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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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"Arab lands will now go the way of
Iran. Egypt will not be the first to fall, nevertheless it shall fall. The
women will be the first to suffer loss of human rights. We women were
offered our rights as human beings first by Nasser then by Sadat. The
courts have already struck down the humane law giving women the right to
divorce husbands who take second wives. Egyptian women cringe to think of
what is yet to come, often joking that soon we shall share the unfortunate
fate of our Saudi sisters."
-Comments of an Egyptian feminist pilgrim as spoken to Sara A' Sa'ud
during the Haj of 1990. |
I THOUGHT THAT God must have heard my stirring
appeal, for the following morning Amani seemed her usual self. It was as
if sleep had erased the apotheosis of human suffering I had witnessed on
my daughter's face the day before. She giggled and joked with her sister,
Maha, as they ate their break fast of fresh yogurt and melon and munched
on pieces of kibbeh left over from our evening meal.
Our driver delivered us to the Valley of Mina, which is approximately six
miles north of Makkah. We would spend the night in Mina, in an
air-conditioned and well- equipped tent for which Kareem had ar ranged. By
sleeping in the Valley of Mina, our family would be ready for an early
morning. The children seemed quite excited at the prospect, since we had
never before slept in the valley.
Along the way, we passed hundreds of buses carrying pilgrims. Beside the
highway, thousands of the devout were slowly walking the six-mile journey
from Makkah to the Val ley of Mina. Muslims of every color and nationality
were performing their duty by at tending Haj.
Thinking that Amani had returned to normal, I once again found myself glad
to be part of this wonderful gathering of the faithful, and I happily
looked forward to the last days of Haj.
It was while we were in the Valley of Mina that Kareem met with an old
friend fromyouthful days spent in England. The man, Yousif, was from
Egypt. One moment Kareem was standing by my side, and the next he was
heartily embracing a man none of us had ever seen.
Looking at the man from a distance, I saw that he had a long, slightly
curving nose, projecting cheekbones, and a curly beard. What most caught
my attention, however, was the indisputable and concentrated scorn that
blazed in his eyes when his gaze fell upon the females in Kareem's family.
Kareem called out the man's name in a loud voice, and I remembered hearing
of this person from my husband. Thinking back, I recalled some of what
Kareem had told me about this particular acquaintance. During the years of
our married life, each time we had visited our villa in Cairo, Kareem's
memories of his Egyptian schoolmate had been stirred. Each time, he
planned to look up his old friend. And on each occasion the fullness of
our family life had prevented his doing so.
Now, after a quick view of the man, I was glad Kareem's plans had never
materialized, for I felt myself instantly in conflict with this malevolent
character who, to my eye, had been conspicuous in his dislike for women.
I wondered what had produced such changes in the man's life, for I
distinctly re called Kareem having told me Yousif had such attractive
manners that women found it hard to resist him and he never slept alone.
Kareem and Yousif had known each other during their student days, when
they were both living in a land not their own. While in London, Yousif was
a carefree, happy individual who was interested in little more than
merrymaking with Western women in gambling casinos. Kareem said he was
brilliant, with little need to study his lessons, and that was a good
thing, for Yousif introduced Kareem to a different girlfriend each week.
In spite of Yousif's insatiable lust for female company, Kareem had
predicted a great future for his friend in the legal and political
system of Egypt, for Yousif had a quick mind and a pleasing manner.
Yousif graduated from law school one year ahead of Kareem, and they had
not seen each other since that time.
As Yousif and Kareem began to share their news, my daughters and I stayed
in the back ground, which is our way when the man is not of our family,
but we could overhear all that Kareem and Yousif were saying.
Apparently Yousif had changed radically from his years as a student, for
after a short conversation, it was evident that he and my husband no
longer enjoyed much in common.
Yousif was strangely reticent regarding his career, and when Kareem
pressed him on his profession, he would say little more than that he had
changed from the youth of Kareem's youthful days spent in England. The
man, Yousif, was from Egypt. One moment Kareem was standing by my side,
and the next he was heartily embracing a man none of us had ever seen.
Yousif proudly told Kareem that since they last met he had married and
divorced one woman, who had given him two sons, and had married a second
woman, fathering five sons in that union. The man delighted in boasting
about the joys of having seven sons. Yousif also mentioned that he had
full custody of the first two children, and that the boys had been
forcibly taken from the influence of his first wife, a modern woman who
insisted upon working outside of the home. She, Yousif said, with
ill-concealed disgust, was a teacher with new ideas about women and their
station in life.
Yousif spat on the ground when he mentioned his first wife's name, and
said, "Praise to God, Egypt is returning to the teachings of the
Koran. Egyptians will soon have the law of Mohammed ruling their lives,
rather than the unsettling system of secular law that encourages our women
to come out of purdah."
At this bit of information, I began to come to life and was about to
intrude on their conversation and tell the man some of my thoughts, when I
was struck dumb by further revelations from
Kareem's friend.
Yousif proudly told Kareem that his greatest blessing from God was that
neither of his marriages had been cursed with the birth of daughters, and
that truly, women were the source of all sin. If a man had to waste his
energies in guarding women, Yousif said, he had little time for performing
other, more important duties in life.
Without waiting for Kareem's response to these shocking comments, Yousif
launched into the story of a man he had met while in Makkah. He said that
the man was an Indian Muslim and that this Muslim was planning to remain
in Saudi Arabia because there was a warrant out for his arrest in India.
The authorities in India had discovered two days after his departure for
Saudi Arabia that he and his wife had murdered their baby daughter by
pouring scalding water down the child's throat.
Yousif asked for Kareem's opinion on the matter, but before my husband
could speak, he resumed his loud, rude speech and said that he, himself,
thought that the man should not be punished, since he was the father of
four daughters and had desired a son to the point of madness. While Yousif
acknowledged that the Prophet had not condoned such practice, he thought
the authorities should not intervene on a private matter that had harmed
no one but the baby girl.
Yousif wondered if Kareem could offer assistance obtaining a work visa for
the man, and possibly give him a job in Saudi Arabia so he would not have
to return to his country and face trial.
Yousif had not bothered to discover the sex of Kareem's children, and
Kareem had begun to breathe heavily. Knowing Kareem's thoughts on such
matters, I thought that my husband might strike his old friend and fling
him to the ground.
The back of Kareem's neck turned red, so I knew that my husband blushed in
anger. I decided that he had eyes in the back of his head, for he motioned
with his hand for me to stay away. Kareem curtly informed his old friend
that he, himself, had been blessed with two beautiful daughters and one
son, and that he loved his daughters as he did his son.
A man with thick skin, Yousif gave his condolences to Kareem, saying that
it was too unfortunate he was the father of daughters. Without taking a
moment to breathe, Yousif then began to argue the benefits of sons, and
wondered why my husband did not take an other wife. Kareem could, after
all, allow me to keep the daughters, and he could raise our son.
Kareem responded with the calm of a man who is very angry by reminding
Yousif of the teachings of Mohammed. "Yousif," he asked, you say
you are a practicing and good Muslim. If so, do you not recall the words
of the blessed Prophet when a man entered the mosque and approached the
Prophet?"
I knew the story well, since I have always quoted the fairness of the
Prophet with regard to women, when fighting the extremists in my land.
Yousif listened with a blank face, and it was evident to my eyes that he
was a man who had no interest in the words of the Prophet if those words
did not agree with his own thoughts on life.
Kareem plunged ahead, a man intent on making his point by using intellect,
and the teachings of a man anointed by God to spread his word, instead of
by resorting to brute force. Frankly, I desired to see Yousif beaten and
bloodied, but I did have a moment of pride when Kareem spoke with the
passion of a muezzin reminding the faithful to come to prayer, as he told
the true story of Prophet Mohammed's reminder to all fathers about the
equal value of their children, regardless of sex.
A man entered the mosque and approached the Prophet. He sat down and began
to talk. After some time, the man's two children, a boy and a girl,
followed their father into the mosque. The boy came in first, and received
much praise and a loving kiss from his father. The boy settled on the
man's lap, while the man continued talk mg to the Prophet.
Sometime later, the man's daughter arrived at the mosque. When she
approached her father, he did not kiss her or put her on his lap, as he
had done with his son. Instead, he motioned for the little girl to sit in
front of him, and went on talking to the Prophet.
The Prophet was greatly concerned when he saw this. Why, he asked, do you
not treat these children equally? Why did you not kiss your daughter as
you kissed your son, and let her, also, sit on your lap?
The man felt ashamed when he heard the Prophet say those words. He
understood that he had acted in an improper manner toward his two
children.
Sons and daughters are both gifts of God, the Prophet reminded him. Both
are equally great gifts, and so they should always be treated equally.
Kareem glared at Yousif, his expression seeming to say, now, what do you
have to say to that!
This Yousif fellow was a rude man. Ignoring Kareem's obvious discomfort
and the message of the Prophet's words, he started his tirade against
women once again, quoting remarks from the Green Book, written by
President Qaddafi of Libya, a man who was known to cling to the strictest
interpretation of the proper role of women in Islam. Seeing that he had
not won over Kareem to his way of thinking, he concluded his efforts by
reminding my husband of the breakdown of the family unit in Western
countries, stating, "God has assigned a specific duty for men and for
women. Women are created for procreation, nothing else! Kareem, come now,
who can deny that by nature all women are exhibitionists? This tendency
cannot be changed, but it is a man's duty to keep her away from all men,
otherwise, she will squander her beauty and give her charms to any man who
asks.
Furious, Kareem turned his back and walked away from his friend. His face
was an ugly mask as he led his women from the scene.
In a loud voice he said to me, "That Yousif has become a dangerous
man!"
I glanced back at Yousif. Never have I witnessed such evil in a man's
face.
Kareem called his brother-in-law Mohammed on his portable telephone and
asked him to make some delicate inquiries about Yousif's activities,
telling Mohammed that the man was extremely radical and possibly an
instigator of violence.
Within hours, Mohammed returned Kareem's call and said that Kareem was on
the mark, that the man was a skilled lawyer whose clients were members of
the Gamaa A' Islamiya, an Egyptian Islamic extremist group formed in the
early 1980s that was responsible for militant violence in Egypt.
Kareem was astonished. Yousif represented men who were attempting to
overthrow the Egyptian secular government! The Egyptian internal security
authorities had told Mohammed that there had never been charges lodged
against the man, but when in Egypt, he was kept under careful
surveillance. Mohammed added that he had placed Saudi Security around
Yousif to ensure that he did not cause problems while in Saudi Arabia. A
little less than a year later, Kareem was saddened but not surprised at
the news that Yousif had been arrested in Assiut, in southern Egypt, as a
principal leader of the Muslim extremist group. While watching a news
program, Kareem spotted Yousif's face-his old friend was looking out on
the world from a cage. Kareem followed his case closely and seemed
somewhat relieved that Yousif had not been sentenced to death, while I
thought the world was a more dangerous place with such men among the
living and would have welcomed his demise.
In spite of the fact that we were at Haj and knew we should not
concentrate on worldly matters, the man Yousif had made such an impression
on our daughters' moods that Kareem thought it best to talk the matter
through and give Amani and Maha the comforting knowledge that men like
Yousif were only a passing phase in a long Islamic history.
After the dinner hour, our family sat and discussed the man Yousif and
what he represented in the Muslim world.
We asked each of the children their thoughts on what they had heard that
day.
Abdullah was the first to speak. Our son was plainly disturbed, saying
that Islam was on the move and that it would affect each of our lives, for
the extremist groups were calling for the downfall of the Saudi monarchy.
He envisioned Saudi Arabia going the way of Iran, with a man like Khomeini
leading our country. Abdullah predicted that his generation of Al Sauds
would live out their lives on the French Riviera, and such a thought was
distressing to him.
After hearing what the man had to say about females and their value, Maha
was spitting mad and wanted her father to have Yousif arrested and charged
as a spy. She thought she would like to see him beheaded, even if it was
on trumped-up offenses!
Amani was reflective and said that the Arabic love of all things Western
was allowing
men such as Yousif to gain power in Muslim countries.
Kareem and I looked at each other, neither of us liking our youngest
child's turn of thought.
Maha pinched her sister, accusing her of supporting the man's words.
Amani denied the charge but said that she did consider the possibility
that life was more simple when women's roles were more de fined and not
open for discussion and change. She mentioned that in the bedouin life
prior to the building of cities, men and women were not so confused as
they were today.
It was as I had feared! My daughter's thoughts were taking her back in
time. She seemed to be losing pride in her femaleness, and I wondered what
I could do to reinforce her sense of worth as a modern woman in an
advancing civilization.
Abdullah did not understand and began to
laugh, asking Amani if she longed for the time when female babies were
buried in the sand! It was not too late to take up the practice, he said,
Yousif could introduce us to a man who had recently killed his own
daughter!
Knowing Amani's delicate mental state, Kareem gave his son a stern look
and said that the matter was no joke, that the evil practice was a
terrible problem in India, Pakistan, and China. Kareem told us he had
recently read an article in a foreign newspaper that quoted startling
statistics. Tens of millions of females were missing in those lands, and
no one seemed particularly interested in finding out what had happened to
them.
My husband felt so strongly about the mat ter that he insisted upon
discussing further the evil practice of infanticide by telling our
children a story I was not aware he knew in such detail.
The children moaned and said they were too old for stories from their
father, but my husband insisted, saying that while statistics made little
impact on our emotions, individual tales of horror brought tears to the
eyes and generated action on social issues in the world community.
Seeing my husband in a new light, I listened as he told the famous Muslim
tale that had been passed down by professional story tellers from the time
of Prophet Mohammed.
"Prior to the founding of the Islamic faith by Prophet
Mohammed," Kareem said, "there was a tribe in Arabia that
practiced the in human deed of burying alive their baby daughters in much
the same manner that baby girls are murdered today in other countries.
"Qais bin Asim was the chief of this tribe. When Chief Asim embraced
Islam, he confessed a dreadful tale to Prophet Mohammed."
"O Messenger of God! A daughter was born to my wife when I was away
from my home on a journey. My wife was fearful that I might bury the child
alive, and after nursing her for a few days, sent this child to her sister
so that she might be cherished by another. My wife prayed that I might be
merciful to the child when the girl became older.
"When I came back home from the journey, I was told that my wife had
given birth to a dead child. Thus, the matter was forgotten. During the
time, the child remained being loved by her aunt. Once I went out of the
house for a whole day, and my wife, thinking I would be out much longer,
thought it safe to call her daughter home and enjoy her company for some
time in my absence.
"Unexpectedly, I changed my mind and came home earlier. When I
entered my home I saw a very beautiful and tidy little girl playing in the
house. When I looked at her I suddenly felt a surge of strong and
spontaneous love for her within me. My wife sensed my feelings and thought
that my blood had called to my own blood and my fatherly love and
affection had sprung up naturally for the girl. I asked her, 'Oh, my wife,
whose child is this? How charming she is!'
"Then, my wife told me about the truth of the girl. I could not
control my joy and eagerly took the girl in my arms. Her mother told her
that I was her father and she began loving me dearly, and calling out to
me, 'Oh, my father! My father!' At those moments I felt an indescribable
pleasure when this girl child put her arms around my neck and showed me
affection.
"Days went by in this way and the child remained being nourished by
us and was free from any worry or discomfort. But there were times when
this girl caught my attention and such thoughts came to my mind: I have to
give this girl to another man in marriage. I will have to bear the insult
that another man will know my daughter as his wife. How will I be able to
face other men, knowing that my honor is ruined when this child is bedded
by a man. These thoughts took hold of my mind and I was tortured
incessantly~ At last these thoughts aroused my indignation and made me
devoid of patience with the girl. After some time of thinking, I decided
that I had to do away with the stigma of shame and humiliation for me and
for my ancestors.
"I decided I had to bury the girl alive.
"I could not confide this plan to my wife, so I asked her to get the
child ready, that I was going to take her to a feast with me. My wife gave
the girl a bath, clad her in pretty clothes, and made her ready for the
Feast. The little girl was ex cited, bubbling with cheerfulness, believing
that she was accompanying her father on a joyful occasion.
"I left the house with the girl. She was leaping with joy and
pleasure, holding my hand every now and then, and running ahead of me,
prattling to me with squeals of innocent laughter and gaiety.
"By this time I had become blind to the girl, and was impatient to
get rid of her as soon as possible. The poor child was unaware of my
sinister intentions and followed me merrily.
"At last I stopped at a lonely spot and began to dig into the ground.
The innocent girl was surprised to see me doing this and asked repeatedly,
'Father, why are you digging in the earth?'
"I paid no attention to her questions. She could not know that I was
digging a pit to bury my own beautiful daughter with my own hands.
"While digging in the earth, dust and sand fell upon my feet and
clothes. My lovely daughter would clean the dust from my feet and clothes
while saying, 'Father, you are spoiling your clothes!'
"I was like a deaf person and did not look at her, and pretended that
I heard nothing she said. I continued my task and finally had dug a pit
large enough to serve my purpose.
"I grabbed my daughter and threw her into the pit, and began to fill
the pit with great haste. The poor girl was looking at me with frightened
eyes. She began to cry frantically and screamed, 'My dear father, what is
this? I have done no wrong! Father, please, do not hide me in the ground!'
"I kept on doing my work like a deaf, dumb, and blind person without
paying any attention to her pleadings and entreaties.
"O Great Prophet of God! I was too heartless to have pity on my own
child! On the contrary, after burying her alive, I heaved a huge sigh of
relief and came back satisfied that I had saved my honor and pride from
humiliation."
When Prophet Mohammed heard this heart- rending story about an innocent
girl, the Holy Prophet could not control himself and tears fell upon his
cheeks. He asked the Chief of the Tribe of Asim, "This is too cruel!
How can one, who does not pity others, expect to be pitied by the Almighty
God?"
Kareem looked into the faces of his children. "Prophet Mohammed, upon
hearing this story, became very gloomy, and he related another story that
was similar in its horror.
A man came to Mohammed and told him that he had once been very ignorant.
He said that he had no knowledge and no guidance until the Prophet came
and made God's wishes known.
This man said, "O Messenger of God! We worshipped idols and killed
our children with our own hands. I once had a little and very charming
daughter. When I would call her she would run into my arms laughing with
joy and plea sure. One day I called this girl to me, and she readily came.
I asked her to follow me, and she did. I walked too rapidly, and this girl
came running with her small steps. There was a deep well at a short
distance from my home. When I reached this well, I stopped and the child
came to the well, trotting after me. I caught hold of that child by the
hand and threw her into the well. The poor child cried and called out for
me to save her. Father, was the last word on the child's lips."
When the man finished his story, the Prophet wept for a long time, and the
tears were so plentiful that they wet his beard.
"Our ignorance about females was washed away by the shedding of his
tears, and today ~ it is considered a vile and cruel act for a man to bury
alive, to throw down into wells, or to harm his female children."
I hugged each of my daughters. In our hearts, it was as if the Prophet
himself were near us, and it seemed as if the tragic tale of the two young
girls had occurred in the present and not centuries prior to our
existence. Who could doubt that our Prophet had done much to abolish
unjust practices and cruel customs? He had been born in an evil time, when
pagan gods were worshipped, when men took hundreds of wives, and the
practice of infanticide was common. Prophet Mohammed had great difficulty
in abolishing these evil practices, and what he could not abolish, he
restricted.
I told my family that in my opinion, the traditions remaining from that
era and not the Koran were what kept us women in bondage. Few people know
the facts that the Koran does not call for veiling, nor the restrictions
women endure in the Muslim world. It is the traditions passed down that so
hinder us from moving forward.
A lively discussion ensued as to why the position of women was one of
subjection to men, with Maha insulting her brother Abdullah by pointing
out that her scores in school topped his in every subject.
Just as Abdullah opened his mouth to respond, I warned my children not to
make the conversation personal.
Then I brought up the obvious, that the physical vulnerabilities of a
woman can be traced to that most important of human accomplishments, the
absorption of her strength in carrying, nursing, and rearing children. I
have always known that this one fact doomed females to a subordinate
status in all societies. Instead of attaining honor for being the producer
of life, we are penalized!
To my mind, this fact is the scandal of civilization!
Abdullah, whose favorite instructor at school was a Lebanese philosophy
professor{ showed off his knowledge by giving us a history lesson on
women's slow climb from the beginning of life until the present moment.
Women had been nothing more than beasts of burden in the earlier days,
tending to the children, gathering wood for the fire, cooking the meals,
making the clothes and boots, and working as pack animals when the tribes
were on the march. The men, Abdullah said, risked themselves in the
capture of the game, and their reward for providing the tribe with meat
was to rest the remainder of the time.
Teasing his sisters, Abdullah flexed his muscles and said that brute force
kept men at the fore, and if his sisters were truly interested in
equality, they should work out with his weights in our exercise studio,
rather than reading books in their spare time.
Kareem had to restrain our daughters, to keep them from piling on top of
their brother. Maha dodged her father's arms and gave a kick to Abdullah's
private parts, and Kareem and I both were astonished at her knowledge of
his weakest area.
I smiled at the antics of my children, but nevertheless my heart was
gloomy as I thought of how we women had suffered from the moment of
creation. From the beginning of time, we were used as slaves to do the
work, and now that practice continued in many countries of the world. In
my own country, women are considered nothing more than objects of beauty,
sexual toys for the enjoyment of our men.
I have personal knowledge that women are the equal of men in endurance,
resourceful ness, and courage, but I am ahead of my time in the backward
land of Arabia.
Kareem became quiet. Then he broke the silence and said that he was
remembering his old friend Yousif, and the wrongful path he had chosen.
I became pleased that Kareem had witnessed Yousifs disintegration as a
civilized man, for it was as if by recognizing the evil that sprouts and
take holds in society when such men gain power, my husband finally be came
what I wanted him to be.
Kareem mulled over his thoughts. "Sultana, you know, it is
unsuccessful men such as Yousif who mold the myth that women are the root
of all evil. I know now that although this inaccurate opinion of women is
attractive to men, it creates a paralyzing disillusionment that only forms
a hateful barrier between the two sexes.
Kareern looked at his son and said, "Abdullah, I hope you will never
accept such obstinate resistance to the worth of women. It will be up to
your generation to abandon the subjugation of women. I am sad to say that
the men of my generation have given new form to women's oppression."
I could only imagine what my daughters were thinking, but Maha seemed
bewildered and angry that she had been born into a society so reluctant to
adjust to social change, while Amani, so recently immersed in her
consoling faith, appeared burdened by the traditional sanctions that favor
the subjugation of women.
Weary of men such as Yousif and of the life they envision for women-all of
whom they consider wicked and therefore strive to control I could not
reconcile myself to the dark years ahead when women would be forced to
protect themselves from the growing movement of the extremists who called
so loudly for their banishment from normal life.
As I prepared myself for bed, I felt that the spark had gone from the
occasion of Ha]. This, in spite of Kareem's newfound philosophy that spoke
of enlightened liberation within the confines of our family.
The following morning our faces were drawn from our late evening. Silent
through out our morning meal, we prepared ourselves for the most important
day of Ha].
We were driven five miles north to the hill of Arafat. This was the spot
where, according to history, Adam and Eve united after their wanderings.
It was also on this site that Ibrahim had been ordered by God to sacrifice
his son Ismail. Lastly, this was the place where Prophet Mohammed had
delivered his final sermon. Four months later he was dead.
Disheartened, I barely moved my lips as I uttered the words of the
Prophet, "You have to appear before your God, who shall demand from
you an account of all your actions. Know that all Muslims are brothers.
You are one brotherhood, no man shall take from his brother unless by his
free consent. Keep your selves from injustice. Let him who is present tell
this to him who is absent. It may be that he who is told this afterward
may remember it better than he who has now heard it."
Walking up the steep slope of Mount Arafat, I cried, "Here I am, O
God! Here I am!" This is the day when God erases all of our sins and
confers his forgiveness.
For six hours my family and I, with the other pilgrims, stood in the heat
of the desert. We prayed and read from the Koran. My daughters, like many
other pilgrims, held umbrellas over their heads to seek the shade, but We
felt the need to suffer the effects of a baking sun, as a testimony of my
faith. Many men and women were fainting all around me, and they were
transported on stretchers to the sun-stroke vans, manned by hospital
attendants.
At dusk we moved to the open plain between Mount Arafat and Mina. We
rested for a while and then started our prayers once again.
Abdullah and Kareem gathered small stones for the following morning's
rituals, and without family communication-for each of us showed signs of
physical weariness
-we rested fitfully that last night and pre pared ourselves for the final
day of Haj.
The last morning we chanted, "In the name of God Almighty I do this,
and in hatred of the devil and his pretense! God is Great!" We each
cast seven sets of the small stones gathered by Kareem and Abdullah at the
stone pil lars symbolizing the devil that stand along the road to Mina.
This is the spot where Ibrahim drove Satan away when the devil tried to
tell him not to sacrifice Ismail as God had ordered. Each of the stones
was representative of a bad thought, or a temptation to sin, or the
burdens endured by the pilgrims.
We were cleansed of our sins! Now, in the final ritual of the Haj, we
traveled to the plain of Mina. There, sheep, goats, and camels were being
butchered to commemorate Ibrahim's willingness to sacrifice his beloved
son to God. Butchers roamed throughout the crowd of pilgrims, offering to
butcher an animal for a certain sum. Once paid, they held the animal with
care, and faced its head toward the Kaaba at the Holy Mosque, all the
while praying, "In the name of God! God is Great!" After their
prayer, the butchers quickly slit the throat of the animal, allowing the
blood to drain prior to skinning the beast.
Hearing the cries of the poor beasts and watching the blood run freely,
poor Amani screamed as one insane and dropped to the ground in a faint.
Kareem and Abdullah carried her to one of the small trailers that are set
about for the faint of heart and the weak.
They soon returned, saying that Amani was resting comfortably but was
still crying, paralyzed with grief at what she deemed to be the senseless
slaughter of many beasts.
Kareem gave me an I-told-you-so look. I felt some small degree of
happiness that a recognizable part of Amani's personality had survived
intact and hoped that Kareem was right in his assessment that once we
departed Makkah our daughter would be her old self
As we watched the violent activity, I re minded myself that it was an
important ritual, that the animals are sacrificed to remind the pilgrims
of the lessons they have learned at Haj: sacrifice, obedience to God,
mercy to all men, and faith.
Since childhood, I have always been fascinated with the skinning
process-the butcher cutting a thin slit in the leg of the animal, then
pumping air through the slit to separate the skin from the flesh. The
animals grew larger and larger before my eyes, while the butcher struck
the body of the animal with a strong stick to distribute the air evenly.
The four days of celebration now began in earnest. I knew that Muslims all
over the world were joining us, their hearts longing to be in the holy
city of Makkah. Shops were closing, families were receiving new clothes,
and vacations were being taken.
We cut off locks of our hair to signify the end of our pilgrimage and then
we women exchanged our plain garb for colorful dresses, while the men put
on clean cotton thobes, the white of the garments shining as bright as
new-spun silk.
That afternoon, the actual feast began. Amani was still pale but had
recovered sufficiently to join in the festivities, though she refused to
partake of any meat. Our family gathered at our tent, and we ex changed
small gifts and congratulated each other. We said our prayers, and then
sat together at a long table and ate a wonderful meal of lamb with rice.
What remained of our feast was given to the poor. While many of the
pilgrims would pray and repeat their rituals over the next few days, our
family decided to return to our home in Jeddah to celebrate further.
We prepared our departure.
My children were now entitled to place the honored title of Hajji before
their first names. In spite of the fact that I knew they would not do so,
this term of respect reminds all Muslims that a person has fulfilled the
fifth pillar of Islam. I knew that we had pleased God by doing Haj.
Now, I prayed for God to please me by re leasing my daughter Amani from
the fundamentalist leanings that seemed to grip her soul. I knew that
mental instability could lend sanctity to the most extreme doctrine. I did
not want my daughter sacrificed to the militant ideals, so common to many
religions, which I had struggled diligently against from the moment of
understanding.
It was not to be. Whether I had pleased God or not, his decision
concerning my daughter failed to please me.
The trip to Makkah would later prove to be both a blessing and a
misfortune for my family. While Kareem and I grew closer than we had been
since the first few years of our marriage, and Maha and Abdullah sought to
live the lives of responsible citizens, Amani be came a gloomy recluse.
My deepest fears were realized. |
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