(Revised 2025 (Part 1/5))
In 1998, my wife and I embarked on the spiritual journey of a lifetime—Hajj. Leaving our children under the care of friends and neighbors was no small sacrifice, but with the Hajj visa allowing only two weeks, we trusted in Allah’s plan. Our fellow Malaysian students, especially the sisters, and even kind-hearted Arab brothers stepped in to help, for which we remain eternally grateful.
With hearts full of anticipation, we set off for Heathrow Airport at dawn, boarding a train to London. Traveling light with just two bags, we met our group at Victoria Station before taking an express train to the airport. Our Hajj group consisted of ten couples and a few single pilgrims, organized by a Malaysian community from Leeds. Alhamdulillah, we were in good hands—two doctors from HUKM, specializing at the time, were among us.
Our flight to Jeddah via Cairo was scheduled for 2:30 PM but delayed until nearly 4:00 PM. Yet, our patience was rewarded as we boarded a state-of-the-art Boeing 777(it was new at that time). The journey was smooth, with delicious meals and personal entertainment screens. After four hours, we landed in Cairo—a historic city that has long been a gateway for pilgrims traveling to Mecca.
Here, we donned the sacred ihram, the simple two-piece white garment symbolizing purity and equality before Allah. The short commuter flight from Cairo to Jeddah departed in the early morning, and within an hour, we arrived in the land of the Two Holy Mosques. However, the immigration process in Jeddah tested our sabr—slow, meticulous, and with minimal English assistance. I watched in disbelief as officers opened my locked luggage, only to hear one reassure me, “Don’t worry, we’ll close it back.” True to his word, not a single scratch was left, though my concerns about security lingered.
By Fajr, we finally emerged, grateful to have overcome the hurdles. Unlike pilgrims under Malaysia’s Tabung Haji, we had no agency guiding us—just faith and determination. As our group leader negotiated for a bus to Mecca, we seized the chance to rest and pray. By mid-morning, we were en route to the holy city, stopping briefly to receive blessed Zam Zam water.
The two-hour journey culminated in the breathtaking sight of Masjid al-Haram at Zuhr. Yet, another test awaited—regulations required our driver to hand us over to a local host (a sheikh) along with our passports. Our host, a Malaysian named Pak Cik Abdul Rahman, lived in Al-Misfalah, a vibrant enclave of Kelantanese and Patani expatriates. Finding his residence took three painstaking hours, but the wait was worth it.
Pak Cik Abdul Rahman, a Kelantanese who had lived in Mecca for over 50 years, was married to Mak Cik Yam, the daughter of the renowned Tok Kenali. His seven-story home—still under construction—boasted lavish furnishings, with four floors already inhabited. A few hundred meters uphill was PakCik’s madrasah where he held AlQuran classes to the local community’s kids (mostly anak2 Melayu Kelate/Pattani).His madrasah would be our sanctuary during this sacred journey.
After settling in, we prepared for Tawaf Qudum, the welcoming circumambulation of the Kaaba, which we would perform after Isha. The adventure had only just begun, and with every step, we felt the weight of centuries of pilgrims who had walked this path before us, hearts yearning for divine closeness.
