When You Lose Your Grandma in Makkah

As-salamu `alaykum wa rahmatullah

I felt like writing, so…

I thought it would never happen, but it did. My brother and I lost our grandma outside the Haram after Jumu’ah on Friday. What absolute disasterness (yes, I know there is no such word).

It was our last day in Makkah, due back in Jeddah. I suggested we wait until Maghrib and then travel back instead of going straight after Jumu’ah in the heat (my sly plan of trying to pray there as much as I could), but grandma wanted to go back to Jeddah as soon as possible to run some last minute errands. Now, my beloved grandma is not someone you can argue with, guaranteed you’ll lose every argument so I agreed and we set off in the scorching 45 C temp. to get our ride back to Jeddah. My brother and I split up in finding a good taxi for the sake of grandma as her feet had been hurting for a few weeks. When we told her we were getting a taxi she refused and said that she wanted a bus! Oh man, so we went to find a bus. A pretty ta3baan microbus pulled up next to us but it was just what grandma wanted so we got her in but soon afterwards we realised that they couldn’t take our luggage. So we got off again. By this time grandma was getting pretty frustrated so I took her to the pavement behind me and told her ‘Ok, we’ll go and get another ride, but please stay here Gran, otherwise erm, we might lose you,’ I said it sarcastically, little realising how true my words would be.

There were so many people around the mawqif that day, the Haram had been packed with worshippers who were now on the streets, some carrying their luggage, others getting into cars, buses honking, drivers shouting out destinations and prices… it was noisy, crowded and hot – the last thing I wanted that day was for us to lose each other. Off we went in different directions speaking to different drivers – some of these drivers are as sly as foxes. One actually made me laugh; we asked him ‘So how much for Jeddah?’ He tilted his head to one side, took a deep sigh and said with a fantastic degree of confidence “120 SR!” Lol. “What, and do I look like a foreigner to you?” is my usual sarcastic response to such daylight robbery (the rides are about 10 SR per person btw). Anyway, we finally found something alhamdulillah. My brother loaded the luggage and got in, I went to get grandma. I looked but she wasn’t at the place I left her. Hmm, I looked behind parked buses and walked up further to see if she went to sit elsewhere, but there was no sign of her. Hurriedly I went round again double-checking all the spots, but she was nowhere to be found. I went back to my brother,
‘Is she here?’ I asked.
‘No.’
‘Subhanallah, I can’t seem to find her.’ Off I went again but soon returned without luck. Everyone in the bus was waiting for us so I said to him, ‘Hey, get off the bus man, I think we’ve lost grandma.’
‘What?!’ says my bro. ‘Isn’t she where you left her?’
‘No man, she’s not.’

He jumped off and started getting the luggage off, sweating as if someone poured water all over him, ‘What do you mean she’s not there?’
‘I’m serious, I looked everywhere, she’s not here.’
‘I can’t believe this. Ok, you stay here and I’ll look for her.’

He went up and down the street, looked behind walls, checked every place of shade, and checked every place that had seats or people sitting. Nothing.
It was my turn; I checked the other side of the street, looked from a raised platform, and scanned the area. Subhanallah, on any other day this may have been easier but it was Friday after Jumu’ah in the busiest mosque in the entire world. To top it off, the sun was beating down hard and making it difficult to look in the distance. My brother rang me on my mobile,
‘Did you find her?’
‘No, nothing.’
‘Ok, come back, I’ll go again.’

He went and returned. I noticed he was getting worried and perhaps scared. So I said, ‘She’s gone to Jeddah.’
‘What?’
‘Trust me, she’s in Jeddah.’ More than anything I think I was just trying to ease his nerves.
He sighed. ‘What if she’s lying somewhere, passed out or something?’
‘Don’t be silly, she’s safe insha’Allah.’
‘You don’t know that.’

He was right, I didn’t. All these different thoughts started to pour into my mind. What if this happened, what if that happened? She hadn’t been eating properly and she had difficulty walking, what if something really did happen to her. I wouldn’t be able to forgive myself. My throat was dry, I couldn’t speak much.

‘Hey listen, why don’t you grab a drink for us, look for her on your way, yeah?’ He got us some cold drinks, but they became warm within minutes – the heat was a right killer.

‘Asr adhan went off. The number of people coming out of the hotels to go to the mosque grew in number and the place became even more populated and noisy. It was hopeless finding anyone in this chaos. We went and prayed in the courtyard of the Haram, constantly keeping watch for our lost one.

My brother must’ve had more faith in me than I thought. He phoned our relatives in Jeddah to see if she had arrived there. But she wasn’t there.

‘They said they haven’t heard from her.’
‘Did they say anything else?’ I asked.
‘No, just that we should keep looking and they’ll keep calling us, they wanted to speak to you.’

I didn’t say anything, just kept looking into the distance. I was lost in thought, ‘Whatever situation you find yourself in, derive a point of benefit.’ Verses from the Qur’an began to come to mind. One particular ayah that played over my mind was:

أَوَلَمْ نُمَكِّن لَّهُمْ حَرَماً آمِناً يُجْبَى إِلَيْهِ ثَمَرَاتُ كُلِّ شَيْءٍ رِزْقاً مِن لَّدُنَّا وَلَكِنَّ أَكْثَرَهُمْ لَا يَعْلَمُونَ
‘… Have We not established for them a sanctuary (Makkah) made safe and secure, to which are brought fruits of all kinds, a provision from Ourselves, but most of them know not.’ [al-Qasas]

Another one was:

وَإِذْ قَالَ إِبْرَاهِيمُ رَبِّ اجْعَلْ هَـذَا الْبَلَدَ آمِناً وَاجْنُبْنِي وَبَنِيَّ أَن نَّعْبُدَ الأَصْنَامَ
“And remember when Ibrahim  said: “O my Lord! Make this city (Makkah) one of peace and security, and keep me and my sons away from worshipping idols.” [Ibrahim]

Without doubt, this was a land of safety and security. Whatever is lost is most certainly in the care of Allah `azza wa jall and just as He protects the land, likewise does He protect its people.

It is in circumstances like these when situations turn and one finds themselves completely incapable of doing anything, that a person begins to realise what it means to be an ‘Abd (slave) of Allah. When you find yourself at a loss, you realise your place in this world and you realise your position with regards to your Maker. When you see that no matter what you do, the situation isn’t getting any better, you realise that power is not a right of yours, it never was. When you begin to suffer a little, start to lose your ground and hope becomes a fading shadow, you realise what it means to believe. And it is only when you realise all this, that you taste the sweetness of belief – the Power of Allah, the amazing case of al-Qadr and al-Qadha’ (fate/destiny) and then the delights of submitting to the Will of Allah is experienced by your heart and surely, after the tremble, it will fall into some ease.

رِزْقاً مِن لَّدُنَّا
“… a provision from Ourselves…”

A family friend of ours who later heard of the incident made an interesting observation. He said that losing family members in Hajj/’Umrah was part of one’s ‘Ibadah. It took me a moment to register what he was saying, but I soon realised what he meant. In a way, losing my grandma was a sort of provision. Can a loss be a provision? Sort of… I felt like I was provided with a way to Allah, an avenue to further draw closer to Allah and without doubt I felt my Iman increase more: my rukoo’ in the ‘Asr salah was not the same as it had been in Dhuhr and my sujood in Maghrib was definitely not the same as it was in ‘Asr.

I realised that on that day, it wasn’t really about losing my grandma… it was about seizing the opportunity to draw closer to Allah and establish worship in an apparently difficult situation.

My brother sighed, ‘It’s official,’ he said, ‘Grandma is missing.’

I don’t know why that statement threw me off. For the first time during this incident, I felt fear and panic in my heart. But instead I said, ‘Nah, she’s in Jeddah, really, I’m sure she got fed up with us looking for a dumb ride that she decided to go and make the journey herself.’ I actually really believed what I was saying, maybe because grandma can be like that.

My brother on the other hand was starting to lose it.
‘Look, even if she went to Jeddah, don’t you think she would’ve got there by now? It only takes 45mins to get there, not hours on end!’
Without a doubt, he was right. It had been 5 hours.

Dusk fell and the adhan for Maghrib prayer began to sound.

I had begun to blame myself for the way things had turned out. ‘Why didn’t I just stay with her?’ ‘Had I upset her in any way before she disappeared?’ ‘Was I to blame in the Sight of Allah?’ I remembered what I had said to my mother the day we were leaving for ‘Umrah: ‘Don’t worry mum, I’ll take full care of gran and make sure she eats well!’ What care was it if I returned without her?

As we began to pray salat al-Maghrib, my worry of all this being my fault began to heighten and I panicked lest the Imam should recite an ayah regarding parents or fulfilling trusts or responsibility. I think I would’ve fainted if he did because anyone in my shoes would take it as a ’sign’ and maybe even a rebuking! I’m sure many of you have also experienced this; when a matter concerns you, somehow in the prayers the Imam recites verses on that topic concerning you or you’re walking and you hear verses on that topic or you’re just reading a book and come across verses on that very topic!

It was Imam Mahir al-Mu3ayqali and alhamdulillah he didn’t recite anything that caused me to pass out. I was so relieved in fact that I can’t even recall what he recited in that salah! Relief was followed by more relief.

‘… Have We not established for them a sanctuary (Makkah) made safe and secure, to which are brought fruits of all kinds, a provision from Ourselves, but most of them know not.’

It was almost time for salat al-’Isha when amidst our continuous (and hopeless) searches, I received a phone-call from Jeddah. ‘Great,’ I thought, ‘they want another update.’

‘Yeah, erm we still haven’t found her but we’re looking,’ I said.
Then I tried my luck: ‘Erm, has she turned up at all?’
‘Yes, she has.’

‘Huh?! Has she come?!’
‘Yeah, she just came now.’
Subhan’Allah. All I said and to be frank, all I could say was: Subhan’Allah.

I called my brother to give him the news. He returned from what was probably his 20th search with a noticeable hop in his walk lol. In the taxi back to Jeddah, we realised how exhausted (and hungry) we were… shattered, we couldn’t even speak. My brother sat quietly, I could tell he was ready to dose off. Then he turned to me and said, ‘Hey, at least you got your wish… You got to pray in the Haram until Maghrib!’ Ha, a faint laugh was all I could manage. Now that just put a whole new meaning to the verse: ‘… a provision from Ourselves, but most of them know not.’ And praying the obligatory prayers in the Haram (worth 100,000 rewards each) is most definitely a ‘provision.’

The greatest irony of it all? My grandma’s name is Makkah.

I thought it would never happen, but it did. My brother and I lost our grandma outside the Haram after Jumu’ah on Friday. What absolute disasterness (yes, I know there is no such word).

It was our last day in Makkah, due back in Jeddah. I suggested we wait until Maghrib and then travel back instead of going straight after Jumu’ah in the heat (my sly plan of trying to pray there as much as I could), but grandma wanted to go back to Jeddah as soon as possible to run some last minute errands. Now, my grandma is not someone you can argue with, guaranteed you’ll lose every argument so I agreed and we set off in the scorching 45 C temp. to get our ride back to Jeddah. My brother and I split up in finding a good taxi for the sake of grandma as her feet had been hurting for a few weeks. When we told her we were getting a taxi she refused and said that she wanted a bus! Oh man, so we went to find a bus. A pretty ta3baan microbus pulled up next to us but it was just what grandma wanted so we got her in but soon afterwards we realised that they couldn’t take our luggage. So we got off again, by this time grandma was getting pretty frustrated. So I took her to the pavement behind me and told her ‘Ok, we’ll go and get another ride, but please stay here, Gran, otherwise we might lose you,’ I said it sarcastically, little realising how true my words would be.

There were so many people around the mawqif that day, the Haram had been packed with worshippers who were now on the streets, some carrying their luggage, others getting into cars, buses honking, drivers shouting out destinations and prices… it was noisy, crowded and hot – the last thing I wanted that day was for us to lose each other. Off we went in different directions speaking to different drivers – some of the drivers are as sly as foxes. One actually made me laugh; we asked him ‘So how much for Jeddah?’ He tilted his head to one side, took a deep sigh and said with a fantastic degree of confidence “120 SR!” Lol. “What, and do I look like a foreigner to you?” is my usual sarcastic response to such daylight robbery (the rides are about 10SR per person btw). Anyway, we finally found something alhamdulillah. My brother loaded the luggage and got in, I went to get grandma. I looked but she wasn’t at the place I left her. Hmm, I looked behind parked buses and walked up further to see if she went to sit elsewhere, but there was no sign of her. Hurriedly I went round again double-checking all the spots, but she was nowhere to be found. I went back to my brother,

‘Is she here?’ I asked.

‘No.’

‘Subhanallah, I can’t seem to find her.’ Off I went again but soon returned without luck. Everyone in the bus was waiting for us so I said to him, ‘Hey, get off the bus man, I think we’ve lost grandma.’

‘What?!’ says my bro. ‘Isn’t she where you left her?’

‘No man, she’s not.’

He jumped off and started getting the luggage off, sweating as if someone poured water all over him, ‘What do you mean she’s not there?’

‘I’m serious, I looked everywhere, she’s not here.’

‘I can’t believe this. Ok, you stay here and I’ll look for her.’

He went up and down the street, looked behind walls, checked every place of shade, and checked every place that had seats or people sitting. Nothing.

It was my turn; I went off again, checked the other side of the street, looked from a raised platform, and scanned the area. Subhanallah, on any other day this may have been easier but it was Friday after Jumu’ah in the busiest mosque in the entire world. To top it off, the sun was beating down hard and making it difficult to look in the distance. My brother rang me on my mobile,

‘Did you find her?’

‘No, nothing.’

‘Ok, come back, I’ll go again.’

He went and returned. I noticed he was getting worried and perhaps scared. So I said, ‘She’s gone to Jeddah.’

‘What?’

‘Trust me, she’s in Jeddah.’ More than anything I think I was just trying to ease his nerves.

He sighed. ‘What if she’s lying somewhere, passed out or something?’

‘Don’t be silly, she’s safe insha’Allah.’

‘You don’t know that.’

He was right, I didn’t. All these different thoughts started to pour into my mind. What if this happened, what if that happened? She hadn’t been eating properly and she had difficulty walking, what if something really did happen to her. I wouldn’t be able to forgive myself. My throat was dry, I couldn’t speak much. But I couldn’t let on that I was worried or panicky as I didn’t want to make him feel any more uneasy.

‘Hey listen, why don’t you grab a drink for us, look for her on your way, yeah?’ I told him. He got us some cold drinks, but they became warm within minutes – the heat was a right killer.

‘Asr adhan went off. The no. of people coming out of the hotels to go to the mosque grew in number and the place became even more overpopulated and noisy. It was hopeless finding anyone in this chaos. We went and prayed in the courtyard of the Haram, constantly keeping watch for our lost one.

My brother must’ve had more faith in me than I thought. He phoned our relatives in Jeddah to see if she had arrived there. But she wasn’t there.

‘They said they haven’t heard from her.’

‘Did they say anything else?’ I asked.

‘No, just that we should keep looking and they’ll keep calling us, they wanted to speak to you.’

I didn’t say anything, just kept looking into the distance. I was lost in thought, ‘Whatever situation you find yourself in, derive a point of benefit.’ Verses from the Qur’an began to come to mind. One particular ayah that played over and over my mind was:

أَوَلَمْ نُمَكِّن لَّهُمْ حَرَماً آمِناً يُجْبَى إِلَيْهِ ثَمَرَاتُ كُلِّ شَيْءٍ رِزْقاً مِن لَّدُنَّا وَلَكِنَّ أَكْثَرَهُمْ لَا يَعْلَمُونَ

‘… Have We not established for them a sanctuary (Makkah) made safe and secure, to which are brought fruits of all kinds, a provision from Ourselves, but most of them know not.’

Another one was:

وَإِذْ قَالَ إِبْرَاهِيمُ رَبِّ اجْعَلْ هَـذَا الْبَلَدَ آمِناً وَاجْنُبْنِي وَبَنِيَّ أَن نَّعْبُدَ الأَصْنَامَ

“And remember when Ibrahim said: “O my Lord! Make this city (Makkah) one of peace and security, and keep me and my sons away from worshipping idols.” [Ibrahim: 35]

Without doubt, this was a land of safety and security. Whatever is lost is most certainly in the care of Allah `azza wa jall and just as He protects the land, likewise does He protect its people.

It is in circumstances like these when situations turn and one finds themselves completely incapable of doing anything, that a person begins to realise what it means to be an ‘Abd (slave) of Allah. When you find yourself at a loss, you realise your place in this world and you realise your position with regards to your Maker. When you see that no matter what you do, the situation isn’t getting any better, you realise that power is not a right of yours, it never was. When you begin to suffer a little, start to lose your ground and hope becomes a fading shadow, you realise what it means to believe. And it is only when you realise all this, that you taste the sweetness of belief – the Power of Allah, the amazing case of al-Qadr and al-Qadha’ (fate/destiny) and then the delights of submitting to the Will of Allah is experienced by your heart and surely, after the tremble, it will fall into some ease.

رِزْقاً مِن لَّدُنَّا

“… a provision from Ourselves…”

A family friend of ours who later heard of the incident made an interesting observation. He said that losing family members in Hajj/’Umrah was part of one’s ‘Ibadah. It took me a moment to register what he was saying, but I soon realised what he meant. In a way, losing my grandma was a sort of provision – I felt like I was provided with a way to Allah, an avenue to further draw closer to Allah and without doubt I felt my Iman increase more: my rukoo’ in the ‘Asr salah was not the same as it had been in Dhuhr and my sujood in Maghrib was definitely not the same as ‘Asr.

I realised that on that day, it wasn’t really about losing my grandma… it was about seizing the opportunity to draw closer to Allah and establish worship in an apparently difficult situation.

My brother sighed, ‘It’s official,’ he said, ‘Grandma is missing.’

I don’t know why that statement threw me off. For the first time during this incident, I felt fear and panic in my heart. But instead I said, ‘Nah, she’s in Jeddah, really, I’m sure she got fed up with us looking for a dumb ride that she decided to go and make the journey herself.’ I actually really believed what I was saying, maybe because grandma can be like that.

My brother on the other hand was starting to lose it.

‘Look, even if she went to Jeddah, don’t you think she would’ve got there by now? It only takes 45mins to get there, not hours on end!’

Without a doubt, he was right. It had been 5 hours.

‘Trust me, she’ll be there. It’s Friday, I’m sure there’s a lot of traffic from here to Jeddah.’

Dusk fell and the adhan for Maghrib prayer began to sound.

I had begun to blame myself for the way things had turned out. ‘Why didn’t I just stay with her?’ ‘Had I upset her in any way before she disappeared?’ ‘Was I to blame in the Sight of Allah?’ I remembered what I had said to my mother the day we were leaving for ‘Umrah: ‘Don’t worry mum, I’ll take full care of gran and make sure she eats well!’ What care was it if I returned without her?

As we began to pray salat al-Maghrib, my worry of all this being my fault began to heighten and I panicked lest the Imam should recite an ayah regarding parents or fulfilling trusts or responsibility. I think I would’ve fainted if he did because anyone in my shoes would take it as a ’sign’ and maybe even a rebuking! I’m sure many of you have also experienced this; when a matter concerns you, somehow in the salawat the Imam recites verses on that topic concerning you or you’re walking and you hear verses on that topic or you’re just reading a book and come across verses on that very topic!

It was Shaykh Mahir al-Mu3ayqali and alhamdulillah he didn’t recite anything that caused me to pass out. I was so relieved in fact that I can’t even remember what he recited in that salah! I just cried and cried.

‘… Have We not established for them a sanctuary (Makkah) made safe and secure, to which are brought fruits of all kinds, a provision from Ourselves, but most of them know not.’

It was almost time for salat al-’Isha when amidst our continuous (and hopeless) searches, I received a phone-call from Jeddah. ‘Great,’ I thought, ‘they want another update.’

‘Yeah, erm we still haven’t found her but we’re looking.’

Then I tried my luck: ‘Erm, has she turned up at all?’

‘Yes, she has.’

I refused to believe I heard it at first.

‘Huh?! Has she come?!’

‘Yeah, she just came now.’

Subhan’Allah. All I said and to be frank, all I could say was: Subhan’Allah.

In the taxi back to Jeddah, we realised how exhausted (and hungry) we were… shattered, we couldn’t even speak. My brother sat quietly, he was ready to dose off I could tell. Then he turned to me and said, ‘Hey, at least you got your wish. You got to pray in the Haram until Maghrib!’ Ha, a faint laugh was all I could manage. Now that just put a whole new meaning to the verse: ‘… a provision from Ourselves, but most of them know not.’ And praying the obligatory prayers in the Haram is definitely a ‘provision.’