I performed the istikhaarah salaah on the evening of Thursday, 7th September 1995 and pleaded for guidance from Allah, The One Who Is Above weaknesses. By the Grace of Allah, The One Who Is Most Kind to His slaves, I had the most marvellous dream. In my sleep that evening, I saw myself standing in the venerated presence of, and about two metres away from our Beloved Prophet Muhammad (May Allah Convey His Peace and Blessings upon the Holy Prophet) in the Rauda al-Jannah. The Holy Messenger of Allah (May Allah Convey His Peace and Blessings upon the Holy Prophet) was immaculately dressed in pristine white apparel and white turban. I felt entirely insignificant. I was in the company of the fountainhead of virtue. I, also, was dressed in white robes and a white turban, and stood with my back towards the qiblah. Tears of happiness streamed down my cheeks. The Holy Prophet (May Allah Convey His Peace and Blessings upon the Holy Prophet), who was sent by Allah, The Creator and Cherisher of all things, as a Warner and a Mercy to the worlds, stood and looked at me. My spirit rested. I said in Afrikaans: “Yaa Rasulullaah, ek het vir U kom wys my familie – Suleiman, Dawood, Rifdah, en Makkia.” In English, this reads: “O Messenger of Allah, I have come to show to your [esteemed] self my family – Suleiman, Dawood, Rifdah and Makkia.”
I woke with a song in my heart. Allah had honoured me with the society of the best of mankind. The dream was etched in my memory with an astonishing clarity. I shall never forget it. It was, to me, a precognition of the predestination of Allah, The One Whose Will Reigns Supreme, and an invitation from al-Madinah al-Munawwarah.
By my words “Yaa Rasulullaah” (“O Messenger of Allah”), I knew that I had definitely dreamt of the Modest Messenger of Allah (May Allah Convey His Peace and Blessings upon the Holy Prophet). I had addressed our Good Prophet (May Allah Convey His Peace and Blessings upon the Holy Prophet) with the utmost respect. That I spoke in “kombuis” Afrikaans was enlightening. I had much to think about. The reason for my not mentioning my wife’s name (as part of my family) in the list of introductions to our Prophet Muhammad (May Allah Convey His Peace and Blessings upon the Holy Prophet) later became apparent to me – she had introduced herself on our first pilgrimage in 1991! The same could be said for myself – I also had not introduced myself in the dream, as I, likewise, had first travelled to Madinah then. The dream held another eye-opener – I had referred to Suleiman, Dawood, Rifdah and Makkia as ‘my family’ and not as ‘my children’ (as we do in the west). In this lay a poignant lesson – although Makkia forms part of our family, she is adopted (and not ours biologically) and therefore not of ‘our children’! For inclusiveness and especially in du’aa, I later familiarised myself with referring to them as ‘my family’, rather than ‘my children’. I would also refer to them as ‘the children’ in du’aa. I realised also that my not speaking of them as ‘children’ could mean that all or some of them would be adults by the time that we got to the City of Light.
Always thereafter, I wondered why our Cherished Prophet (May Allah Convey His Peace and Blessings upon the Holy Prophet) did not speak to me in the dream.
I related my experience to anyone who would listen.
Islam teaches that a person who dreams of the Holy Prophet Muhammad (May Allah Convey His Peace and Blessings upon the Holy Prophet) has dreamt the truth and has in fact seen the Holy Prophet (May Allah Convey His Peace and Blessings upon the Holy Prophet), and not (mistakenly) anyone else in his or her dream. Based on this reassurance, I believed with certainty that, as long as we held firmly onto the Shari’ah, my family and I would receive divine assistance to get to the Hijaz.
A considerable number of the ’Ibaad-u-Ragmaan Qadiri Jamaa’ah had regularly, over the years, travelled to Saudi Arabia on Haj and ’Umrah. More than fifteen Jamaa’ah people had gone on Haj in 1997. In 1998, thirty-six persons had performed the holy journey. Twenty-one Jamaa’ah pilgrims had answered the call in 1999. The year 2000 had twenty-five Jamaa’ah hujjaaj. Just eight people had gone during 2001. This time, more than a hundred went.
It was a good year, 1422AH. The Haj of that year brought new meaning to the lives of many and helped to heighten the spirit of camaraderie among the members of the ’Ibaad-u-Ragmaan Qadiri Jamaa’ah. Travelling to and staying in the Holy Land has always meant a lot to me. This journey was especially fulfilling. Every day was better than the one before, every moment sweeter than the previous one. Better travelling companions I could not have hoped for.
At 6pm on 24th December 2001, we left Cape Town for Johannesburg. Two days later, we left Johannesburg on Flight KQ 0461 for Nairobi and Jeddah. On 27th December 2001, we arrived by bus in Makkah al-Mukarramah from Jeddah. We completed the rites of ’Umrah.
That Suleiman, Dawood and Rifdah were of age had added value to things. Makkia was just big enough for us not to have to carry her during the tawaaf of the Bait-ullaah and the saa’i. She had turned eight in Makkah.
Taxis coasted through the busy streets. Tow-away trucks hurriedly hauled away badly parked vehicles. Trucks busily pumped desalinated water into storage tanks. Lorries delivered water from the central water distribution centre on the outskirts of Mecca to homes, schools, hospitals and hotels in the area. There were more water delivery trucks than bread distribution vans on the roads.
A cup of tea cost one Saudi riyal on the street. Mutabbag, fried pastry crammed with sweet or savoury filling, were topped with lemon and pepper. This was sold by street vendors in Mecca as ‘fast food’. Kibda sandwiches overflowing with fried liver slices mixed with onion, tomato, and green peppers were especially tasty. Traditionally made shawarma was irresistible. Fruit and vegetables stands made a mint. Stalls selling fruit juice sprinkled with shaved ice had a roaring trade.
Cafés and restaurants flourished. Coffee in herbal, fruity or cardamom blends was served in small cups as appetizers. Rice was the staple cooked meal ingredient. Slow-cooked, broad, brown beans called ful was particularly mouth-watering and eaten at breakfast. Spicy kebab tested one's taste buds. Sweet mint tea was served in small glasses. Pakistani eateries sold burgers, pies, samosas, breyani, roast chicken, and roti and curry. On offer also were warm and cold beverages.
If monetary outlay was the standard by which such things were measured, the Grand Mosque in Makkah must have ranked as the principal wonder of the world. Billions of Saudi riyal were being spent on its expansion and upkeep. Escalators carried eager worshippers between floors. The air-conditioning and audio systems were from the top drawer.
Brown tiles had replaced the hand-hewed granite stones of the Holy Ka'aba. Embroidered Quranic texts glistened above head-height on the kiswah.
Falcons had ousted the finches from the Great Mosque. Gliding majestically from the 89-metre-high minarets, these magnificent hunting birds soared elegantly on the warm air currents high above the Masjid al-Haram. They were showing off, I thought.
At around 16:00 on 2nd January 2002, we went by bus from Makkah to Madinah and reached there the next morning. We would spend twenty-one wonderful days there. Al-Masjid al-Rasul, complete with underground parking and first floor, had been enlarged to include two inner courtyards. There, twelve big state-of-the-art, umbrella-shaped Teflon sunshades sheltered visitors against the sun. Enlarged to hold more than a million worshippers, the Holy Mosque boasted large patterned doors, precast terrazzo cornices, eye-catching brass chandeliers and golden grilles. Plush woollen carpets enhanced the stylish décor.
Underneath the green dome in the Masjid al-Nabwi was the Apartment of 'Aishah. The treasures of the heavens and the earth and all its elements could not rival the worth of this Sacred Chamber. Curtained behind ceiling-high partitioning, it held the holy graves of our Selfless Prophet Muhammad (May Allah Convey His Peace and Blessings upon the Holy Prophet), Sayyidina Abu Bakr al-Siddiq and Sayyidina ’Umar al-Faruq (May Allah, The One Who Lives and dies not, Bless them with His Guardianship).
After performing the necessary Salawaat, I carefully walked into the Rauda al-Jannah. Calm came over me. Heavenly fragrances caught my attention. My mood moved from a state of grace to the very mountain-top of spirituality. Clad in white robes and a white turban, and standing with my back towards the qiblah, I stopped about five feet from the brass lattice that separates one from the holy graves. I was unable to stop the tears from running into my beard. Choking back my emotions, I managed to greet the Messenger of Allah (May Allah Convey His Peace and Blessings upon the Holy Prophet). I softly added: “Yaa Rasulullaah, ek het vir U kom wys my familie – Suleiman, Dawood, Rifdah, en Makkia.” (“O Messenger of Allah, I have come to show to your [esteemed] self my family – Suleiman, Dawood, Rifdah and Makkia.”)
I conveyed greetings to our Warm-hearted Prophet Muhammad (May Allah Convey His Peace and Blessings upon the Holy Prophet) from the people who had asked me to do so. I also greeted the Holy Prophet’s illustrious companions, Sayyidina Abu Bakr al-Siddiq and Sayyidina ’Umar al-Faruq (May Allah, The One Who Is Best Informed of all things, Comfort them with His Unending Satisfaction).
Alhamdu-lillaah. My dream of our Free-handed Prophet Muhammad (May Allah Convey His Peace and Blessings upon the Holy Prophet) had come true after more than six years. Allah, The One Who Feeds us against hunger and Makes us secure against fear, Had Guided us through the flawless personality of our Prophet (May Allah Convey His Peace and Blessings upon the Holy Prophet). I was glad that I could show to our Wise Prophet (May Allah Convey His Peace and Blessings upon the Holy Prophet) that there had been some moral advancement in our lives since we had last been to Madinah. Our Blameless Prophet Muhammad (May Allah Convey His Peace and Blessings upon the Holy Prophet) is the guiding light of those who do good deeds. There is no man greater than him. He is the spirit of truth and the master of those who warn against evil. The most honoured person in the Sight of Allah, our Generous Prophet (May Allah Convey His Peace and Blessings upon the Holy Prophet) remains the model that guides others to the straight path. Our Chivalrous Prophet Muhammad (May Allah Convey His Peace and Blessings upon the Holy Prophet) is the Sayed of the people of paradise.
I, in keeping my word, had faithfully embraced my destiny.
It is with reticence that I write this. I do not wish to place myself on the moral high ground, or to sermonise anyone. This chapter tries to show the truth and importance of dreaming of our Holy Prophet Muhammad (May Allah Convey His Peace and Blessings upon the Holy Prophet). These words seek to confirm that ours is a Prophet of Mercy, a Witness, and a Bearer of Good Tidings. It also aims to portray the consequence of da’waat in the Masjid al-Haram. It is moreover meant as a method of encouragement for our children to some day continue with the Prophetic Tradition of raising an orphan for the sake of Allah, The One of Unbounded Grace. So that they may by this means know that there is more to life than just prayer and fasting. And that they should give of themselves unreservedly. That they might through it also, temper their adhkaar with compassion.
We were asleep at the Mashrabiyya Hotel in Khalid bin Walid Street in Shubayka, Makkah al-Mukarramah when, by the Mercy of Allah, I had the most beautiful dream. I saw myself standing in the holy presence of our Truthful Prophet Muhammad (May Allah Convey His Peace and Blessings upon the Holy Prophet). The appearance of the Holy Messenger of Allah matched scriptural records. Our Prophet (May Allah Convey His Peace and Blessings upon the Holy Prophet) was spotlessly dressed in white robes and a white turban. I stared aghast. Our Prophet (May Allah Convey His Peace and Blessings upon the Holy Prophet) stood about two metres away and faced me directly. Someone so unimaginably holy, so indescribably handsome, one will not come across. I do not have the words with which to suitably portray this most wonderful man, the Seal of the Prophets (May Allah Convey His Peace and Blessings upon the Holy Prophet). I reached for my turban, embarrassed for not wearing it. “Leave it,” I said to myself. “You are in the Company of the Prize of creation.” Brilliance shone from our Guided Prophet (May Allah Convey His Peace and Blessings upon the Holy Prophet). Our Prophet (May Allah Convey His Peace and Blessings upon the Holy Prophet) smiled at me. The smile radiated light. I stood alert, too humbled to speak. I wished that the dream would last forever. The heavenly smile lasted between ten and fifteen minutes, it felt like.
Alhamdu-lillaah. I had never considered myself deserving of such an enormous honour. This was a spiritual experience of the first magnitude. “What does that smile mean?” I asked myself over and over again. I stared at the House of Allah for extended periods, contemplating its meaning.
Deep in thought, I barely noticed the usually persuasive central-African women selling bird-seed as I walked back and forth from the Masjid al-Haram. I was hardly aware of the Turkish female who was dealing in steel daggers at the side of the street. Two men eagerly collecting on behalf of Bosnian refugees also failed to draw my attention. I half-heard a Pakistani lad calling out the price of bottled perfume to prospective customers alongside the road. Malaysian girls trading informally with scarves only just caught my eye. Part of the street had been freshly tarred.
“Unless you receive the sort of treatment that a host bestows on a guest, don’t ever think that, because you have performed the ziyaarah of the Bait-ullaah, you’ve been the guest of Allah,” my father had once counselled me. A similar comment from my uncle, Haji Suleiman, I had further recollected. He had said to me: “Die persoon was Makkah toe – vra vir hom wat het hy gekry.” This rendered into English, says: “The person has been to Mecca – ask him what he had received [there].” I considered his observation a bit harsh then, but the force of his remark was now bearing home on me. He knew what he was talking about. For “’Ammie Haji” it had happened very quickly. Aged twenty-five on his first Haj in 1949, Haji Suleiman had landed inside the Holy Ka’aba when someone lifted him head-high and tossed him over the 2.25 metre high threshold of the Bait-ullaah. “Did you not get hurt?” I inquired further. “No!” he responded excitedly. “I was young and fit, and had landed on my feet,” he continued proudly. Once over the doorsill, he did not have too far to fall, as the inside floor was 2.2 metres above the ground. ’Ammie Haji performed two cycles of discretionary salawaat once inside. Till his dying day, he wondered who had done him the good turn.
Every Muslim who had walked on the holy soil had the potential for such an experience, I realised. Such incidents might have been more prevalent than was ordinarily heard of, I thought. I had for a long time suspected that at least some pilgrims who repeatedly visited the Holy Land, apart from drawing from its built-in holiness, did not preclude themselves from offerings of this nature. It would be silly to think that parallels could not be drawn with Madinah in occurrences of this kind. It would also have been reasonable to expect wondrous incidents of this nature to occur in Jerusalem, as the major Middle Eastern religions agreed on the sanctity of this, the City of the Farthest Mosque. Thinking that this sort of happening was in any way unique to myself, was ludicrous.
Part of my da'waat in the Holy Mosque in Mecca, was to ask Allah, The One Who Makes Clear to us His signs so that we may be grateful, to Grant to ourselves the opportunity and blessings of raising an orphan for His sake.
Having the money with which to afford to go on Haj has always been its first consideration. There were many people who had performed the Holy Pilgrimage more often than I. With regard to my parting from the Holy City, though, I had received a fascinating send-off.
My wife and I had, over a number of years, tried to adopt a baby by applying at several local agencies, and were given all sorts of excuses which disqualified, and sometimes discouraged us. Reasons given were that we were not married according to South African law, that few babies from local Muslim parents came up for adoption, and the fact that we have children of our own. We were also faced with, what was to my mind, the worse aspect of the South African race laws. These regulations and those administering it, in this case, the social workers, prescribed that a ‘brown’ orphaned child had to be matched with ‘brown’ adoptive parents. A ‘yellow’ baby could only be placed with prospective ‘yellow’ adoptive parents, a ‘white’ orphan could not be raised by ‘black’ adoptive parents, and so on. They played dominoes with human lives. Some social workers were more ready to read the ‘race act’ than others. In an interview and in response to a question on whether we would mind adopting a child from a ‘lower rung’ of the colour scale, I told them that “a nice green one would do.” A jab to my ribs from my wife quickly halted the acid flow down the sides of my mouth. Stirring the ire of our then masters by criticising their political beliefs would not help, she meant. “When the white boss tells a joke, and regardless of its lack of humour – laugh!” she chided me later. Race inequalities existing at the time ensured that hundreds of black orphans went begging in more ways than one. It virtually excluded us from adopting a child. No orphans that matched our race and blood mix were on offer and they weren’t likely to easily present themselves for adoption, we were told. My wife is of Indian (as in “Indian” from India, as opposed to “American” Indian) stock and I am of (well) mixed blood.
On the morning of Wednesday, 1st June 1994, just three days after arriving back home from Haj, we received a telephone call from Melanie Van Emmenes of the Child Welfare Society. She explained that a five-month old girl had come up for adoption. The baby had earlier undergone successful abdominal surgery and she asked whether we would adopt the child. We jumped at the chance.
A rush of adrenaline replaced the after-effects of travel. We were rejuvenated. Capetonians usually visit local pilgrims before departure and also on their arrival back home. We excused ourselves from the few visitors and asked my mother-in-law to host them in our absence. My wife and I immediately went to the Adoption Centre in Eden Road, Claremont. We signed the necessary papers.
Afterwards, we told our children that we were about to receive an addition to the family. We plodded through a maze of red tape in order to legalise the process. (My wife and I had to marry in court because Muslim marriages were not recognised then, believe it or not). A few days later, my wife, brother and I collected the petite infant from a foster-mother in Newfields Estate. I shall never forget the joyous feeling when I first carried the frail waif past the front door. Her name is Makkia. We named her after the great city from which we had just returned.
Taking her into our home is one of the better things that we have done. Makkia has added a marvellous dimension to our lives. She is part of our life’s-work. I shall always be grateful to the people who had assisted us with the adoption.
Raising an orphan means giving from the innermost recesses of one’s heart. Adoption springs from the soul of the adoptive parent. When a child is orphaned, we cry. God cries more.
The meaning behind the glowing smile from our Trustworthy Prophet Muhammad (May Allah Convey His Peace and Blessings upon the Holy Prophet) had played itself out in the most delightful way. My dream shows our Prophet’s level of awareness and highlights his profound love for orphans and how kindly he looks on raising an orphan. It demonstrates that raising an orphan is an immensity before God. In our Prophet (May Allah Convey His Peace and Blessings upon the Holy Prophet) we have a beautiful pattern of conduct. Our Affectionate Prophet Muhammad (May Allah Convey His Peace and Blessings upon the Holy Prophet), also, had raised an orphan. Like a lamp that spreads light, the Messenger of Allah (May Allah Convey His Peace and Blessings upon the Holy Prophet) invites to the Grace of Allah by His leave. Our Divinely-inspired Prophet is the first of the God-fearing. No person is better than him. Our Prophet Muhammad (May Allah Convey His Peace and Blessings upon the Holy Prophet) is the leader of the prophets. He is without sin. Our Prophet (May Allah Convey His Peace and Blessings upon the Holy Prophet) is faultless and the foremost of those who submit to the Will of Allah. An exemplar to those who worship God, our Kind-hearted Prophet Muhammad (May Allah Convey His Peace and Blessings upon the Holy Prophet) is the beacon of the pious. He is an inspiration to those who are thankful to God and the leader of those who remember Allah. How should I express gratitude to the Holy Messenger of Allah (May Allah Convey His Peace and Blessings upon the Holy Prophet) for his kind intervention? I am unworthy of untying the thongs of our Prophet’s sandals.
May Allah, The One Who Befriends the righteous, Send His Richest Peace and Blessings Upon our Holy Prophet Muhammad and On his family and companions, as much and as often as Allah Wills.
Allah, The One Who Is Sufficient For those who put their trust in Him, Had Granted our want through the barakah of our Beloved Prophet Muhammad (May Allah Convey His Peace and Blessings upon the Holy Prophet).
I’ve been fairly constant about wearing a turban during ’ibaadah since.
I'm happy for you in that you seem to have found a reason for living that fulfills you in what is a difficult existence in the material world. That is and remains at a personal level, me to you.
Were I to wax sentimental, were I to engage the reader in personal anecdotes of self-absorption, I don't think I could do nearly as well as above. I might relate a scene of encounter in the endless empty skies between myself and the panoply of the gods of blood and ruin, the gods unsmiling, blank-eyed and distant, the gods who do not acknowledge the lives of those who do not rise to the occasion of slaughter and valour. But if I were to write of it, then I would write of joy, of exultation in the face of the rousing, and the cheers, the clamour, and the clangor of armor, the hard laughter, and the gods' acceptance of one who enters in as equal.
My dream would be of trenches of rising Jews and swarming plains of maddened Hindus, rocky hills pouring over with Zoroastrians, and everywhere the shadow of Constantinople's walls covering the corpses of Islams finest.
Our time comes, friend. Your will tremble and cry out for Allah who will not listen.
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An Invitation to Paradise
I performed the istikhaarah salaah on the evening of Thursday, 7th September 1995 and pleaded for guidance from Allah, The One Who Is Above weaknesses. By the Grace of Allah, The One Who Is Most Kind to His slaves, I had the most marvellous dream. In my sleep that evening, I saw myself standing in the venerated presence of, and about two metres away from our Beloved Prophet Muhammad (May Allah Convey His Peace and Blessings upon the Holy Prophet) in the Rauda al-Jannah. The Holy Messenger of Allah (May Allah Convey His Peace and Blessings upon the Holy Prophet) was immaculately dressed in pristine white apparel and white turban. I felt entirely insignificant. I was in the company of the fountainhead of virtue. I, also, was dressed in white robes and a white turban, and stood with my back towards the qiblah. Tears of happiness streamed down my cheeks. The Holy Prophet (May Allah Convey His Peace and Blessings upon the Holy Prophet), who was sent by Allah, The Creator and Cherisher of all things, as a Warner and a Mercy to the worlds, stood and looked at me. My spirit rested. I said in Afrikaans: “Yaa Rasulullaah, ek het vir U kom wys my familie – Suleiman, Dawood, Rifdah, en Makkia.” In English, this reads: “O Messenger of Allah, I have come to show to your [esteemed] self my family – Suleiman, Dawood, Rifdah and Makkia.”
I woke with a song in my heart. Allah had honoured me with the society of the best of mankind. The dream was etched in my memory with an astonishing clarity. I shall never forget it. It was, to me, a precognition of the predestination of Allah, The One Whose Will Reigns Supreme, and an invitation from al-Madinah al-Munawwarah.
By my words “Yaa Rasulullaah” (“O Messenger of Allah”), I knew that I had definitely dreamt of the Modest Messenger of Allah (May Allah Convey His Peace and Blessings upon the Holy Prophet). I had addressed our Good Prophet (May Allah Convey His Peace and Blessings upon the Holy Prophet) with the utmost respect. That I spoke in “kombuis” Afrikaans was enlightening. I had much to think about.
The reason for my not mentioning my wife’s name (as part of my family) in the list of introductions to our Prophet Muhammad (May Allah Convey His Peace and Blessings upon the Holy Prophet) later became apparent to me – she had introduced herself on our first pilgrimage in 1991! The same could be said for myself – I also had not introduced myself in the dream, as I, likewise, had first travelled to Madinah then.
The dream held another eye-opener – I had referred to Suleiman, Dawood, Rifdah and Makkia as ‘my family’ and not as ‘my children’ (as we do in the west). In this lay a poignant lesson – although Makkia forms part of our family, she is adopted (and not ours biologically) and therefore not of ‘our children’! For inclusiveness and especially in du’aa, I later familiarised myself with referring to them as ‘my family’, rather than ‘my children’. I would also refer to them as ‘the children’ in du’aa.
I realised also that my not speaking of them as ‘children’ could mean that all or some of them would be adults by the time that we got to the City of Light.
Always thereafter, I wondered why our Cherished Prophet (May Allah Convey His Peace and Blessings upon the Holy Prophet) did not speak to me in the dream.
I related my experience to anyone who would listen.
Islam teaches that a person who dreams of the Holy Prophet Muhammad (May Allah Convey His Peace and Blessings upon the Holy Prophet) has dreamt the truth and has in fact seen the Holy Prophet (May Allah Convey His Peace and Blessings upon the Holy Prophet), and not (mistakenly) anyone else in his or her dream. Based on this reassurance, I believed with certainty that, as long as we held firmly onto the Shari’ah, my family and I would receive divine assistance to get to the Hijaz.
A considerable number of the ’Ibaad-u-Ragmaan Qadiri Jamaa’ah had regularly, over the years, travelled to Saudi Arabia on Haj and ’Umrah. More than fifteen Jamaa’ah people had gone on Haj in 1997. In 1998, thirty-six persons had performed the holy journey. Twenty-one Jamaa’ah pilgrims had answered the call in 1999. The year 2000 had twenty-five Jamaa’ah hujjaaj. Just eight people had gone during 2001. This time, more than a hundred went.
It was a good year, 1422AH. The Haj of that year brought new meaning to the lives of many and helped to heighten the spirit of camaraderie among the members of the ’Ibaad-u-Ragmaan Qadiri Jamaa’ah. Travelling to and staying in the Holy Land has always meant a lot to me. This journey was especially fulfilling. Every day was better than the one before, every moment sweeter than the previous one. Better travelling companions I could not have hoped for.
At 6pm on 24th December 2001, we left Cape Town for Johannesburg. Two days later, we left Johannesburg on Flight KQ 0461 for Nairobi and Jeddah. On 27th December 2001, we arrived by bus in Makkah al-Mukarramah from Jeddah. We completed the rites of ’Umrah.
That Suleiman, Dawood and Rifdah were of age had added value to things. Makkia was just big enough for us not to have to carry her during the tawaaf of the Bait-ullaah and the saa’i. She had turned eight in Makkah.
Taxis coasted through the busy streets. Tow-away trucks hurriedly hauled away badly parked vehicles. Trucks busily pumped desalinated water into storage tanks. Lorries delivered water from the central water distribution centre on the outskirts of Mecca to homes, schools, hospitals and hotels in the area. There were more water delivery trucks than bread distribution vans on the roads.
A cup of tea cost one Saudi riyal on the street. Mutabbag, fried pastry crammed with sweet or savoury filling, were topped with lemon and pepper. This was sold by street vendors in Mecca as ‘fast food’. Kibda sandwiches overflowing with fried liver slices mixed with onion, tomato, and green peppers were especially tasty. Traditionally made shawarma was irresistible. Fruit and vegetables stands made a mint. Stalls selling fruit juice sprinkled with shaved ice had a roaring trade.
Cafés and restaurants flourished. Coffee in herbal, fruity or cardamom blends was served in small cups as appetizers. Rice was the staple cooked meal ingredient. Slow-cooked, broad, brown beans called ful was particularly mouth-watering and eaten at breakfast. Spicy kebab tested one's taste buds. Sweet mint tea was served in small glasses. Pakistani eateries sold burgers, pies, samosas, breyani, roast chicken, and roti and curry. On offer also were warm and cold beverages.
If monetary outlay was the standard by which such things were measured, the Grand Mosque in Makkah must have ranked as the principal wonder of the world. Billions of Saudi riyal were being spent on its expansion and upkeep. Escalators carried eager worshippers between floors. The air-conditioning and audio systems were from the top drawer.
Brown tiles had replaced the hand-hewed granite stones of the Holy Ka'aba. Embroidered Quranic texts glistened above head-height on the kiswah.
Falcons had ousted the finches from the Great Mosque. Gliding majestically from the 89-metre-high minarets, these magnificent hunting birds soared elegantly on the warm air currents high above the Masjid al-Haram. They were showing off, I thought.
At around 16:00 on 2nd January 2002, we went by bus from Makkah to Madinah and reached there the next morning. We would spend twenty-one wonderful days there. Al-Masjid al-Rasul, complete with underground parking and first floor, had been enlarged to include two inner courtyards. There, twelve big state-of-the-art, umbrella-shaped Teflon sunshades sheltered visitors against the sun. Enlarged to hold more than a million worshippers, the Holy Mosque boasted large patterned doors, precast terrazzo cornices, eye-catching brass chandeliers and golden grilles. Plush woollen carpets enhanced the stylish décor.
Underneath the green dome in the Masjid al-Nabwi was the Apartment of 'Aishah. The treasures of the heavens and the earth and all its elements could not rival the worth of this Sacred Chamber. Curtained behind ceiling-high partitioning, it held the holy graves of our Selfless Prophet Muhammad (May Allah Convey His Peace and Blessings upon the Holy Prophet), Sayyidina Abu Bakr al-Siddiq and Sayyidina ’Umar al-Faruq (May Allah, The One Who Lives and dies not, Bless them with His Guardianship).
After performing the necessary Salawaat, I carefully walked into the Rauda al-Jannah. Calm came over me. Heavenly fragrances caught my attention. My mood moved from a state of grace to the very mountain-top of spirituality. Clad in white robes and a white turban, and standing with my back towards the qiblah, I stopped about five feet from the brass lattice that separates one from the holy graves. I was unable to stop the tears from running into my beard. Choking back my emotions, I managed to greet the Messenger of Allah (May Allah Convey His Peace and Blessings upon the Holy Prophet). I softly added: “Yaa Rasulullaah, ek het vir U kom wys my familie – Suleiman, Dawood, Rifdah, en Makkia.” (“O Messenger of Allah, I have come to show to your [esteemed] self my family – Suleiman, Dawood, Rifdah and Makkia.”)
I conveyed greetings to our Warm-hearted Prophet Muhammad (May Allah Convey His Peace and Blessings upon the Holy Prophet) from the people who had asked me to do so. I also greeted the Holy Prophet’s illustrious companions, Sayyidina Abu Bakr al-Siddiq and Sayyidina ’Umar al-Faruq (May Allah, The One Who Is Best Informed of all things, Comfort them with His Unending Satisfaction).
Alhamdu-lillaah. My dream of our Free-handed Prophet Muhammad (May Allah Convey His Peace and Blessings upon the Holy Prophet) had come true after more than six years. Allah, The One Who Feeds us against hunger and Makes us secure against fear, Had Guided us through the flawless personality of our Prophet (May Allah Convey His Peace and Blessings upon the Holy Prophet). I was glad that I could show to our Wise Prophet (May Allah Convey His Peace and Blessings upon the Holy Prophet) that there had been some moral advancement in our lives since we had last been to Madinah. Our Blameless Prophet Muhammad (May Allah Convey His Peace and Blessings upon the Holy Prophet) is the guiding light of those who do good deeds. There is no man greater than him. He is the spirit of truth and the master of those who warn against evil. The most honoured person in the Sight of Allah, our Generous Prophet (May Allah Convey His Peace and Blessings upon the Holy Prophet) remains the model that guides others to the straight path. Our Chivalrous Prophet Muhammad (May Allah Convey His Peace and Blessings upon the Holy Prophet) is the Sayed of the people of paradise.
I, in keeping my word, had faithfully embraced my destiny.
Giving without reserve
It is with reticence that I write this. I do not wish to place myself on the moral high ground, or to sermonise anyone. This chapter tries to show the truth and importance of dreaming of our Holy Prophet Muhammad (May Allah Convey His Peace and Blessings upon the Holy Prophet). These words seek to confirm that ours is a Prophet of Mercy, a Witness, and a Bearer of Good Tidings. It also aims to portray the consequence of da’waat in the Masjid al-Haram. It is moreover meant as a method of encouragement for our children to some day continue with the Prophetic Tradition of raising an orphan for the sake of Allah, The One of Unbounded Grace. So that they may by this means know that there is more to life than just prayer and fasting. And that they should give of themselves unreservedly. That they might through it also, temper their adhkaar with compassion.
We were asleep at the Mashrabiyya Hotel in Khalid bin Walid Street in Shubayka, Makkah al-Mukarramah when, by the Mercy of Allah, I had the most beautiful dream. I saw myself standing in the holy presence of our Truthful Prophet Muhammad (May Allah Convey His Peace and Blessings upon the Holy Prophet). The appearance of the Holy Messenger of Allah matched scriptural records.
Our Prophet (May Allah Convey His Peace and Blessings upon the Holy Prophet) was spotlessly dressed in white robes and a white turban. I stared aghast. Our Prophet (May Allah Convey His Peace and Blessings upon the Holy Prophet) stood about two metres away and faced me directly. Someone so unimaginably holy, so indescribably handsome, one will not come across. I do not have the words with which to suitably portray this most wonderful man, the Seal of the Prophets (May Allah Convey His Peace and Blessings upon the Holy Prophet).
I reached for my turban, embarrassed for not wearing it.
“Leave it,” I said to myself. “You are in the Company of the Prize of creation.”
Brilliance shone from our Guided Prophet (May Allah Convey His Peace and Blessings upon the Holy Prophet). Our Prophet (May Allah Convey His Peace and Blessings upon the Holy Prophet) smiled at me. The smile radiated light. I stood alert, too humbled to speak. I wished that the dream would last forever. The heavenly smile lasted between ten and fifteen minutes, it felt like.
Alhamdu-lillaah. I had never considered myself deserving of such an enormous honour. This was a spiritual experience of the first magnitude. “What does that smile mean?” I asked myself over and over again. I stared at the House of Allah for extended periods, contemplating its meaning.
Deep in thought, I barely noticed the usually persuasive central-African women selling bird-seed as I walked back and forth from the Masjid al-Haram. I was hardly aware of the Turkish female who was dealing in steel daggers at the side of the street. Two men eagerly collecting on behalf of Bosnian refugees also failed to draw my attention. I half-heard a Pakistani lad calling out the price of bottled perfume to prospective customers alongside the road. Malaysian girls trading informally with scarves only just caught my eye. Part of the street had been freshly tarred.
“Unless you receive the sort of treatment that a host bestows on a guest, don’t ever think that, because you have performed the ziyaarah of the Bait-ullaah, you’ve been the guest of Allah,” my father had once counselled me.
A similar comment from my uncle, Haji Suleiman, I had further recollected. He had said to me: “Die persoon was Makkah toe – vra vir hom wat het hy gekry.” This rendered into English, says: “The person has been to Mecca – ask him what he had received [there].”
I considered his observation a bit harsh then, but the force of his remark was now bearing home on me. He knew what he was talking about. For “’Ammie Haji” it had happened very quickly. Aged twenty-five on his first Haj in 1949, Haji Suleiman had landed inside the Holy Ka’aba when someone lifted him head-high and tossed him over the 2.25 metre high threshold of the Bait-ullaah. “Did you not get hurt?” I inquired further. “No!” he responded excitedly. “I was young and fit, and had landed on my feet,” he continued proudly. Once over the doorsill, he did not have too far to fall, as the inside floor was 2.2 metres above the ground.
’Ammie Haji performed two cycles of discretionary salawaat once inside. Till his dying day, he wondered who had done him the good turn.
Every Muslim who had walked on the holy soil had the potential for such an experience, I realised. Such incidents might have been more prevalent than was ordinarily heard of, I thought. I had for a long time suspected that at least some pilgrims who repeatedly visited the Holy Land, apart from drawing from its built-in holiness, did not preclude themselves from offerings of this nature. It would be silly to think that parallels could not be drawn with Madinah in occurrences of this kind. It would also have been reasonable to expect wondrous incidents of this nature to occur in Jerusalem, as the major Middle Eastern religions agreed on the sanctity of this, the City of the Farthest Mosque. Thinking that this sort of happening was in any way unique to myself, was ludicrous.
Part of my da'waat in the Holy Mosque in Mecca, was to ask Allah, The One Who Makes Clear to us His signs so that we may be grateful, to Grant to ourselves the opportunity and blessings of raising an orphan for His sake.
Having the money with which to afford to go on Haj has always been its first consideration. There were many people who had performed the Holy Pilgrimage more often than I. With regard to my parting from the Holy City, though, I had received a fascinating send-off.
My wife and I had, over a number of years, tried to adopt a baby by applying at several local agencies, and were given all sorts of excuses which disqualified, and sometimes discouraged us. Reasons given were that we were not married according to South African law, that few babies from local Muslim parents came up for adoption, and the fact that we have children of our own. We were also faced with, what was to my mind, the worse aspect of the South African race laws. These regulations and those administering it, in this case, the social workers, prescribed that a ‘brown’ orphaned child had to be matched with ‘brown’ adoptive parents. A ‘yellow’ baby could only be placed with prospective ‘yellow’ adoptive parents, a ‘white’ orphan could not be raised by ‘black’ adoptive parents, and so on. They played dominoes with human lives. Some social workers were more ready to read the ‘race act’ than others.
In an interview and in response to a question on whether we would mind adopting a child from a ‘lower rung’ of the colour scale, I told them that “a nice green one would do.”
A jab to my ribs from my wife quickly halted the acid flow down the sides of my mouth. Stirring the ire of our then masters by criticising their political beliefs would not help, she meant. “When the white boss tells a joke, and regardless of its lack of humour – laugh!” she chided me later.
Race inequalities existing at the time ensured that hundreds of black orphans went begging in more ways than one. It virtually excluded us from adopting a child. No orphans that matched our race and blood mix were on offer and they weren’t likely to easily present themselves for adoption, we were told. My wife is of Indian (as in “Indian” from India, as opposed to “American” Indian) stock and I am of (well) mixed blood.
On the morning of Wednesday, 1st June 1994, just three days after arriving back home from Haj, we received a telephone call from Melanie Van Emmenes of the Child Welfare Society. She explained that a five-month old girl had come up for adoption. The baby had earlier undergone successful abdominal surgery and she asked whether we would adopt the child. We jumped at the chance.
A rush of adrenaline replaced the after-effects of travel. We were rejuvenated. Capetonians usually visit local pilgrims before departure and also on their arrival back home. We excused ourselves from the few visitors and asked my mother-in-law to host them in our absence. My wife and I immediately went to the Adoption Centre in Eden Road, Claremont. We signed the necessary papers.
Afterwards, we told our children that we were about to receive an addition to the family. We plodded through a maze of red tape in order to legalise the process. (My wife and I had to marry in court because Muslim marriages were not recognised then, believe it or not). A few days later, my wife, brother and I collected the petite infant from a foster-mother in Newfields Estate. I shall never forget the joyous feeling when I first carried the frail waif past the front door. Her name is Makkia. We named her after the great city from which we had just returned.
Taking her into our home is one of the better things that we have done. Makkia has added a marvellous dimension to our lives. She is part of our life’s-work. I shall always be grateful to the people who had assisted us with the adoption.
Raising an orphan means giving from the innermost recesses of one’s heart. Adoption springs from the soul of the adoptive parent. When a child is orphaned, we cry. God cries more.
The meaning behind the glowing smile from our Trustworthy Prophet Muhammad (May Allah Convey His Peace and Blessings upon the Holy Prophet) had played itself out in the most delightful way. My dream shows our Prophet’s level of awareness and highlights his profound love for orphans and how kindly he looks on raising an orphan. It demonstrates that raising an orphan is an immensity before God. In our Prophet (May Allah Convey His Peace and Blessings upon the Holy Prophet) we have a beautiful pattern of conduct. Our Affectionate Prophet Muhammad (May Allah Convey His Peace and Blessings upon the Holy Prophet), also, had raised an orphan. Like a lamp that spreads light, the Messenger of Allah (May Allah Convey His Peace and Blessings upon the Holy Prophet) invites to the Grace of Allah by His leave. Our Divinely-inspired Prophet is the first of the God-fearing. No person is better than him. Our Prophet Muhammad (May Allah Convey His Peace and Blessings upon the Holy Prophet) is the leader of the prophets. He is without sin. Our Prophet (May Allah Convey His Peace and Blessings upon the Holy Prophet) is faultless and the foremost of those who submit to the Will of Allah. An exemplar to those who worship God, our Kind-hearted Prophet Muhammad (May Allah Convey His Peace and Blessings upon the Holy Prophet) is the beacon of the pious. He is an inspiration to those who are thankful to God and the leader of those who remember Allah. How should I express gratitude to the Holy Messenger of Allah (May Allah Convey His Peace and Blessings upon the Holy Prophet) for his kind intervention? I am unworthy of untying the thongs of our Prophet’s sandals.
May Allah, The One Who Befriends the righteous, Send His Richest Peace and Blessings Upon our Holy Prophet Muhammad and On his family and companions, as much and as often as Allah Wills.
Allah, The One Who Is Sufficient For those who put their trust in Him, Had Granted our want through the barakah of our Beloved Prophet Muhammad (May Allah Convey His Peace and Blessings upon the Holy Prophet).
I’ve been fairly constant about wearing a turban during ’ibaadah since.
I'm happy for you in that you seem to have found a reason for living that fulfills you in what is a difficult existence in the material world. That is and remains at a personal level, me to you.
Were I to wax sentimental, were I to engage the reader in personal anecdotes of self-absorption, I don't think I could do nearly as well as above. I might relate a scene of encounter in the endless empty skies between myself and the panoply of the gods of blood and ruin, the gods unsmiling, blank-eyed and distant, the gods who do not acknowledge the lives of those who do not rise to the occasion of slaughter and valour. But if I were to write of it, then I would write of joy, of exultation in the face of the rousing, and the cheers, the clamour, and the clangor of armor, the hard laughter, and the gods' acceptance of one who enters in as equal.
My dream would be of trenches of rising Jews and swarming plains of maddened Hindus, rocky hills pouring over with Zoroastrians, and everywhere the shadow of Constantinople's walls covering the corpses of Islams finest.
Our time comes, friend. Your will tremble and cry out for Allah who will not listen.
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