The Hajj

This past week my grandfather returned from the Hajj, and so I think this is an excellent opportunity to talk about one of the most important aspects of life in a Muslim country.

First, some of you may not know what the Hajj is. The Hajj, or pilgrimage, is one of the Five Pillars of the Islamic religion. The other four are the Shahada (testament of faith), Salah (daily prayer), Zakat (alms-giving), and Saum (fasting during the month of Ramadan). Every year, during the month of Zul-Hijjah, the final month of the Islamic lunar calendar, thousands of Muslims travel to Mecca, Saudi Arabia, to perform the rites prescribed by the Prophet Muhammad. Every Muslim is supposed to undertake the Hajj at least once during his or her lifetime if physically and financially able.

I don’t intend to talk about the actual performance of the Hajj, however. First, I think that they are fairly well documented by scholars better informed than I on the subject, and rather than blunder my way through a most likely incomplete explanation, you should probably read their work if you’re really interested. Second, this blog is about my experiences in Morocco, and so I would prefer to write about the smaller and less well known cultural aspects of the Hajj present here.

To start with, anyone who has performed the Hajj is given a new name/title. Men are called “al Hajj” and women are “Hajja.” This is particularly interesting, though, because we generally call all elderly men and women “al Hajj” or “Hajja,” respectively. It’s just a general term of respect, despite the fact that many of them have most likely not undertaken the pilgrimage. The reason for this is that it is incredibly expensive. Before going to Mecca, you need the money for transportation, lodging, taking care of all the expenses your family will incur during your several weeks of absence, and, most importantly, you need to bring back a lot of things with you.

Which gets us to the experience I’ve had with the Hajj. At the beginning, about a month ago, al Hajj, my grandfather, was taken to the airport to begin his pilgrimage. Before his flight, however, he was given a hero’s farewell. All the friends and family with the ability to come were at the house dressed in their finest, and because I had a camera with me, everyone sat to have their picture taken with him. They sang him out to the car, and then stuffed as many people as possible into the other car to continue the fanfare at the airport. This didn’t include me, however, so I can’t say what happened there.

About one lunar month later we did it all over again. Al Hajj’s airplane didn’t land until about midnight, but we were all of us ready again in the house by about six, cooking, sleeping, or playing cards until we got the word that the car was approaching the house. We all went out again and sang and cheered as he came back inside, then feasted on another slaughtered ram (since we’d all been waiting since about six to eat) while al Hajj told stories of what he’d just done. At least, I think that’s what he was saying. Unfortunately, my family doesn’t really speak Darija (Moroccan Arabic) with each other. Instead they speak a Berber dialect that I have no comprehension of. But I caught a few key words like “Arafat,” the name of the mountain where pilgrims throw stones at a representation of Satan, so I’m fairly sure that’s what he was talking about.

For the next week I proceeded to eat my lunch, dinner, and occasional breakfast at al Hajj’s house, almost exclusively of slaughtered ram and prune tagine. This is because it is customary for people to visit a pilgrim just returned from the Hajj to congratulate him or her and to ask for their blessing. And when you have guests in Morocco, you serve what is considered the finest of tagines: slaughtered ram and prunes. It’s very good, though it can be straining to eat it twice a day for a week. Of course, every tagine was followed by couscous. Sometimes “dessert couscous” (plain couscous with sugar and cinnamon), sometimes regular meal couscous with all the vegetables and chicken you’d expect.

It was in observing these visits that I learned some of the less-well documented aspects of the Hajj. For example, the returned pilgrim is responsible for passing on some of his or her newly attained holiness to the community. This is not only by blessing the visitors but also by giving them gifts brought back from Mecca, particularly prayer beads and traditional Muslim hats, especially to their family members. They also bring back certain items from Mecca, which, though they can be procured here as well, are particularly desirable for their connection with the holy city. The most sought after in my experience is bkhor, a sort of incense used in religious ceremonies and for purifying the house.

The most important, though, is the Water of Zim Zim. Perhaps because it can only be found in Mecca, perhaps because it is miraculous rather than merely sacred, but whatever the reason, when people hear that someone has just returned from the Hajj they immediately inquire after the Zim Zim. Here’s the origins as best as I could ascertain from my inquiries. According to the Qur’an, Mary and Jesus (while still a young child) were walking through the desert between two mountains and were very thirsty. Mary went to the two mountains in search of water but was unable to find any. Jesus, being very thirsty, began to cry and while crying, scratched the ground with his foot. Water began to bubble up from the ground where Jesus touched it, and it has remained a natural spring to this day. Pilgrims to the Hajj now take the time to visit the spring, pray, and return home with as much of the water as they can carry. Anyone who requests some is supposed to receive it, and they recite a short prayer before and after drinking. Due to its sacredness, it is said to have medicinal and general purifying properties.

Finally, though this is a Moroccan rather than Hajj-specific tradition, when al Hajj returned to the house, actually, before he had done anything other than step out of the car, he was presented with a bowl of milk and a plate of dates, both of which were ceremoniously fed to him. Apparently, this is a Moroccan custom for the welcoming – or welcoming home – of someone with the highest of honor. This is supposedly what the king does to welcome state visitors. I haven’t gotten it anywhere yet, though I hope to some day, despite the fact that it will probably make me feel really self-conscious at the time.