In her last column Lubna Hussain wrote about a humiliating experience that happened to her while performing Umrah at the Holy Haram. One might think that this was perhaps something out of the ordinary. That is why I wanted to break my silence about my experiences at the Grand Mosque, which to this day make my heart grieve.
I used to love to pray in the Grand Mosque. My relatives are from Makkah and for them praying at the Holy Haram is a regular occurrence. At night if they have no other obligations they go to visit the Holy Kaaba. Of course on Friday they are always there for Jumah prayer. If anyone is ill or troubled, someone from the family goes to the Holy Mosque to pray for mercy from Allah. My relatives simply could not imagine staying away from the Grand Mosque for more than a few days.
I used to be like them. From Yanbu, where my family lived years ago, it was an easy drive on the weekend to go to Makkah. We’d visit my mother-in-law and all the aunties and other relatives. We’d pray at the Grand Mosque. Then, we’d shop. I never thought twice about hopping in the car and driving to Makkah.
Depending on the season, the Holy Haram could be quite crowded. At those times we’d go to the mosque late at night or early in the morning, but we never stayed away. I remember 21 years ago carrying my six-week-old son in my arms and performing Umrah with him. People were so kind. I have fond memories of the people who sweetly offered to carry our tiny baby during the long walk between Safa and Marwa.
Then, suddenly, about a decade ago things began to change at the Grand Mosque. Yes, the numbers coming for Umrah and Haj seemed much larger. But that cannot explain the difference in the mood and behavior of the crowds. Circumambulating the Kaaba began to require the skills of a wrestler. After suffering the pushing, elbowing and jostling of the crowd, I would return home and usually find that I’d been seriously bruised.
My mother-in-law, an elderly lady, who was carried on a litter during the Umrah rituals, was very upset to see the hurt I’d been caused. The next Ramadan when I wanted to perform Umrah, she insisted that we perform the rituals as a group. She hoped that the men of the family could offer us some protection. It was even worse than before. We could not stay together in the huge crush and the men were personally offended with the behavior of some aggressive people in the crowd. It was difficult to keep any sort of religious thoughts in my mind under such conditions.
That was six years ago and since that time I have not performed Umrah during Ramadan. However, I still went to the Holy Haram during Ramadan, but I would stay on the second level in a ladies’ area, well away from the crowds. Generally, I was alone as my husband and son would be praying elsewhere.
Then, five years ago in the spring, an incident happened in the mosque. Even now when I think of it, tears come to my eyes. It was during the Maghrib prayer. I was standing at the end of a row with my eyes closed, listening to the imam recite. There was a tap on my shoulder. “Ghati Wajhik,” came an insistent female whisper. My eyes flew open. I was being told to cover my face during the prayer. I stared straight ahead. Again the instruction came and again I ignored it. The woman standing behind me moved away. I was not left alone for long though.
While I was on my knees, two women covered from head to toe, except for their eyes, appeared at my side. They had some sort of badge sewn to the front of their hijab. One grasped my right wrist and ordered me in clear English, “Sister, cover your face.” I was shocked. Around me, despite the interruption, other women were trying to continue in their prayer but inquisitive looks were being thrown my way. To make a long and ugly story short, I spent the entire remainder of the prayer on my knees receiving a lecture. I could not escape, as making an aggressive move in the Holy Mosque was unacceptable to me.
Moments after the prayer finished my family came to collect me and found me on my knees with tears running down my cheeks. The two women informed my family that they were “Guardians of Holy Haram” and they issued instructions that I was to immediately cover my face. My family was horrified and quickly led me away. Even in our car I was still sobbing.
I have been unable to return to the Grand Mosque since that day. Every time I consider the idea, I am overcome with a feeling of panic. I have shared my experience with many other women in the hope of finding solace. Sadly, too often the women relate to me accounts that are just as unpleasant or even worse than mine. Rudeness and ignorance should find no foothold in the holiest place in Islam, but somehow it seems that certain people have forgotten the basic tenets of our faith.