Raffles 1887

RAFFLES READS

Finding Mecca

Saudia Arabia
Culture

What is it like for a devout Muslim to encounter the Ka’aba in Mecca for the first time? THARIK HUSSAIN describes how his relationship with God’s House was a journey that evolved from disappointment to deep, enduring love 

IN Islamic tradition, the Ka’aba is believed to be the first House built to worship God by the first man, the prophet Adam. It was then destroyed and rebuilt by the prophet Ibrahim (Abraham) with the help of his son, the prophet Ismail (Ishmael). The Sacred House then became a shrine dedicated to numerous local gods until the Prophet Muhammad came along and cleansed it, returning it to pure monotheism and reinstating the House and its surrounds as a haram – a sanctuary. This happened around 629CE, five years after God commanded Muslims to direct their daily prayers towards the Ka’aba. Prior to that, Muslims had prayed towards Al Aqsa Mosque in Jerusalem.

My first umrah (lesser ‘Hajj pilgrimage’) to the Ka’aba, in September 2003, was largely for show: an exercise to get into the country where I later hoped to take up a teaching post. Thus, my first encounter with God’s House was not as I had dreamt it; I felt none of the euphoria and elation others had described.

Two years would pass before I dared to darken God’s door again. I came dressed for death, as every pilgrim does, in an ihram – two unstitched, white sheets identical to those we are buried in.

“Thaarik, are you ok brother?” Usman had sensed something was wrong. I had not been my usual chatty self since leaving Jeddah’s Sabco bus terminal.

“I’m fine brother, just very hot,” I lied.

Usman looked at me. He knew.

I was one of the few teachers who had said hello to him – a school bus driver – at the start of term. It’s how we became friends and why, a few weeks later, as we tucked into delicious Eritrean tsebhi (stew) with injera (sour flatbread) in a hidden corner of Jeddah, I had struggled to hide my emotions about being without my wife and children for almost a month. That’s when Usman had suggested we perform umrah together.

He had deliberately picked a quiet time of the day, which meant we completed the major rituals of tawaf (circumambulation of the Ka’aba) and saiy (walking ritual) in a calm, unhurried manner. A stark contrast to my frenzied first pilgrimage two years earlier.

But now, as we sat beneath the Ottoman-era arcade of decorated arches, the memory of that first meeting, during a difficult period of my life, came back to me, and so too the realisation that while God had kept His side of the bargain, I had not. And so, just like the first time, I left the Ka’aba with a sense of shame.

A few days later something strange happened. I was suddenly filled with the urge to go back; as if the House itself was calling me. This time I went alone and in the depths of the night. Not to perform the pilgrimage, but just to be with the House.

"The sun was not due to rise for several hours, and I sat in the open courtyard, inches from the tawaf path. It was the closest you could get without taking part, as if I had the Ka’aba to myself"

I took along a sketch book I had been carrying around since arriving in Saudi. It was a wonderfully cool morning, and the sun was not due to rise for several hours, so I sat in the open courtyard, inches from the maataf (tawaf path) where only a handful of people were performing the tawaf. It was the closest you could get without taking part and offered a perspective of the House: large and looming yet intimate, as if I had the Ka’aba to myself.

"I watched as pilgrims queued to kiss the Black Stone Muhammad had famously helped position"

I began studying the gold detail of the kiswa (Ka’aba covering), my graphite pencil amateurishly recreating the beautifully delicate calligraphy that went all the way around its upper third; I watched as pilgrims queued to kiss the Black Stone Muhammad had famously helped position and I noticed the Golden Spout once crafted by the father of the famous Ottoman traveller, Evliya Celebi, protruding from its roof. On rare occasions when it rains here, pilgrims gather beneath the spout in the hope of swallowing a droplet of water that has caressed the House of God.

On my next trip, I sat on an upper balcony, reading with envy how the 12th-century traveller, Ibn Jubayr, wept uncontrollably at the sight of the House of God and how his 14th-century compatriot, Ibn Battuta, fell to his knees in prostration, before getting up to stare at the tawaf far below, hypnotised by its primordial movement.

I kept going back again and again, long after my wife and children had joined me. Sometimes to sketch or read, and sometimes just to stare. It took me a while to realise it, but with each visit, the place I had once feared so much had become my sanctuary – my haram. I was finally falling in love with God’s House.  

Tharik Hussain is an award-winning author, travel writer and journalist specialising in Muslim heritage and culture. He is a Fellow of the Royal Geographical Society in London and the Centre for Religion & Heritage at the University of Groningen, Netherlands, and an advisor to religious and cultural institutes across the globe. As the author of the ‘Lonely Planet Guide to Saudi Arabia’ he travelled the length and breadth of the Kingdom. His account of a Hajj pilgrimage, ‘The Hajj Diaries’, was selected for inclusion in a compilation, ‘The Best British Travel Writing of the 21st Century’. Tharik is publishing two books in 2025: ‘Muslim Europe: A Journey in Search of a Fourteen Hundred Year History’ and ‘Muslim Britain & Ireland; a Travel Guide to Sites of Islamic Heritage and Culture’.