercy, and faith, models of conduct that are required in the
Islamic faith.
Many times over the years, I emphasized to my husband that our children
should experience the moving occasion of the pilgrimage during the
designated time of Haj. Much to my chagrin, Kareem was forever
adamant that our family flee the pandemonium of Saudi Arabia during the
annual pilgrimage, which brings the largest and most concentrated
gathering of human beings on earth into our country.
Each time I requested of Kareem the justification for his nonperformance
of Haj, my husband would provide me with a multitude of lame explanations
that were heavy with contradiction.
Bewildered at his attitude and determined to get to the heart of the
matter, I once purposely entangled Kareem in the discrepancy of his
excuses, trapping him on the issue. Kareem was groping for a path out
of his di lemma when I plainly told my husband, a man who believes in the
God of Mohammed, that it seemed to me he abhorred the ritual that brings
such joy to all Muslims. There was no other explanation for his bizarre
behavior.
I crossed my arms across my chest and waited for his response to this
insulting charge, which demanded refutation.
Kareem's face swelled with revulsion at the accusation so vile to a
Muslim! Shocked at such a scandalous idea, he swore to me that he did not
abhor the pilgrimage!
In the manner all men respond when they are in the wrong, Kareem then
yelled out, "Sultana, you are ugly to my eyes," and turned his
back on me as if to leave the room, but I ran around his side and with out
stretched arms blocked the door with my body, demanding more specifics.
I screamed out that I was displeased with what I had heard, and that I
would wait for ever for a compelling explanation of his annual flight from
the Haj. Sensing that Kareem was in a position of weakness, I
became reckless and added a small lie, saving, "Others have noticed
your strange distaste for Haj, and people are beginning to talk."
When Kareem saw that I would not let him pass without using physical
force, he stared down at me and hesitated for a long moment. I could see
that he was examining and weighing the wisdom of his ~ply.
Making a decision, he pulled me by the arm and forced me down on the side
of the bed by pushing my shoulders with his hands. Re paced for a short
time to the balcony doors and back, and then his
defenses fell.
Kareem confessed in a rush that as a young man he had once suffered a
realistic and terrifying nightmare that he was crushed to death in a crowd
of Hajjis (people of the Muslim faith who attend Haj).
I made a sound in my throat. Many baffling aspects of my husband's
behavior were now clear in my mind. Since the time I first met him, Kareem
had seen crowds where there were none, interpreting the
smallest groups of people as a mass of humanity. I shook my head at the
perplexing intimacies of my husband's inner life, which I had never known.
So! Kareem was frightened of the masses of pilgrims!
Being a strong believer in the powerful message of dreams, I turned my
attention to Kareem's words; my mood was grim as I listened to his vivid
description of the imaginary yet frightening experience he had
endured while sleeping.
My husband's face became pale as he graphically described the feeling of
being asphyxiated under the trampling feet of frenzied worshipers. He told
me that since the time of his dream, at age twenty-three,
he had purposely avoided the congested conditions endured by the faithful
in making the annual pilgrimage to Makkah.
Kareem felt so intensely that his nightmare would be fulfilled if he
attended Haj, that I had little heart to argue with his visionary
forebodings.
Once again, everything was as before, and our family continued to depart
the kingdom during the time of Haj.
When the very real and ghastly tragedy of the 1990 Haj occurred, as over
fifteen hundred pilgrims were crushed to death in a mountain tunnel in
Makkah, Kareem took to his bed in Paris and trembled for an
entire day, declaring that the cataclysmic disaster was yet another
extraordinary omen from God that he should never again worship at the Holy
Mosque!
After the fateful accident of 1990, when hundreds of worshipers died,
Kareem's extreme reaction to his dream began to annoy me, and I told him
that his fears were inherently unsound. Nothing I could say or do
at the time comforted my husband, even when I pointed out the obvious,
that his dream had been realized in the death of others. In my opinion,
the exact catastrophe was unlikely to occur again.
I saw that my observation failed to quiet Kareem's fierce apprehension
when he re plied that, evidently, he would be crushed as a singular
tragedy if he failed to heed his dream or the recent mishap, which to his
mind was nothing less than a direct warning from God.
Since it is true that a number of Hajjis are trampled or crushed to death
during each Haj season, I could not reason further with Kareem. I wanted
to dismiss his obsession, to ignore his terrors, but I could not.
Sadly, I pushed the possibility of ever again making the happy journey of
Haj far into the back of my mind, but not from my heart.
After our triumphant return from London with a loving Maha in our arms, I
felt an irresistible desire to embrace the ritual of glorify ing God in
unison with other Muslims. The time of Haj was upon us, and I gently
approached the topic with my husband once again, suggesting that I take
our children to Makkah. Since women in our country rarely travel without
the protection of a male escort, I wondered aloud about the possibility of
ac companying my sister Sara and her family to Makkah.
Much to my surprise, Kareem responded favorably to my ardent wish to
undertake a journey to the city of Mohammed. My mouth fell open when he
said he would consider taking the journey himself. Kareem
acknowledged that he continued to fear personal harm, but that he too
shared my need to give special thanks to God for the return of our
precious Maha.
We were discussing the upcoming trip with members of Kareem's family when
we received a warning from his brother-in-law Mo hammed, who was married
to Kareem's youngest sister, Hanan. Mohammed
said that over two million pilgrims were expected to unite in our holiest
city of Makkah, and of that total, a hundred fifty thousand worrisome
worshipers were expected from Iran, the Shiite country that makes
an annual call to revoke King Fahd's exclusive custodian ship over Islam's
holiest places.
In 1987 the inflamed Shiites had gone so far as to lead a violent protest
during the traditional holy event, and in the process of breaching Saudi
laws, they had desecrated the Holy Mosque, causing the deaths of
402 pilgrims. Two years later, in 1989, Tehran had instigated two deadly
bombings, killing one person and wounding sixteen others.
In Mohammed's view, Haj was becoming a dangerous religious ceremony for
peaceful Muslims. Radical Muslims were on the move the world over, and
they favored the holiest of Islamic sanctuaries to make
known their political grievances.
Mohammed, a prince of high authority in Public Security, a Saudi public
service organization that strives to ensure the security of Saudis and
Muslims visiting our country, was privy to knowledge that most
Saudis do not have. Blind to my emotion, and absorbed only in our personal
safety, Mohammed suggested that Kareem and I wait until the masses of
pilgrims left the kingdom. Then, we could take our children and perform
the sacred rites.
Kareem sat pale-faced and said little, and I knew that my husband was not
in the slightest concerned over Iranian danger but was considering the
dreaded effects of four mil lion tramping feet.
Stubborn, and determined to fulfill my personal desires, as is my way, I
challenged Mohammed's warning, saying that in my opinion, as a result of
the Iranians' past violence, those pilgrims traveling from Iran would be
so carefully screened and observed by Saudi Security that they would be of
little danger to Haj worshipers.
Mohammed, with a stern and uneasy look on his face, said, "No. The
Iranians can never be trusted. Do not let yourself forget, Sultana, that
we are dealing with Shiite fanatics who dream of overthrowing our Al
Sa'ud-led Sunni government!"
Seeing that my reasoning was not going to achieve the reassuring response
I was seek ing, I used a female tactic, mischievously ask ing Mohammed and
my husband if they failed to remember that according to Islamic teachings,
to die while in Makkah ensures im mediate ascension to heaven?
My husband and brother-in-law failed to see any humor in the situation,
and my religious argument made little impact with Kareem, but obviously he
too felt the wonderful release of anxiety that came with
Maha's miraculous recovery even more than I had imagined.
Kareem took a deep breath, gave a weak smile, and said, "Sultana, I
will face a thou sand dangers if it will give you peace of mind. Together,
we will take our children and go on the pilgrimage."
Mohammed hid a disappointed face with a smile, and I gave my husband an
unexpected kiss on the cheek and began to suck on his earlobes, promising
him that he would never regret his decision.
Mohammed looked scandalized at my affectionate display and made some small
excuse to leave the room. Kareem's younger sister Hanan, who had been
married for some years to Mohammed, gave us a
knowing smile and said that we should ignore her husband's prudish facade,
that Mohammed was the most loving, affectionate, and attentive of men
behind closed doors.
I laughed aloud, wondering about their secret life of sweet sex, for
Mohammed had al ways seemed strict and standoffish, and in the past I had
pitied my sister-in-law.
I looked at my husband and saw that his face had reddened at the idea of
his sister's marriage bed. I thought to myself that our Saudi men are too
uptight and unbearably puritanical when it comes to married
passion, even their own.
Remembering that we were soon going to Makkah, I kissed my husband again!
I was elated!
Kareem and I invited Sara, Asad, and their growing brood to accompany our
family on our long-awaited religious odyssey. Sara never failed to do Haj
and was immensely pleased that this year our family would
not be traveling abroad during the religious occasion.
We made excited plans to depart Riyadh for Makkah in two days' time.
Finally, it was the day of our trip to Makkah. There was much to be
accomplished! Our plan was to meet Sara and her family at the airport in
Riyadh at seven o'clock in the evening. Prior to that time, each
member of the family had to enter Ihram, which is marked by an
all-consuming intention of the heart to fulfill all the rites of
pilgrimage.
During the time of Ihram, nothing involving normal life is acceptable.
Hair cannot be cut, nails cannot be trimmed, beards cannot be shaved,
perfumes cannot be worn, garments with seams cannot be worn,
animals cannot be killed, sexual relations must be postponed, and direct
contact between men and women avoided, until the sacred time of Ihram has
ended.
All the members of our family started their rituals for the pilgrimage
before leaving Riyadh. It was important for each person to enter a state
of purity even before the long- awaited journey began.
Startling my Filipino maid, Cora, who was dusting in my bedroom, I entered
my private quarters chanting the famous cry uttered by all pilgrims as
they perform the rites while in the holy city of Makkah, "Here I
am, God!
"Here I am! Here I am to do your bidding."
After Cora recovered herself, I, in a happy frame of mind, explained the
significance of our upcoming religious journey.
Cora, a dedicated Catholic, had little under standing of Muslim
traditions, but as a girl of deep religious convictions, she did
appreciate my delight at going on a pilgrimage.
I continued to chant my cry to God as a smiling Cora filled my bath. I
counted off on my fingers all the tasks I had to accomplish. My face had
to be cleansed of all makeup, and I had to take off my jewelry,
even the ten carat flawless diamond earrings given to me by my husband the
year before, which I rarely removed from my pierced ears.
After removing my earrings and placing them in the large bedroom safe that
holds my collection of precious jewels, I submerged myself for hours in a
hot tub, to symbolically cleanse myself of any impurities.
While soaking, I prepared myself for the journey by repeating aloud God's
command to Muslims to visit Makkah, "And proclaim among men the
pilgrimage, they will come to you on foot and on every lean
camel, coming from every deep ravine.
I put aside any and every thought of my family and myself, concentrating
instead on things of peace and feelings of love for my fellow man.
After my long bath, I wrapped myself in a seamless black garment and
covered my hair with a lightweight black scarf. Facing the holy city of
Makkah, I prostrated myself on the bedroom floor and performed my
prayers, appealing to God to accept the rites of Haj from me.
Finally, I was prepared for my journey.
I met my husband and children in the sit ting room downstairs. Kareem and
Abdullah were immaculate in white seamless robes and plain sandals. Maha
and Amani were dressed in modest, dark-colored
garments that covered all flesh except their faces, feet, and hands. They,
as I, were unveiled. "The true veil is in the eyes of men," runs
a saying of the Prophet. Thus, women on pilgrimage are for bidden to
cover their faces while on Haj.
As a child, I often asked my mother about the strange necessity of
covering her face be fore man but not before God. My mother, reared never
to question the authority of men, appeared baffled and confused at
the sane logic put forth by her inquiring daughter, but having spent a
lifetime under the rigid jurisdiction of men, she hushed me and made no
answer to what I believe is still a justifiable question.
Now, looking at my daughters' faces in all their innocence, the memory
came flowing into my mind.
I hugged each of my daughters and said in an irritated tone, "When
man comes to share God's wisdom, you can discard the veils you so
hate!" I could not help tossing a glance of contempt at my husband
and
son.
Kareem moaned, "Sultana," admonishing me for what I had done!
I was struck with the horrible thought that I had broken my Haj vow! I had
lapsed into a moment of discord, thinking of worldly concerns, when I must
rejoice in topics of peace and love.
Embarrassed at my indiscretion, I left the room in a rush, explaining that
I must per form my rituals once again.
Kareem was smiling, and my children began to laugh, as they seated
themselves on chairs and sofas, patiently awaiting my re turn.
I prostrated myself on the bedroom floor, asking God to quiet my tongue
and assist me in entering Ihram once again.
While I was praying, sad thoughts of my mother once again crept into my
mind, and angry images of my father played across my eyes, ending the
tranquility so necessary for entering Ihram. With a frown, I
began my prayers again, from the very beginning.
I was on the verge of tears when I rejoined my family, and my husband gave
me a tender look of love, which I mistook for a sexual thought. I shouted
at Kareem, and then burst into tears, declaring that I could
not go to Haj, that my family would have to leave with- out me, for I
could not quiet my active and spiteful mind in order to enter the state of
Ihram!
Kareem gave a nod to my daughters, for our flesh was forbidden contact,
and Maha and Amani laughingly pushed me from the room into the waiting
car. We were going to the airport.
Kareem quieted my protests by saying that I could go through my rituals
once again on the airplane, or at our home in Jeddah before we made the
short drive the following morn ng to Makkah.
Asad, Sara, and their children were waiting for us at the royal waiting
lounge at the King Khalid International Airport, which is a forty-
five-minute drive out of the city of Riyadh.
I greeted my sister and her family with strained silence, and after Maha
whispered in my sister's ear, Sara gave a knowing smile that told me she
understood our delay.
Our family traveled in one of Kareem's private Lear jets to Jeddah. It was
a quiet journey, the adults thinking of God and their planned
communication with him. The older children played quiet games, while the
younger ones slept or looked through books.
Respectful of my inability to control my tongue, I spoke not a word until
moments be fore we landed, and then I spoke too much.
It was night when we arrived at the King Abdul Aziz International Airport
at Jeddah, and I was pleased when Kareem instructed the American pilot to
take us through the Haj, or Pilgrims' Terminal, which is a
surrealistic tent city that covers 370 acres of land. The Pilgrims'
Terminal is for incoming pilgrims from other lands, but our royal status
made it possible for us to land wherever we might wish.
A few years before Kareem had taken Abdullah to the grand opening of the
terminal, but neither of my daughters had yet been inside the spectacular
building.
Forgetting my earlier vow to remain silent until my feet touched the
streets of Makkah, Asad, Sara, and their children were waiting for us at
the royal waiting lounge at the King Khalid International Airport, which
is a forty- five-minute drive out of the city of Riyadh.
I greeted my sister and her family with strained silence, and after Maha
whispered in my sister's ear, Sara gave a knowing smile that told me she
understood our delay.
Our family traveled in one of Kareem's private Lear jets to Jeddah. It was
a quiet journey, the adults thinking of God and their planned
communication with him. The older children played quiet games, while the
younger ones slept or looked through books.
Respectful of my inability to control my tongue, I spoke not a word until
moments be fore we landed, and then I spoke too much.
It was night when we arrived at the King Abdul Aziz International Airport
at Jeddah, and I was pleased when Kareem instructed the American pilot to
take us through the Haj, or Pilgrims' Terminal, which is a
surrealistic tent city that covers 370 acres of land. The Pilgrims'
Terminal is for incoming pilgrims from other lands, but our royal status
made it possible for us to land wherever we might wish.
A few years before Kareem had taken Abdullah to the grand opening of the
terminal, but neither of my daughters had yet been inside the spectacular
building.
Forgetting my earlier vow to remain silent until my feet touched the
streets of Makkah, felt an unexplained need for my daughters to discover a
source of pride in their heritage, even if that pride was linked
implicitly with economic wealth.
Initially, I spoke in a quiet voice, which I knew would not be offensive
to God. I explained to my daughters that the terminal had won an
international award for its unique design and advanced engineering
innovation. I felt a surge of pride in the infra structure that Saudi
Arabians had created in one short generation. No longer feeling the shame
of my ancestors' wrenching poverty, which had haunted me in my
younger days, the old passions left me and my sense of the past was
sharpened. What had once seemed bleak and shameful was now lovely and of
great value. I thought to myself: from a for bidding land where scarcely
fifty years ago warring tribes had fought over camels and goats, we Saudis
have arrived as an economic force. My own family had led lawless tribesmen
from a stark desert land to become one of the wealthiest peoples and
nations on earth.
While Western minds have always claimed that only the oil paved our way to
prosperity, I paid that analysis little heed, for oil had been discovered
in other lands, and the ordinary citizens of those countries had never
enjoyed the substantial life-style experienced by all Saudis. The secret
lay in the wisdom of the men who controlled the proceeds from our
resources. While I have always found much fault with the men of my family,
particularly regarding their stance on women's issues, on this one subject
I recognized and commended their clever and insightful leadership.
Thinking the opportunity was ripe to instill ancestral pride into those I
had given life, I became enthusiastic and began to speak in a loud voice,
reminding the children of past events and the virtues of the ones
who came before us: the courage, endurance, self-reliance, and
intelligence of our bedouin ancestors. Recalling the impoverished life
lived by my parents, and then the extravagant life enjoyed by their
children
and grandchildren, a reversal that was nothing short of miraculous, I
became animated, telling family tales with dramatic intensity and
convincing real ism.
Thinking myself quite the storyteller, remembering happy moments spent at
the feet of my own mother and older aunties, I was immersed in the drama
of the founding of our country when, suddenly, I realized
that I had no audience.
Sara, Asad, and Kareem shared pained looks, but as I had quite forgotten
the purpose of our journey, their expressions of disbelief at my conduct
made no impact on my mind.
I glanced at our young ones and was keenly disappointed to see their lack
of interest. I knew at that moment that poverty not endured does not
affect the privileged, and that the younger Al Sa'ud generation had fallen
under the enfeebling influence of great wealth.
Plainly, the children were bored at the thought of the bedouin seed from
which they had sprung.
Abdullah was playing a game of backgammon with Sara's oldest son, while
the smallest children were cavorting with some small cars and trucks Asad
had brought back from his last trip to London.
Recalling the face of my loving mother and her poignant stories of the
wonderful grand parents I had never known, my palms itched with the desire
to slap the unresponsive faces of the descendants of those
tender souls who had been dead for so very long. I looked around for
someone to pounce upon, and just as I reached over to pinch the skin on
Abdullah's arm, my eyes met Sara's, and she mouthed the word
Ihram.
Once again, I had failed to remember where I was going! Thinking, too
late, I will perform my rituals once again when I reach my home in Jeddah,
my thoughts strayed back to the past, and tears came without
warning at the thought of the hardy and brave ancestors we would see no
more. Sara gave me a gentle smile of forgiveness, and I knew that my
dearest sister knew my thoughts and forgave me my
transgression.
Struck by the memory of an apt proverb, "Only our own eyes will cry
for us," I was saddened at my family's ability to discard the memory
of those who had come before us. I cried out in a forceful voice,
"Those who seem dead to you are alive to me!"
My family looked at me in astonishment, all except for Kareem, who failed
to control a fit of laughter. I glared at him as he wiped his wet eyes
with a tissue and mumbled some thing to Asad that I tried to hear
but could not, regarding the woman he had wed.
To calm my emotions, I turned my attention to my two daughters, and saw
that they, at least, had heard something of what I had said.
Maha, preferring Europe and America over anything Saudi Arabian, was of
little comfort. She had ignored my boastful commentary on our family
history, and now began to com plain bitterly about the terminal,
dismayed that anyone would have designed an airport terminal as a tent!
"Why dig up the past?" she muttered with a tinge of dismay in
her voice. "It is the twentieth century, you know."
Amani, though, was entranced by the spot lights mounted on the support
pylons. They gave an amazing view of the striking engineering wonder, and
she gave a squeal of de light.
Showing off his familiarity with the terminal, Abdullah glanced at his
youngest sister and casually remarked that at the present time the fabric
roof of the tent covered the world's largest space, though there were
plans in motion to cover a larger space in the city of Madinah.
Amani, my most sensitive child, squeezed my hand and smiled sweetly,
saying, "Mummy, thanks for bringing us here."
I gave my daughter a happy look. All was not lost!
Who could have known that a journey made with such virtuous thought and
the de sire to praise God for the return of my eldest daughter's lucidity
would have long-lasting significance for my youngest child,
Amani, and enduringly disastrous consequences for her mother and father? |
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