Ramazan in the city of the Prophet

This is my first time in the Kingdom of Saudi Arabia. I never expected to break into tears when the plane landed. The moment it touched down, tears began trickling down my cheeks. All kinds of humble thoughts consumed me – more than anything, the realisation that Allah had given me the opportunity to set foot in the city that my Prophet (sws) once walked about in.

Our hotel here is very nicely situated. It takes us just about a minute to step into the courtyard of the mosque. It is a beautiful, aesthetically pleasing structure. But we can’t see the Rawza e Rusool (the tomb of the prophet) from this end. We need to walk down two corners before it comes into view. So last night, mum and I made an emotionally charged trip across the mosque. We were in deep conversation along the way, took a break for some yummy, chilled zam zam, but as soon as the iconic green tomb came into view, it’s as if we were pre-wired to go into silence. We stopped our conversation midway, and stared. Stared. Stared. Stared. Prayers for the prophet came oozing out. Very nearby, lay our beloved. He must have walked the land we were standing on. He must have. It is so easy to cry here. Tears come naturally and they feel therapeutic.

And then, there are tears of pain. Unfortunately, the mosque is managed in a very male-centric way:

  • Men are allowed to visit the Prophet’s grave 24 hours a day. On most times, they can casually walk in and casually walk out. Women are simply not allowed.
  • They are not allowed inside Jannat ul Baqi either.
  • Access to Riaz ul Jannah is so much more difficult and complicated for women than it is for men. There are stampedes. I heard there were 6 casualties on the 27th of Ramazan. Women need to plan hours in advance in the hope that they might get a chance to get insid. They either need to find a place during or after tahajjud, or at zuhr time. A random door is opened in their section at these times, and whoever can wrestle their way in, get the chance. As a result, they behave like primates, pushing and shoving, trying to get in before the doors are closed again. The animal within is unleashed. How ironic, but all hell breaks loose. And I blame it on the management.
  • The mosque has 40 (or so) gates. Women get access to 4 of those gates. I have been exchanging notes with my husband, as well as have been observing from a distance myself. Men get to take a polite stroll inside, and find a place of choice to occupy for prayers. Women again need to wrestle their way in. Today, on the 28th of Ramazan, I couldn’t find a spot inside the mosque or its courtyard, to offer asr prayers. I joined the congregation half-standing, and I wept and I wept. I felt so traumatised. My husband said finding a place was no problem at all – the usual for men, I suppose.
  • We are travelling with our 6 year old son. The first time I made my way to the mosque, I was dealt another shock. He wasn’t allowed in the ladies’ section. 6 is an interesting age. He is neither too young to create a ruckus nor too old to be considered a non-mehram. And yet, here I was, stranded outside the mosque because my husband couldn’t feel his phone vibrating as I tried to get in touch.

Tonight is the 29th of Ramazan and I am not going to even attempt to get into the mosque. I will stay put in my hotel room. Allah is everywhere.

But the Saudis do need to reconsider the arrangements they’ve made for women. We are equal Muslims. We need to be able to access the mosque just as easily.

Finally, never choose to come in Ramazan if it is your first time here. It is too much of a heartache.

In the spirit of fairness, one must also give full credit where it is due:

  • If you are in or around the mosque at Iftar time, you will always get plenty of food and drink to break your fast. The government as well as many individuals give so much, you can’t ever be empty handed. You won’t need to go to the food; it will literally be brought to every one of you.
  • The cleaners have a tough job on their hands. People don’t clean up after themselves and the assigned workers are at the job tirelessly and continuously.
  • The government provides chilled zam zam to all pilgrims. You will get water whenever you want it. There are thousands of water coolers inside the mosque and hundreds of taps in the courtyard – there is never a dry spell.

Labbaik Allahumma Labbaik…

Advertisements

My Mommy and the Beach

By The Average Mommy

When I was seven my father worked for a large multinational company in Karachi and every summer we would head out once school ended and crashed with him in the annexe he rented.

This is my clearest memory of Karachi, standing on Clifton beach, my short hair blowing wild. It got caught in my eyes.

My mother was really afraid of the open sea, but we begged her to move closer and closer.

She held our hands so tightly, the waves would come and crash at our feet, but I remember I felt safe.

It never occurred to me that my mother was small and powerless in front of the sea, I pulled her in deeper, and never for a moment stopped to think what would happen to my tiny frame if our hands disconnected.

I remember the force with which she held on to my hand – they were soft and strong, and I knew the sea couldn’t hurt me.

Today, my husband and I decided to dip our feet in the Indian Ocean at Bentota in Sri Lanka, thousands of miles away from Clifton beach in Karachi.

We held on to our children and stood in front of the open water. The kids would scream and shout as the water lapped around their feet.

My children are wild and fearless, they inched closer and closer, wanting to go in deeper.

I felt so proud of the knowledge that we, as parents, had inspired this fearlessness.

It’s not naïveté that makes them believe their parents can save them from a merciless wave; it’s a solid record of good performance.

I love travelling. It inspires me; it unlocks so many memories and feelings, so many things you think you have forgotten, but only need a small reminder- the receding sand from between your toes, the salty ocean air, children screaming with delight – to remind you of a cherished memory.

All the things parenthood takes from you, all the sacrifice it requires, it is all paled and faded in comparison to what it gives.

The absolute trust of another human being in your capability.

This trust, this belief and fan-following can help us move mountains.

Here’s to the beauty of little children who remind us that we are extraordinary, when the rest of the world has convinced us otherwise.

Travel with Kids

A new baby brings with it, unexplained joy; also hard work that you can’t prepare for. A roller-coaster ride is what it is. Eventually, new parents do desperately seek a break. As did we.

In the fall of 2014, our son was due to start school. So a few months prior, we decided to go to Dubai to recoup, in an attempt to relax tense nerves and sore muscles – moreso myself than my husband. Travelling with a child is something a lot of parents are very scared of. Let me tell you: don’t be! If you plan right, it will all be well worth it.

In Dubai, we booked ourselves a room at Sheraton, Mall of the Emirates. This was good decision number 1. A hotel attached with a mall was something we needed at the time. Our tot was fond of afternoon naps. So we’d casually step out whenever we wanted, roamed around the mall, found ourselves an eatery, and when Mr. Cranky Pants decided it was time to unleash his super powers, we’d stroll right back to our hotel room. Late in the evenings, my husband and I would take turns watching movies at the in-house cineplex.

When out sightseeing or in the mall, we’d always take along the baby buggy. This was good decision number 2. It wasn’t an umbrella stroller. It was a heavy weight travel system with a large basket to carry along baby food and goodies. We had also accessorized the buggy with little toys to keep our kid entertained – when he decided to stay put. He otherwise loved running around. But the buggy still served as a nice alternative to restroom facilities for quick diaper changes in a discreet corner or for when tiny legs needed some rest…or for carrying shopping bags!

DSC08108

The Dubai trip was just what the doctor ordered. We couldn’t do the desert safari because we were with an underage child. My husband muffled his excitement in Wild Wadi as he went solo. But this trip was just what the doctor had ordered. We ate and ate, watched movies, shopped a bit, entertained our kid plenty. It was a winning potion.

6 months later, we found ourselves in Thailand. Bangkok was hot, crowded and disappointing. Phuket though, was a mixed bag of nuts. Our hotel there was Grand Mercure. It boasted a separate swimming pool for children, which was a big hit with our 3 year old. This was good decision number 3. Choosing a hotel with a pool and/or a kids’ club or play area, will be well worth the additional moolah.

The inevitable was to happen. We booked an island hopping tour. This was a bad decision. Waking up your child in the wee hours of the day, hopping from one van to another, from one boat to another, from island to island, in sweltering heat was hard on both mother and child. He did eventually warm up to the beach and emerald waters but in hindsight, I wouldn’t recommend such tours with small children.

Soon after our son turned 4, it was London time. His obsession with “Big Ben” was contagious. By this time, as our child’s full dependence on milk and bananas had given way to home cooked, desi food, and his total aversion to fast food and pastas was evident, the three meals of the day were to be my biggest challenge. So while this trip was being planned, I was clear in the head: I needed kitchen facilities. We booked the Staybridge Suites in Vauxhall, This was good decision number 4.

 

test

 

Our first morning in December London was spent doing groceries in Iceland – the supermarket of our choice. We loaded up: stocked our cabinets, fridge and freezer with ready-to-bake, ready-to-cook, ready-to-heat options, juices, veggies, spices and condiments. DSC_0072We had 10 chilly London evenings where we would return to a cosy kitchen. This was good decision number 5. When travelling with children, we learnt it paid off to stay put in one big, entertaining city.

 

 

 

 

 

Here is some proof.