I was feeling lost for some time. A long time if I’m being honest. I had this hesitancy to do anything really. I felt desperate for some change. Even if (at my worst point) it wasn’t necessarily good. I just couldn’t keep doing the same thing. Over and over. I remember sitting in my car after work most days and just wishing that things would be different. 

So I left. I booked a three week trip. Initially I booked a flight to Spain. I always wanted to visit Andalusia. The thought of going on my own made me feel like I could do anything. How impressive would it be if I travelled on my own there? But before midnight I cancelled my flight when something told me not to go. Then I decided I would see Muscat. I booked a flight. Then canceled it. Saved many posts on TikTok of all the places I could visit there. I had never known anyone who went. But I thought I would like it. It was beautiful. But then again I canceled it. After something told me not to go. 

So I went to Doha. I had been before. I enjoyed it. I would go to all the same places and have the time of my life. Go to all the museums I loved and drink coffee and tea. My friend lived there too, so that was a plus. 

I went and of course I loved it. Even though the heat and humidity made the clothes cling to my back. But the days I would spend alone my heart was heavy. Like it was empty and it was stone. 

My friend mentioned doing Umrah. Then later realized she would not be able to go. But that was it. A seed was planted. I had to go. I tried booking with an agency but it wasn’t working out. But I had to go. Something was telling me to despite the obstacles. I even started spotting the day before and prayed my period would go away. And it did. 

So I booked the ticket, the hotels, the train. My concern of wasting money was non-existent on this trip. And a day later I was there. Suddenly I was in a plane with people dressed in their clothes for the pilgrimage. 

Honestly, it felt like I didn’t belong. I didn’t speak the language. I was a woman alone. I planned this last minute. I should have been there the right way. But I was there. Somehow I was meant to be. 

There is something surreal about seeing the Haram for the first time. For all my life it was the direction I faced when I prayed. The livestream I would play in my room to fall asleep. It seemed far away and I was unsure if I would ever see it up close. It doesn’t seem like it’s real. It doesn’t even feel like you are really there. 

I completed Umrah twice Alhamdulillah. First on my own with screenshots on my phone of how to do it. I watched as people cried and rushed and were grateful to be there. It occurred to me then how much people planned and waited to come to the Haram. I booked it in a hurry. I felt ashamed. I felt ashamed that I was there without tears in my eyes like the many people. But I looked all around in awe. Reflecting on where I was and admiring that people have been doing Tawaf for more than 1400 years. And now I was there and destined to do the same.

The second time I completed Umrah I had a terrible cold. Like the worst cold of my life. I went with my relatives from Europe who happened to be there the same time as me, Subhanallah. We went early morning after Fajr. I saw the Maqam Ibrahim up close. Then through the large crowd of people I touched the Haram. With just my finger tips and for only a second. And an inch from being pushed by the crowd.

I then went and got Zamzam and went to my hotel to pack up to go to Madinah. I prayed in a Musallah and had my shoes stolen. And walked barefoot to my hotel to pick up my bags. I was sick, frustrated, exhausted, and now wearing socks and sandals. But I took that as a clean slate. Maybe it was a sign I was meant to walk a better path. 

Madinah was peace. I never felt so tranquil in all my life. If it was not for my cold and the intense heat, I could spend the entire day at the Prophet’s Mosque. 

A Somali uncle my mom knew showed me around the city. To the old Masjids and important points in Islamic history. Even got me into to seeing the Rawdah twice.

As my time in Madinah was coming to an end, anxiety took over again. How am I meant to go back to life the same way? Just the quiet and stillness of my heart when I was there was enough to make me question. 

I went to Makkah for the first time by myself. And while I was there my relatives from Europe were there the same time as me. And a kind uncle showed me around Madinah and checked on me. When I say it aloud it makes me wonder how it came together. How it was unplanned by me and still worked out well. 

They say you are invited or called to pilgrimage. I was there for only a few days but felt like I had been there forever. 

They plan and Allah plans, and Allah is the best of planners