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I was waiting in a horrendously long security line at Charles de Gaulle airport in Paris when it hit me – I’m going to Mecca, the literal and metaphysical heart of Islam. A wild, electric joy surged through my body. Mecca, also known as Makkah al-Mukarramah, is a city in Saudi Arabia that is central to Islam, beginning with God’s first revelation of verses from the Qur’an to Prophet Muhammad (PBUH) through the angel Gabriel. The significance of the holy sites within the city dates to pre-Islamic times and spans a lineage of prophets that Islam shares with other Abrahamic religions, including Christianity and Judaism. Long before Prophet Muhammad was born in Mecca and began receiving the words of God 40 years later, Prophet Abraham and his son Ismail built a house of worship there, which in time evolved to the present-day cube-shaped Ka’aba surrounded by Masjid al-Haram, the Great Mosque of Mecca.
Tracing the same footsteps of millions of Muslims before me, I was now traveling to Mecca to perform Umrah, a voluntary pilgrimage composed of many of the rituals of the obligatory Hajj. Before my Umrah, Mecca felt distant. Intellectually, I understood its magnetism, and in prayer, my body was physically oriented toward the Qibla, the direction of the Ka’aba. But my heart’s compass pointed inward to my Iman, my faith, the inner Mecca. What I didn’t know at the time, was that my Umrah began before I consciously decided to go. In recent years I focused my Iman on building a home in God. And by that day when I departed Paris, my restless feet were eager to take me to Mecca because they knew it was there that God would reveal to me the physical manifestation of the Ka’aba that I had been building in my heart in each prayer. God was priming my soul.
The thought kept passing through my mind was, can I feasibly travel to Mecca on my own, as a first-timer, as a non-native, ‘shwaya shwaya’ Arabic speaker? A few months later, on New Year’s Day, while in Paris on vacation from the hustle of working as a performing artist and writer in New York City, a WhatsApp message from a long-time close friend appeared on my phone: ‘Go to Mecca,’ she said. ‘InshAllah,’ I replied. She had just completed Umrah with her husband and children and assured me I could confidently go on my own.
My quest began: flights, visa, hotel, and everything else in between. I am indebted to the MuslimTravelGirl online video tutorials where the host offers her advice on every aspect of Umrah that will help a solo female pilgrim. As a US passport holder, I was able to apply online for a tourist visa through Saudi Arabia’s official site. This visa is different from those specifically for Umrah or Hajj, which are available to Muslims only and involve other processes for approval.
On the tourist visa application form, I indicated that the purpose of travel would be for Umrah. I also purchased tickets in advance for the high-speed Haramain train between Jeddah’s King Abdulaziz International Airport and Mecca, reserved a time slot for my entrance to Masjid al-Haram via the Kingdom’s official Nusuk app, and booked a room in the Anjum Hotel Makkah, one of the many towering hotels encircling the holy site.
Hala Shah after the Tawaf ritual, the circling of the Ka’aba
With the logistics in place, my attention shifted toward how to prepare mentally, physically, and spiritually for Umrah. In other words, how to prepare to enter a state of Ihram. For Umrah and Hajj, men wear two white cloths that are simple, without stitching, and draped in a manner that corresponds to the rituals of Umrah. Women wear a hijab and modest garments of any color or style. At Zeina boutique, in Paris, the warm-hearted women who work there – Zohra, Hanane, and Fatima – helped me select a black abaya, the one I would wear during the best hours of my life. As we chatted in mixed French, English, and Arabic, we bonded in a collective joy for me to perform the sacred privilege. Though I was days and miles away from Mecca, in their generosity and smiles, my Umrah was already underway.
Over the next few days, I reached out to family and friends to gather their requests for specific prayers I may offer on their behalf. I asked them to wish me to travel free of obstacles. Goodness begets goodness and the blessings are mutual. To carry the prayers of others is an immense responsibility and honor for a pilgrim. In voicing a prayer to me, a person is essentially giving me access to the most vulnerable, sacred alcoves of their heart. A prayer held privately and quietly in the heart, in any place at any time, is heard the same as a prayer uttered in Mecca.
A few hours after Salat al-Jumu’ah, Friday afternoon prayers, I boarded a Saudi Airlines flight from Paris to Jeddah with my Niyyah, my intention, set to perform Umrah and the words of Talbiyah looping through my mind: ‘Labayk Allahuma Labayk (I come to you God, I come).’ The gold necklace from my parents that I wear everyday with ‘MashAllah’ written in Arabic calligraphy hung from my neck. Otherwise, the only material possessions I carried fit into my slim backpack: my new abaya, a prayer rug, prayer beads, and practical essentials like my wallet, passport, and phone. Shortly before landing, as the plane approached Miqat, the geographic area of proximity to Mecca in which a pilgrim must be in a state of Ihram, I made Wudu (ablution) in the tiny bathroom, slipped on my abaya, draped a hijab around my head, and intensified my recitation of Talbiyah.
I will never forget how I felt as my taxi entered Mecca. I hadn’t even performed the actual steps of Umrah in Masjid al-Haram, and yet God had already gifted me with the most important revelation of the experience: the intention to be close to God is the Umrah. Everything in life up to that moment had been designed by God to bring me closer to God, to feel the euphoria of my soul running toward God. To understand that even the hardships I endure are to fortify my Iman and teach me to rely on God alone.
The rituals I soon began offered the most profound spiritual experience of my life. I can only speak of those next six hours in the present tense because those hours are infinitely present within me. Time feels irrelevant. This world and heaven exist within each other within my soul. I am bathed in a divine compassion that embraces my every thought and emotion. My senses are hyper aware. The friction of the mind dissipates. Every step prompts an epiphany. The present moment is undeniable because God is not only present in the moment, God is the moment.
Originally published in the April 2023 issue of Vogue Arabia
