we always went at night. during the day, we dreamed...

it's been almost 10 years since my last visit to my uncle in jeddah - 10 years also since i last went to mecca. i was there in the summer of '99, so my memories may no longer be accurate, and since saudi is usually at its most alive at night, the things i've seen can't be trusted either. images and people and places become blurred at night, their harsher edges photoshopped out by the darkness.
any stray warm breeze will remind me of saudi - as will palm trees and monuments and highway centerpieces at roundabouts. like most of the surrounding area, saudi is scorching hot in the summer, and contrary to popular belief, those all-concealing abayas (the black shapeless robes that saudi women wear over their clothing...or in some cases, over next to nothing...) are great at deflecting the sun's rays. i don't wear the hijab (the tradtional female muslim head covering) but unlike many of my contemporaries who find it beneath them or hypocritical to wear one while in a country that dictates it as mandatory, or at a muslim gathering where it is simply a token of respect, i'm comfortable with putting it on when the situation calls for it. after all, i put it on to pray five times a day - what harm could there possibly be in wearing it out of respect for the sensibilities of an entire people?

rarely would we venture out during the day - when we did, we walked a few streets down from my uncle's house to the line of shops selling cloth, and then to the tailor's, to get clothes made out of that cloth. my mother and my aunt would usually buy some snack from the street vendors - i'm a firm believer that lack of hygiene is actually what gives those street foods in countries like pakistan and saudi arabia the certain indescribable and irresistible flavor which cannot be duplicated. you KNOW it'll probably give you an upset stomach afterwards, but you have to eat it anyway.

most of our outings are at night, when the desert air is cooler and more forgiving. out to the huge mall in jeddah's city center, or for dinner at a favorite restaurant, ice cream afterwards. all over the city there are constant reminders that this is a muslim country: the many street roundabouts are adorned with monuments of arabic calligraphy, verses from the quran and sayings from arab tradition. men with their white robes and checkered red or black head coverings, women in their abayas and burqas and hijabs, all in fluttering black, their eyes expressive and twinkling. yet despite the traditional context, jeddah is still unmistakably cosmopolitan. mecca is a different story.

one night out of our trip will be planned for ummrah, the shortened pilgrimage to mecca. we'll try to sleep during the day, and if we doze off in the darkened family room that serves as a quasi-guest room during our stay, we dream. my aunt would wake us at 8 or 9 pm, and we would eat the amazing food she would have silently and swiftly prepared before preparing for the night. for the men, a single unstitched piece of white cloth to cover their whole body (i still don't know how they managed to get them to stay - my uncle is an expert at wrapping and securing this white cloth), to signify that each man is equal. for my mom and i, usually a shalwar kameez with a chador wrapped securely around our heads. and then we would pile into my uncle's old station wagon in the darkness and speed off towards mecca.

the highways are empty and long, stretching along desert, punctuated by bright street lights. every once in awhile, there will be a monument of some sort: a sculpture of two palm trees, intertwined and connecting over our heads as they cross from either side of the highway, swords crossed in similar fashion. at the checkpoint, the guards will check our passports, ask a few questions, send us along our way. a few miles later, we enter the city.

it's dark, and the street looks like one of those downward sloping curvy roads you'd normally find in san fransisco. there are buildings lining the road, and cars parked along the sides next to sidewalks. at some point, the road becomes rougher and cobblestoned. in the distance, in the little dip/valley below, you can see the white marble tiles of the mosque which holds the kabaa, lit up by bright lights in the darkness. we park the car and begin walking towards it. even at night, the city is full of life, of people, but also of a sense of calm. there is no hurry here, not right now anyway, and the breeze is a little cooler, a little softer than it had been in jeddah. the mosque is a gilded golden marbled masterpiece - you walk in between two large doors with gold and woodwork, and first, there is the covered, carpeted area. the mosque's center is an open courtyard, and the surrounding parts of it are roofed in, with chandeliers and oriental rugs, white tile which is somehow always clean, despite the thousands of bare feet which walk it everyday. lining the marble walkway are coolers of zam zam, water which is legendary in it's own right from having sprung up as a life-saving miracle to hagar, as she ran between two hills in desperation, looking for water for her crying baby ismael during their exile in the desert.

you walk towards the center, because the kabaa has this pull, this center of gravity, it looks alive because of the swirl of bodies which circumnavigate its perimeter in perfect synchronization. and it's huge. the white tile that surrounds it is perfect contrast to the large black cube, and the air in the courtyard is even cooler somehow. the entire place holds a feeling of harmony, a sense of peace, and there is this camaraderie between all the different types of people sitting, thinking, praying. there are arabs, africans, south asians, europeans, americans, south americans. every ethnicity imaginable is represented here, the same, yet different, and if you just stand and watch the swirl of human bodies as they make their 7 circuits around the kabaa, you understand the true meaning of melting pot - it is a veritable whirlpool of color.

the night is long, spent in prayer, meditation. you drink zam zam to keep awake, splash your face with it occasionally. but my favorite part is the morning, the breaking dawn when, having completed all the requirements of ummrah, we head back to my uncle's car, drive back home. upon exit from the mosque, back out between those two large doors, you notice in the early light that there are white marble fountains out front, in the open air, and a constant flight of birds. i've never really found out what type of birds they are - pigeons i think, though some were white and may have been doves. they swirl in and out of the air in front of you, with sunrise as their backdrop, and there are old and young peddlers selling feed for the birds. we reach the car, drive out of the city with the mosque at our backs, and lining the rocky, sandy desert on the side of the road are hills, small mountains, where caves once provided a place to escape, to meditate. tufts of grass ever now and then. sleepiness and calm until you return to the hustle of jeddah once more.

i'll be the first to admit that i can't always concentrate when i pray - there are distractions naturally. the mind wanders to things needing to be done, things that happened during the day, things happening out behind you, which you can see from the corner of your eye. when i need to bring my concentration back, i close my eyes and conjure up those previous images in my mind, imagining white marble beneath my feet, cool desert air, palm trees, and swirls of humanity...