As our plane landed at Jeddah airport, a new chapter in our lives began. Excitement filled the air as we stepped outside, greeted by my father waiting for us. With a smile, he led us to his parked Toyota Corolla. My mother sat in the front seat, and my siblings and I settled in the back, feeling like curious explorers on a desert road.
The summer hot air through the car windows made us feel sleepy and dizzy. My father kept saying "Alhamdulillah," showing how close we were to reaching the sacred city of Makkah. In an hour, we arrived the gates of Makkah and my father proudly pointed out the magnificent Minarets of the Holy Haram.
Our new home in Makkah was a simple open terrace with two bedrooms and a kitchen. My father kindly prepared refreshing 'Roohafza' for all of us, and after enjoying the drink, we prayed together and peacefully went to sleep, eager to experience the new adventures ahead.
The next morning, my father woke all of us up before dawn. My brother, my father, and I set off for the Harem Shareef. The Masjidul Haram felt like a strange and dreamlike place for us. I still remember the door we entered through for the first time, called 'Babu Ibrahim,' and the vast ground that lay before it. But now, the ground is nomore. There and then it was always occupied by Hajjas and African women selling grains and wheat packets to feed the doves and sparrows. The car was parked in the very same ground very close to Masjidul Haram.
We prayed the Fajr prayer for the first time in Masjidul Haram and then did a Thawaf around the Kaaba. After that, my father said we could stay in there to explore if we wished, and he left. The Holy Harem felt like a maze, and we felt as if we were trying to solve a criss-cross puzzle. It was similar to what Armstrong must have felt when he landed on the moon – everything looked alike and similar, with the Kaaba at the center no matter where we went.
On that day, we explored a little part of the Harem, but there was still so much more to see. After the Noon prayers, we returned back home, still amazed by the experience we had in the sacred city of Makkah.
As the days passed by, my family and I experienced new things every day. Early in the morning, my father would wake us up, and we would head to the Haram Mosque for prayers and to perform Tawaf, circling around the holy Kaaba and afterward, we would return home.
The weather in Makkah was hot, making our lips dry and our faces sweaty. We even got criss-cross patterns on our feet from the heat. However, despite the scorching sun, my father would take my brother and me in his Toyota car to explore different parts of Makkah. It was like a mini-adventure every day.
At the Haram Mosque, we met many different people from all over the world. It was amazing to see so many faces and hear different languages spoken. We slowly began to realize that our little village, which seemed so big to us before, was just a small part of a vast world full of diverse cultures and people. These experiences taught us valuable lessons about the world and the people in it. We learned to appreciate the differences and similarities among us. Each day felt like a new chapter in our lives, and in Makkah, we were grateful for the opportunity to discover and understand the broader world beyond our little village that we have left behind.
Masjid al-Haram of 1987 was totally different than what we see today. Between King Abdul Aziz Gate and Umrah Gate was a vast open ground. The large air-conditioned Haram constructed by King Fahad was not even at the sketch yet. Facing the Sitheen Street or Ummul Qura was the empty area with many small gates. One of the gates was Bab Ibraheem named after a tailor who used to be near that gate whose name was Ibraheem Khayyath. My brother and I once roamed around to get the names of the gates of Harem. Every gate has a name and sometimes a historical or references has links to it. Like Bab Ummu Hani besides the large gate of King Abdul Aziz was historically associated with Ummu Hani (R.A). Babul Umrah was a large gate and a desired place of meeting for the Keralites. Babul-Fath'h, outside of which were large steps leading to the road, was where we used to fill Zamzam in cans. My father would carry twenty liters of cans, and he would give one or two Riyals to the African men who would rush to the car to get the cans and take their wage. There were then old and very old buildings all around. The end of the eighties was a time when the past was about to merge with the modern world, just like how our village was transforming into a city within us. The world too paced with us in time.
During our stay in Azeeziyya at Makakh, we had a huge supermarket called Bin Dawood nearby. We often visited it to buy essentials like chicken, Almarai products, and bread. In those times, Alfakieh chicken was all priced at 7 Riyals, and the bigger pieces went to those who arrived first. Almarai laban, yogurt, and milk became a regular part of our life, typical of Saudi Arabian living. Also my father was a regular reader of the Arab News. Occasionally, we played in nearby parks, but my father preferred that we didn't mix with some local kids who seemed to be out late at night. He believed that those who didn't wake up early for Fajr prayer weren't the best companions. So, our world mostly revolved around the walls of our home and Masjidul Haram.
Gathering around a single platter, my father ensured we always ate together. When it came to prayers at home, we formed a congregation with him. His recitations and heartfelt supplications had a way of extending in length. Occasionally, his friends, who were his colleagues from his civil engineering projects, visited our home. His work involved projects and on going construction sites within Makkah.
However, our most cherished routine involved going back and forth to Masjidul Haram. It was a routine that held countless memories, a journey that remains etched in our hearts.
