Currently waiting at Costa Coffee in DIA for my flight to Istanbul which is tonight bada muntasaf al layl. Sigh. I thought I would write about some stuff to get off my chest since I hear writing is a form of therapy of some sorts. At the risk of re traumatizing myself I shall embark on this post.
I am really disgusted by certain mentalities in Saudi. I won’t go on and on about various subjects. I will just illustrate my point with one topic – Women visiting cemeteries. My dad is buried in Amina Hawa Cemetery in Jeddah. So far Alhumdulilah I have been there three times. I have been in the cemetery itself twice. The first time I went, I went with my mom and Shareef. Then, my mom and I had on abayas (clearly women) and were denied entry into the cemetery. I am sure my mom knew beforehand that we wouldn’t be able to go in but decided against telling me, since she knew my love for daddy would drive me to a lack of rational thinking and most probably devious and desperate means of entry. The travel agent that was there when my dad was buried came to show Shareef where the grave was. Shareef was free to trot on in, while my mom and I waited outside the gate in the scorching heat. Already confused from the heat and rapidity of events and traveling, I later properly digested the insanity of the Saudi ‘laws’, making my entry as a girl wanting to make dua for five minutes in front of a grave ‘mumnua’ (illegal). So yeah, the first time, I stood there, at the gate, unable to understand really what was going on, kind of numb, unsure of how to react, only thinking 'no this isn’t real'. I just stood there and watched my mom stand at the gate and cry. The guard, who I guess felt that us standing outside the gate was not good enough, decided to shut the gate door altogether, leaving only a crack for him to survey us further. We left, and that was it.
The next time we came to Saudi was the following year Alhumdulilah. I was with mommy again and this time Hafeez. By then the pain of coming so close and not even being able to see where my dad was buried had well penetrated my heart. It had permeated my soul, and I made so much dua the entire year to see the grave. I constructed a plan in my head and carefully crafted a means of executing it. I was sure not to share it with anyone until the night before. I decided to dress up as a boy and see this thing through no matter what. I bought a white thobe, red and white kafiyya, and kufi. The night before going to the grave, I tried on everything, thickened my eyebrows with my mom’s eyeliner, and asked Hafeez to show me how to walk like a man. The next day, during the car ride from Makkah to Jeddah, I took off my hijab and put on the kafiyya. The travel agent guy that was there during my dad’s burial met us at the cemetery since he knows where the grave is and was going to show Hafeez – my mom has not even seen it herself. The travel agent guy eyed me mockingly since he recognized me from the year before and started talking and joking and almost blew my cover there! I was infuriated and ignored him. I kept making dhikr and tried to stay calm and strong. He walked in with Hafeez, leaving me behind. I tried to walk in quickly after them, but the guard blocked me at the entrance. He put on a mockingly cruel smile, almost as if he knew something was up. Oh, the way I was infuriated! That look on his face - I will never forget, like this is all some sort of game and he had the right to do whatever he wanted and even try to ridicule me. I again made dua in my heart, pointed in and pushed past him. Alhumdulilah rabil alameen. I went in. I went in. I went in! The minute the travel agent spotted me inside the graveyard, mind you, while I am standing there trying to make dua, he starts joking and laughing and saying how lucky I am to be here. Only Allah kept me calm at that time, I ignored him again and kept making dua. I controlled myself from telling him how inappropriately he was behaving and that he should keep quiet while I make dua, and that I was there not because of ‘luck’ but because I had made dua to Allah the entire year, begging and pleading to be able to go in. Hafeez, being able to read my body language, picked up that I was holding onto my wits by a ripping thread , and told me to calm down and that this is perhaps why women are not allowed in cemeteries. Uhm! Excuse me, what?! How on earth was I reacting inappropriately in any manner. I was controlling myself under the assault of so many inappropriate comments and behaviors from these indecent and ignorant male counterparts, and here I am, suddenly at fault?! I made dua for Allah to give me sabr since I was standing in front of Daddy’s grave and kept quiet. I never brought the comment up with Hafeez again, although I should have brought on a verbal tirade.
How is it that men can make these comments to women, or dictate ‘proper’ behavior for women, or even begin to try to understand women when they have no idea what it is like to walk two steps in a woman’s shoes. I will never understand that. I will never submit to that.
This year, I went again to visit the grave, alone. I called the travel agent guy (which now I am realizing I will never do again) to send a car to take me there from Makkah. The Pakistani guy that drove me there, although appearing to be jolly and friendly, was drowning in sickening Desi cultural mentality topped with Saudi religious mentality. He tried to discourage me from putting on the kafiyya and tried to tell me going to the cemetery is haraam the entire hour long drive there. Ya Allah! Give me sabr, give me sabr, give me sabr. Does this man have children? Does he have a heart? Does he have a conscience? Allah, I ask for sabr even as I write this post! When he saw that I was not caving in, he decided to help me and told me that my black hijab that I had foolishly decided to leave on was showing underneath the read and white kafiyya. I pulled it down to cover more of my face, and once stepping out of the car, I saw that the travel agent guy was standing at the gate to meet us. He asked for the qabr number and I gave it to him. The guard at the gate looked at all three of us, then he stopped to look at me for a good few minutes. He responded by saying that everyone could go in but me. I kept quiet, knowing that my voice would obviously give me away. The travel agent and Pakistani driver tried to meekly ask that I be admitted in and that I was a girl traveling from America and wanted to be let in. Sigh. The gig was up, they admitted I was a girl and there was no way they would let me in now. I really should have went alone. The travel agent guy tried asking again and settled on him going in to make dua, and that I had to wait outside and if I wanted I could go around the outside wall and make dua from there. What are you ridiculous! My chest was bursting with incredulousness and frustration. He walked in leaving me with the Pakistani driver. A Saudi man who seemed to be a supervisor of some sort for the cemetery joined us outside and started talking to the driver in Arabic (thinking I couldn’t understand). He was citing Hadith about how women are not allowed to go into cemeteries in Islam. He had a mocking grin on his cruel face and smiled as he said this. I knew he didn’t even care about what he was preaching, he was just doing a job and enjoying the power he had over the situation. Cruel. After he finished his spiel he turns his mocking look to me and tells the driver laughingly ‘Oh, she doesn’t know Arabic!’ Hah!!!!! My patience was through at that point. Ya Allah! I kindly tell him that I know a little Arabic and that I was going in for 5 minutes and I would be quick. I explained that it would be impossible for me to leave without seeing the grave of my Father (mind you, this was all in Arabic – take that jerk!). I make a move for the gate. By then one of the overweight guards had put a chair in front of the door and sat on it, in an effort to block entry. As soon as I tried to enter he put his arm out and pushed me away. Ya Allah. I took a deep breath and quickly dived for the small area left behind his chair and the door. He grabbed my arm but I managed to get out of his grasp. Once in, there was another gate after the main gate which was partially closed. Another guard saw me enter and ran to slam that gate shut. He told me to leave or just stay there. I took another deep breath. Bismillah. Shoved the gate open and went in. Ya Allah. I walked in towards my dad’s grave where I saw the travel agent standing. He smiled thinking I got ‘lucky’ again. I told him that I forced my way in to give him a heads up incase the police showed up at some point. He left and I had one second to stand there and attempt to make dua before the Saudi man reached us and started asking that I leave. The travel agent joined him and started barking at me to leave. Fickle jerk. I tried to close my eyes and make dua as quickly as I could and left since they kept barking orders at me. I was also concerned for the travel agent and driver and did not want them to get in trouble if the police considered them accomplices of some sort. Ya Allah. I could not even make dua for 5 minutes in peace. I left. I just left. I was not even there long enough to realize where I was, or in front of who’s grave I was standing. I just saw dirt. I just heard yelling. That was it.
I walked out, with a butchered heart, trying desperately to control the heaving sobs building up in my chest. Ya Allah. I could not stop crying for at least 2 days after that happened. I felt like a leaky faucet. I stayed quiet but the tears kept flowing from my eyes and my insides felt severed and mangled. Allah. Oh Allah.
Last time I went in quietly, I made dua peacefully and left. There was no crying, no pain, Alhumdulilah. All these problems, all this harassment and ridicule for something attempted that was only pure, honest, sincere… has damaged me deeply. It is now well after that, that I am writing this posting now, and I still carry what feels like a wooden stake in my chest. I pray now that Allah heals me from being traumatized like that. But I know I will keep trying inshAllah.
I think at some point I will try to rent a small place in Jeddah and devise a way to climb over the high cement wall in the middle of the night so I can read Quran and make dua in peace at my daddy’s grave inshAllah. Allah (swt) please give me patience.
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