Worth the wait
Something inside me said ‘Leave right now!’ I felt I didn’t have a moment to lose. I quickly slipped on my trainers and threw on my abaya, wondering whether it would be getting in my way when I was climbing…
As I prepared to leave, Mum wondered why I was in such a rush, we had barely finished praying Fajr… at least have breakfast?? No. I HAVE to go…
Something was calling me, something was telling me I had to get out as soon as possible.
After a brief negotiation with the taxi driver, he drove me to the foot of the mountain.
I saw the sun rising above the peaks on the east and was glad that I had arrived early. It was now 6:45am. To my relief, it seemed fairly empty.
I felt excitement as I started ascending, and rushing up the steps. Wow, I’m going to go up there so fast, I thought, overtaking the people who were walking at a measured pace. I looked at the barren rocks and wondered how Khadija (may Allah be pleased with her) used to climb to bring food to her husband, even while she was pregnant. I wondered how fit they must’ve been to go up and down these mountains and I was grateful for the fact that I had climbed the mountain in Ras al Khaima the weekend before. It was as if Allah was preparing me for this climb. It was so similar – the dark rocks, the desolate landscape. I was also grateful that Allah had answered my dua to climb some mountains – marvelled and how His answer is always better than we expect. I was thinking of some other mountains. It had not occurred to me that I would be climbing Jabal Nour! That hadn’t been one of my plans. But Allah is the Best of planners.
What better mountain could there be than this? The mountain the Prophet ﷺ would climb to seclude himself as his grandfather had before him, and the righteous who used to come and contemplate among these rugged rocks.
In the distance, the clocktower stood indicating where the Kaba stands proud and majestic – though not itself visible from here.
Litter was strewn everywhere. How sad that the ummah of Muhammad ﷺ have not just left their footsteps behind, but graffiti and water bottles too, every step of the way…
A few kittens scrambled around looking for food, and several beggars lined the path with a broom in hand and plastic bag to demonstrate how busy they had been clearing up, hoping for the generosity of the curious climbers.
Dotted along the route were little rickety stands with souvenirs and I felt the desire to bring something back from here to remember this ascent. Glancing at the choice – colourful tasbihs, cheap rings, and little black plastic Kaba’s, I settled on a little stuffed camel.
I was finally climbing the slopes that my brother had climbed 45 years ago, when we were six and seven. I had been left at the bottom, because my parents were doubtful I would make it up there. Of course, at that age I would’ve been a gazelle up the mountain, which they themselves realised and regretted when they reached the top.
But alhamdulillah I was grateful that I had the health and energy to do this now without much trouble, compared to the elderly who were limping.
Parties of middle-aged Turkish visitors, Indonesian ladies in neon-yellow hijabs, and Pakistanis in their chappals, all made their way up. I recited the darood and then wondered why I was rushing. I thought at this rate I’ll be up in 30 mins and it will all be over! So I paused to pray, without needing my qibla app; the direction was obvious – the clocktower was there to show me.
I felt a sense of peace. The weather was so pleasant. But then I began to wonder where I was heading. The steps had turned to grey rocks and people were climbing precariously over them. Was I going in the wrong direction? Had I missed it? Then as I clambered over the rocks, I saw a crush of people. I had reached it. The cave. It was below me. But it was blocked by a massive crowd – packed together tightly like proverbial sardines. And there was a queue of people snaking beyond the rocks and even above us on the other side. Every now and then somebody would shout ‘Stop pushing! This is not the sunnah!’
Another man was telling off the people who were entering the cave and praying in there. In they would go and lift their hands for takbir as if oblivious to the massive crowd behind them. Surely this was not the right thing to do at this time?
After descending over some rocks with the little rope, I wondered if I would ever make it into the cave, even though it was now just a stone’s throw from me. People were pushing and shoving to get in and out. Eventually a kind man helped me get down from the rocks. I felt the absurdity of the fact that I could not use my left hand as it was clutching the camel (had that purchase been such a clever idea?) I squeezed like yet another sardine into the crowd of men and a few Turkish women. A little girl sat perched on the rocks by the entrance looking thoroughly bored and sleepy. Time to deploy my sabr…
Eventually my time came.
I glimpsed the tiny space between the rocks where the Prophet ﷺ had rested. How on earth had he encountered Jibril AS in this tiny, tiny gap between the rocks?
For a moment, I wondered if I should have turned back rather than pressed through this crowd. What would the Prophet ﷺ have thought of this scene outside his space for silence, seclusion and solititude?
I clambered back out through the crowd – it was as dangerous as trying to get close to Hajr Aswad. Slipping on the slippery rocks, I wondered if I should have left at rather than climbing through the crowd, but I would have regretted not seeing the cave that I had finally reached after 45 years.
I was so thankful that Allah had enabled me to see it, to my mother for suggesting it (who was pleased that she could be relieved of the guilt of her decision). Our rizq is written – nothing can bring it forward or delay it. It was worth the wait and I will always remember it.
May Allah bless our beloved Prophet ﷺ and all those who have followed him since he descended from the mountain trembling and asked Khadija (may Allah be pleased with him) to cover him.
22nd November 2025
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