Iraq 2011

As some of you might know, I was blessed enough to go to Iraq in December, and Alhamdulillah it was the experience of a lifetime. I'd like to share some of the experience with you guys so I've attempted to fit as much as I can into this blog entry. Apologies for the length.

I woke up on the 2nd of December, the day we were flying, to find out that around 200 people had been killed in Baghdad that morning after a series of 13 bomb explosions. It didn't worry me...But it did open my eyes to how real the security situation in Iraq was and just made the fact that I was finally going to Iraq seem more real too.

The journey was a tiring one- a flight to Dubai, 4 hours transit, and then another flight to Baghdad, and a drive to Najaf. In total it took us almost 30 hours to get to Najaf. On the coach from Baghdad to Najaf, I was quite worried that the journey would have taken up too much of my energy and I wouldn't be able to give my all when it came to the actual Ziyara, but Subhanallah, as soon as we entered Najaf, the tiredness just vanished. Everyone was as awake as ever. The atmosphere was buzzing.

That evening I discovered that there is not another place on this planet where one can be more content and at peace than in the Mausoleum of Ali ibn Abi Talib (a.s). My friend and I entered together and I remember, quite literally, opening my mouth but no words coming out. She said to me, "Zahira, isn't it beautiful?" I just sighed and nodded in order not to cry. That night, I couldn't even remember what any speaker spoke about. All I remember was staring at the black flag being blown majestically and so perfectly by the soft breeze of Najaf. I thought to myself, "But the pictures look so different..." and truly, no pictures or video or HD camera can do justice to even a fraction of the beauty of the Haram of Imam Ali (a.s).

All this time, I'd really just been wanting to visit Karbala, but I was hit by surprise. Najaf is my heaven. The one scene I remember very clearly was one morning when there wasn't enough room for me to pray Fajr outside with the rest of the Jama'ah so I joined the women inside one of rooms of the construction area in the courtyard. We finished our Salah and stepped outside, and suddenly all I could hear was hundreds of people roaring, "Ali...Ali...Ali..." as they all stood at the entrance of his shrine, swearing their allegiance. How beautiful that his rights were usurped during his life on this earth, but instead Amir al Mu'mineen rules the hearts of all believers until today. Truly, justice was served to justice himself.

It's funny that so many of us went to Najaf with our Hajat in our minds, or as one of the speakers put it, our shopping lists. We came with our needs, requests, conveyances, but Wallah, upon setting foot in the Imam's courtyard, it was as if these things crumbled to dust. Suddenly I felt needless. Even if I tried to think of something to ask the Imam for, there was nothing. And how could there be? How could anyone possibly be needy when standing in front of the embodiment of justice himself? When I was in the Haram of Imam Ali, I felt like my life was perfect, I had everything I needed and wanted- peace. That is what I miss most about Najaf. The feeling of not needing anything from the world. Nothing at all. The absolute content.

One of the other highlights of Najaf was getting to meet Ayatollah Sistani and Ayatollah Bashir Najafi, may Allah protect them both and lengthen their lives. These two men are the most humble men I have ever met in my life. Their demeanour, their speech, their aspirations- every aspect of them had an element of servitude. We visited Sayed Sistani first, security was as tight as it gets. 3 different stations, men with machine guns, X-ray machines. We weren't allowed to take anything with us- literally. No electronics, no jewellery, no tissues (yes, tissues- might have cyanide), we had to take off our rings and leave them at the hotel. We waited a while, must have been close to 2 hours, prayed, were given some tea and water before he finally entered. Sayed Sistani gave a short talk, emphasising the importance of keeping the Wilayah of Ahlulbayt (a.s) alive wherever we are in the world, and the fact that we should want for our bothers (and sisters) what we want for ourselves. He also told us that he prays for us after every Salah, especially Fajr.

Ayatollah Bashir Najafi gave us an extended Q&A session and kept referring to us as his children (most of us were young). He seemed like a real father figure, especially when he offered us a 1 month stay in Najaf with him if we could find 10 willing males and 10 willing females to fly to Najaf in the summer to spend a month with him, not for one of those "mini hawza crash courses" but rather to ask him any questions we have, to have discussions, to air our opinions, etc. There was also a point that he made which I picked up on and thought was important to keep in mind- someone asked him about the permissibility of clapping. He said if it was with the rhythm of the music, then it was Haram, but this was not that part which interested me. He went on to say that sometimes, something might be technically Halal, but we need to ask ourselves, would Ahlulbayt (a.s) do this? Would they partake in this activity? And that should answer a lot of our questions.

The next day we went to Masjid al Kufa, which has a strong affiliation with the Imam of our time, as it will be the Bait al Maal of his government, according to traditions. There's a narration that always breaks my heart and it was repeated again at Masjid al Kufa- the narration says that upon his reappearance, the Imam of our time will give his inaugural speech in Masjid al Kufa. His lips will be moving...but nobody will be able to hear a word he will be saying. For those of you who haven't been, there is a powerful mic system in this Masjid just like any other, so why won't anyone be able to hear the Imam? The narration says that the masses and masses of people will be sobbing at the very sight of the Imam, and the fact that he has finally come to save us all, and the sobbing of these thousands of people will drown out the voice of the Imam himself. Allahumma 'ajjil liwaliyikal faraj.

One person who I was really looking forward to visiting there was Mokhtar al Thaqafi. We also visited Maytham al Tammar whose shrine was under construction, Masjid al Hannana- the mosque whose trees had bowed down in respect when the body of Imam Ali (a.s) was being carried from Kufa to Najaf and which were later cut down by the cowardly hypocrites who wanted to lessen the honour of the Ameer, and then Kumayl ibn Ziyad and Muslim ibn Aqeel.

But the most heart breaking visit of all was the one to the house of Amir al Mu'mineen. We were the only group who were given permission to actually have a Majlis inside the house. It was the best Majlis I have ever been to in my life, and will probably always be. It was as if Imam Ali (a.s) had just passed away there and then and we were at his Fatiha. I have never felt such grief take over a group of people like it did then. Until today I can't believe that I attended a Majlis in the house of Amir al Mu'mineen (a.s). As we sat together in the absolute darkness and the Sheikh recited the Na'ee, I could just imagine the scene around us, in this very place that we were sitting. Imam Hassan and Imam Hussain carrying their agony stricken father back into the house, Sayeda Zainab seeing her father with blood gushing out of his wounded head...it was as if the walls and the floor and every inch of the house mourned with us.

There were two places where I just couldn't control myself in Imam Ali's house. The first place was where Imam Ali's body had been washed. There was a man there who was showing us around and he told me that if I did Sujood in that spot, all my Hajat would be fulfilled. At that time I didn't have any Hajat in my mind- who would? But hearing him say something like that just made me break down in awe of the greatness of the Imam (a.s) whose lovers we all claim to be. The second place was the room where Imam Hassan (a.s) and Aba Abdillah (a.s) used to stay. It was full of green ribbons that people had tied in order to have their Hajat fulfilled. It was so small, and after listening to the Na'ee I couldn't help but imagine and wonder how they must have mourned together in that small room after they were orphaned.

Leaving Imam Ali was more painful than I had expected. I wanted to take the peace of Najaf with me. It is what I miss most. You just feel safe in the presence of Imam Ali, like nothing bad can happen, no worry can enter your mind because nothing else matters. I didn't want to return to the world where we have concerns, worries, things that are supposed to matter. I asked the Imam not to let me leave if I am not going to become a better person afterwards. I made some pledges and promises, and I begged him to invite me to Najaf again very soon. I feel like I left my heart there in the custody of Amir al Mu'mineen.

I had tried reading about the Imams of Kadhmiyya before we went there but still, it didn't seem like anywhere near enough. I didn't feel as connected as I did to Amir al Mu'mineen. I felt quite ashamed when I got to Kadhmiyya because of how neglected these two Imams are, so after Sayed Ammar's talk about Imam al Kadhim, I promised the Imam that I would do something, have a gathering, a majlis or a mowlood in honour of Imam al Kadhim when I got back to London. It's shameful that we neglect these Imams so unjustly- the injustice cannot be expressed in words- and yet when we have needs, they become Bab il Hawa'ij. And the most painful thing is that they give. They give us what we want. When we went to Kadhmiyya, I had one particular worry on my mind and Subhanallah, I ended up meeting a lady who had been in the very same position as me. We spoke for ages and it turned out that we had a lot in common, and she ended up giving me a lot of useful advice. She told me that Imam Jawad and Imam al Kadhim give us things without us even asking- that is the level of their generosity.

As we were going to leave, I wanted to go in and kiss the Shrine again because I hadn't been able to properly due to the crowd earlier on. I was standing hesitantly at the door, wondering if I'd be able to get through the crowd. The lady said to me, "What do you think?" I said, "I want to go in and kiss it but...". "That's it then, that's what we'll do," she said. I looked at her, surprised. We didn't have very much time at all until we had to leave. She looked at me and said, "If you want it, tell the Imams and they will open the way for you," and Wallah we came out of there in tears of awe. Only Allah is a witness to how I didn't have to push anything or anyone out of the way. The crowd just pushed me right up against the Shubbak for both of the Imams within a matter of seconds of entering the room where the Shrine was. Truly, these are the Jawadain.

The day we left for Karbala, the mood was a strange one of mixed feelings. It was painful to leave Imam Ali (a.s) but at the same time, Karbala was the place that so many of us had longed for an eternity. The plan was to stop the coaches a few kilometres outside Karbala, and then to walk for the remaining 2-3 hours towards the shrine of Abul Fadhlil Abbas and Aba Abdillah. Unfortunately I was not worthy of the honour of getting to walk bare footed to Karbala and I fell ill that day, to the point where I was too weak to walk much more than the distance from the hotel to the coach. It was the most depressing feeling to have to stay alone, only with a few elderly or disabled people on the coach, and to watch the rest of the group get off the coach and walk to the shrines, shouting the names of the two kings of Karbala at the top of their lungs. I felt so arrogant sitting in the coach and having to be driven to the hotel instead of tiring myself, walking in anguish to the man I called my master. Just days before I had read a Hadith which said that one should not approach Imam Hussain (a.s) except in a state of anguish and longing and being covered in dust. May Allah make me worthy of this walk for another time, and may Aba Abdillah forgive me for this embarrassing shortcoming.

To this day, I can't explain, nor have I understood myself, how I felt in Karbala. I turned numb, it was as if my mind just could not comprehend the magnanimity of where I was. I wanted to cry but I couldn't bring myself to cry. I cried during the Maqtal but still, I felt like the only thing in my mind was the sound of my own breathing and the commotion in the surroundings. My mind was blank. I cannot explain the number of times I wanted someone to smack me hard and shout, "Zahira, you're in Karbala. Wake up!". Until now, I wonder if I'd done something so terribly wrong to feel this way, or if I am just that unworthy, or if I was genuinely overwhelmed to the point of going completely blank and numb.

I was lucky enough to attend one of the best Majalis I've been to, in the Sa7an of Abbas (a.s). It started at midnight and some of us ended up staying all the way until Fajr. There was one point in the lecture that was amazing and has stayed with me since. It was the Tafseer of the line in Ziyarat Warith, "Assalamu alaika ya waritha Abrahim khaleelillah". Ibrahim (a.s) had been tested when Allah told him to sacrifice in Isma'eel, but Allah was only testing Ibrahim's willingness. When Ibrahim was willing, Allah didn't actually make him sacrifice Isma'eel. Aba Abdillah however had to actually sacrifice his children and companions, he had to see it, endure it, and then himself be sacrificed. That is what sets Aba Abdillah apart from Ibrahim. That is why while people circumambulate the Ka'ba, the lovers of Aba Abdillah circumambulate his shrine. That is why while the pilgrims who perform the Hajj in honour of Ibrahim are ordered to dress in their white kafan, the lovers of Imam Hussain are told to wear black to mourn him. That is the reason that while 3-4 million people visit the maqam of Ibrahim every year, 16 million pilgrims march to the grave of Aba Abdillah al Hussain. While the people in white shout out "Labbaik Allahumma Labbaik", those in black cry out, "Labbaika ya Hussain."

The Wida' was the hardest. I went to Abul Fadhlil Abbas first. I don't know what was wrong with me. I don't know if this is similar to how people go into denial when they lose a loved one, or if I simply was that ignorant. Allahu A'lam. I stood in front of his shrine for what seemed an eternity, trying to make myself realise where I was, who I was leaving. "Zahira, this is Bab il Hawa'ij. The man who is always bestowing favours upon you when you are in need." I went on and on until finally, I came to a point where it hit me that I didn't know when I would be back, I didn't know if I would be back, and the tears came. The river of tears came. I cried, I sobbed like a baby until some of the women started staring at me, probably wondering if they should ask me what was wrong or not. I would walk towards the door, and then back again, weeping. Then towards the door, and then back in. I didn't want to leave. If I left once, who knew when I'd be back? What if this was the only visit to Karbala that was destined for me? I fought with myself until finally, I told Abu Fadhil to promise me that he would invite me again one day soon.

Then I walked to Aba Abdillah and this time the tears came more easily. I started to remember all the tears I'd shed and the anguish I had to come to Karbala, and finally I had gotten a taste of this heaven. But so quickly, so soon, I had to leave? It didn't seem fair. Maybe this is how Adam (a.s) had felt when they were sent to live on the earth after residing in the heavens. I begged him to let me serve him in whatever way possible and not to ever deprive me of servitude to him. I remembered the nights that I'd find a small spot just under the Qubba of Aba Abdillah, sit between the sleeping women and speak to him, and the certainty that filled my heart as I poured out its contents to him. It wasn't hard to cry when I left Aba Abdillah because I knew what anguish would take its place again in my life to revisit Karbala. I once wrote in a poem, "Your shrine is a missing page in my life, The one thing that might make my heart rest." How naive I was. My heart was at rest, but only in Karbala. Every iota of peace that I felt in Karbala has once again been replaced with painful longing to be back there again. Which heart can ever be at rest after being taken out of heaven?

Allahumma irzoqna ziyaratel Hussain (a.s).