In order to get a sense of the Tawaf, imagine there is a string: one end is tied in knot inside your heart, the other end is tied to the Ka’abah. The Ka’abah is like a magnetic force that pulls so strongly you just SPIN out of control—around and around like a mad dervish, until you are dizzy, drunk with the joy and ecstasy of it.
If you have plans to make hajj, I strongly recommend that you plan for hajj tamattu’ in such a way as to arrive in Makkah as close to the new moon as possible for the Zhul-Hijjah, or 12th lunar month. This is approximately one week before the hajj begins on the 8th day.
When you first see the Ka’abah, you are supposed to say certain du’a (including asking for ANYTHING you want), and then make two rakaats. Most people are so overwhelmed at the sight of it, they simply dissolve into tears. For Muslims, this is the psychological center. The heart of our daily prayers. We see it in our mind’s eye, we reproduce it as a design on our prayer rugs. But the real thing. WOW!
The way the city has built up around the Ka’abah, which was originally constructed in a valley between surrounding hills, there is no way to get a view by accident. Furthermore, the mosque is now built around it and so you have to make your way through this mammoth elaborate and beautiful structure to get your glimpse.
You might see that mosque, Masjid al-Haram, but only after you have approached it by some distance. Especially the minarets, which are so high they shoot up taller than many of the buildings surrounding it. The hotels built around it, and a few administrative buildings, block the view at street level.
However, when you do see it, you will be required to complete the ritual performance: tawaf, followed as closely as possible after that with sa’iy.
My roommate and I decided with our late arrival, followed by breakfast, that we were not in our rooms soon enough to shower and rush out again, to make our umrah, without first resting. I was too excited to sleep for long, so I actually went out an hour earlier and began to scope the lay of the land. But I dared not approach the mosque too closely. Ever since that fajr debacle, I could not resist the pull the Ka’abah was having over me. We made our way to the mosque, leaving our hotel about a half hour before the time for zhuhr; it’s only a 3-5 minute walk.
Now, I have to confess, maybe it was the glimpse of the mosque from our 7th-story hotel window, but I did NOT swoon, nor even shed a single tear when I looked beyond the pillars inside the mosque and first saw this incredibly plain box-like thing made of stone slabs. There was a black cloth draping the building, with a beautiful calligraphic design actually stitched in gold. But all I could think was, where is my WOW moment?
After praying our two rakaats, we stepped down into the inner court which surrounds the Ka’abah. We approached a line of people doing tawaf and fell into step. From the outer ring, this would be a pretty accurate description—falling into step, that is.
The tawaf is performed counter-clockwise, with the Ka’abah always on our left. At the corner that holds the black stone, the tawaf circuit begins. Here you are supposed to face the Ka’abah and hold both hands as high as your ears, with palms toward the black stone, and recite “bismi-Lah, Allahu Akbar laa ilaha illa-Allah.” Then raise your right hand as if in greeting and bring it back to kiss. If you are close enough to the stone, you’re supposed to kiss it. If you cannot kiss it, you should touch it with the right hand; if not, then just wave and kiss the hand. People also will touch it with an item of clothing and then kiss that, if they are close enough.
So we started our tawaf—this is possible from anywhere, but to “count” and complete the 7, we have to be opposite the corner with the black stone. For our first tawaf, we started a bit ahead and when we got to the black stone, we raised our hands and started our count. I was on the inside, closest to the Ka’abah and with each circuit or each corner, I attempted to move in closer and closer to the Ka’abah.
We were there at the heat of the day, but honestly with each and every corner, as we drew closer, the string from my heart was tugged just a little bit more taut, until I was overcome with the desire to get close enough to touch. It was such a strong feeling. I continued to recite my du’a labayk Allahuma labaykh, and to do zhikr. I chose to do so out loud instead of the silent version recommended for women. Wonder who came up with that?
In the thick of the stream of people making tawaf, this dhikr was really my saving grace. I almost never got overcome with anger or frustration. I was NOT focused on what the person, singular, was doing next to me. We were all a part of this mighty river, rushing round and around the Ka’abah, the House of God.
Nothing else mattered—well, except the roommate. We stayed linked at the arm until we hit the corner with the black stone. In order for me to wave, I had to get my arm out of her left arm link. I was conscious then not to get separated. But we managed the pause, the wave and kiss; and with each circuit, we got closer. Not surprisingly, the closer you get, the tighter the crowd is. What was a surprise was the more intense the current of the raging river of people became, the more pull on the heartstrings. Still with the dhikr on my lips, I swam the course and was at the same time pulled taut by the magnetic force of the Ka’abah and its attachment to my heart’s string.
And that is when love struck me. I was in love with the Ka’abah. Somewhere between stepping foot into the inner courtyard that the Ka’abah is on and starting that first tawaf, I was stung, as if by mighty bee whose nectar was located inside the cube that seemed at first innocuous. I started smiling and continued to do so whenever I caught sight of the Ka’abah. It became the only thing that mattered, this crude structure established by the Prophet Abraham to commemorate the Oneness and Truth of God.
Now, for me, that was all that mattered. Even when a woman to our right said (in English, nonetheless) that my hair was showing, and it was slightly longer than my scarf at certain points; I had no thoughts for her except this one.
Wow, I am so INTO this Ka’abah, so drawn to it and yearning to circumambulate around it, and if I can to get close enough to touch it, labaykh Allahuma labaykh, here I am Oh Lord, at Your service—I honestly could not imagine what would cause a person to be in the slightest bit interested in a few hairs?! I just kept on, with my dhikr and the pace. The pace that is like a rushing river. The pull, like a string in my heart getting ever more taut.
Soon, she just disappeared.
At another point, an African guy circled close enough to me from behind that his elbow stayed square in my back for more than one of the sides; and so, I told him, in English too, “remove your elbow from my back,” and he did, and then he too disappeared.
At the 6th round, I was certain that we would not get close enough to touch the black stone, touch the Ka’abah, kiss the black stone, or even see it among the believers so intense in their closeness. I told my roommate to slowly edge her way out toward the outer circle so that we could end our tawaaf by praying the two rakaats at maqam Ibrahim, the station of Ibrahim. If it was even faintly possible to get to it, there is a lower platform on the side of the Ka’abah just after the black stone.
People who could not descend to this lower lobby are allowed to pray two rakats anywhere directly out from the actual station. In order to pray our two, and to be safe from a stampede of hajjis, we needed to be further out. Fortunately, we were still close and yet safe. We also took turns, such that one of us stood guard over the other—double safe.
Anyway, I really got used to the necessity of the jostle and the necessity of the inconvenience. But still, I would draw the line: jostle there, but not in the shops to buy cheap token souvenirs made in China.
