Chapter 8 Inconveniences of the Hajj: The Arduous Journey of a Moroccan Shaykh in 1929

In: Narrating the Pilgrimage to Mecca
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Richard van Leeuwen
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Abstract

In this chapter a hajj journal is analysed written by a Moroccan pilgrim who travelled to Mecca in 1929. Sīdī Muḥammad al-Tawzānī al-Miḍārī was a Sufi shaykh from a small town in northern Morocco. His journal reports in a very detailed way on the mishaps and difficulties of the journey, focusing on illness, inconveniences of travel, food, etc. Although the ultimate experience of the hajj is expressed in positive terms, the account gives a very personal and realistic image of the hajj, through the eyes of a sincerely religious but unpretentious shaykh. It is argued that, although most hajj accounts tend to contain idealizing strategies, it is also not uncommon for pilgrims to tell about the hardships of the hajj and their individual complaints and experiences without embarrassment. Because the diary is a straightforward account without much personal meditations, it gives a vivid and realistic picture of the hajj in the interwar period.

Since for Muslims the hajj is probably the most momentous religious experience of their lives, not only because it is often a unique life-event, but also because no other ritual will bring them closer to God and the Muslim community, one would expect narratives relating this experience to be highly stylized and idealized. It is first of all an exalting experience, confirming membership within a community and a tradition, and the environment would expect reports to reflect the sacredness and exaltation of the event overwhelming the pilgrim. The strength of emotions, the aesthetic qualities of the site, and the physical awareness of spirituality should result in an account that is inspired and moulded, through its form and its content, to express and evoke emotions and an aesthetic response in audiences, and most of all, such stories should convey a sense of common jubilation celebrating the shared faith of the narrator and their audiences.

The conventions of written hajj accounts reflects the desire to represent the pilgrimage as the ultimate religious experience. Still, it is remarkable that during the gradual development of this tradition pilgrims have never shunned from mentioning negative aspects of their journey, referring to both the difficulties encountered on the way and the inconveniences experienced in the Holy Land itself. Although idealized accounts existed, the tradition as a whole is certainly not shaped only by the wish to conform the narrative to some ideal model, editing away experiences that would spoil the positive qualities either of the form or the content. Most accounts from the twelfth century until the present day contain a prominent personal element that situates them in a specific spatio-temporal frame and relates them to specific personal experiences, thereby stressing their authenticity and credibility. Apparently, for most pilgrims, it was more important to share a sense of personal involvement than to present an objectified idea of a common practice.

It should be kept in mind that the conveying of experiences, especially emotions, in writing is always subject to forms of mediation derived from generic and narrative conventions. These conventions may predispose readers to expect certain emotions described in specific ways after the model of predecessors’ texts or aesthetic rules. It can be argued that mediation through objectification by editing, stylizing, copying, quoting, changing registers or genres, is much more relevant for positive experiences than for negative ones. After all, acknowledging that one does not feel elated by the first view of the Kaʿba would really spoil the account and even throw doubt on the sincerity of the pilgrim’s faith. The room to transgress genre conventions is very small: Muslim audiences have come to expect that travelogues echo previous responses of trustworthy predecessors, possibly through quotations or by mimicking their idealized representation. There is no such requirement in the case of complaints or negative experiences, because there is no convention to be followed; negative experiences are by definition individual and are much more difficult to relate to a common sense of spiritual bliss. Although they are inevitably mediated by the narrative medium, they are potentially a more authentic reflection of an individual experience, deconstructing the idealized image and contributing to a sense of realism.

The extent of strategies applied by authors to idealize their account can be related to differences in form. An account composed in verse is more likely to contain standard tropes, images, and expressions than, for instance, day-to-day journals. Highly stylized poetic accounts are found more often in Persian and Turkish traditions, subjecting content to form and avoiding realistic, subjective elements (Alam and Subrahmanyam 2007, 24 ff.; Coşkun 1999). However, poetic form does not preclude negative elements. An interesting example is a long poem by al-Muṣʿabī, an ʿIbāḍī shaykh from the Algerian desert, who went on hajj in 1781, and who adds a few lines in prose to complain about the treatment he underwent by the governor of Cairo—clearly an ‘unpoetic’ event—, but does not refrain from spending five verses of his poem to fiercely criticize the unhygienic behaviour of some pilgrims (‘peasants’), who even urinate inside the Grand Mosque—clearly an ‘unpoetic’ element, too (al-Muṣ ʿabī 2006, 62, 74, 79, 84). This irritation would probably have been experienced by the audience (listeners?) as a breach of generic conventions much more than the readers of the pilgrim’s diary of the Moroccan scholar al-ʿAbdarī, who travelled to Mecca in 1289, and who complains about the fighting among pilgrims to reach the Black Stone, even hurting women; pilgrims cooking inside mosques, charring the walls and casting away garbage; and pilgrims letting their donkeys graze in historical graveyards (al-ʿAbdarī 1968, 175–177).

The negative experiences related by al-ʿAbdarī and al-Muṣʿabī affect the spiritual experience and the impression they convey to their audience, by apparently integrating a genuine feeling of irritation. Although this does not endorse an image of sacredness, nor an idealized image of the hajj, it can be argued that it was meant as a strategy to convey a positive individual attitude. The authors perhaps wanted to show that they upheld certain standards of propriety and cleanliness, which attests to a level of civilization that is suited for the elevated events they are experiencing and that cannot be affected by trivial, worldly circumstances. Inconveniences and annoyances may also enhance the spiritual merits of the pilgrimage, as in the case of the Moroccan Ibn Ṭayyib al-Sharqī (hajj in 1727), who at ʿArafa was robbed of his tent, his donkey, his money, his clothes, and his shoes. He had to return to Mecca barefooted, but still remarked that God should be thanked in both good fortune and adversity (al-Sharqī 2014, 384–385). Apparently, negative elements can add a level to the account which enriches the experience it conveys and thus become a conscious narrative strategy.

In this chapter, I will discuss a hajj account by a Moroccan pilgrim from 1929, which appears to disclose the vicissitudes and inconveniences of the hajj in a remarkably authentic way. The text has the form of a diary and has no literary pretensions; it seems to be an honest, detailed journal of the pilgrim experience meant to convey an authentic, unadorned picture of the journey, not written by an important or self-important scholar or official, but by an unpretentious Sufi shaykh from the Rif, interested in telling his story rather than adapting his report to a preconceived image. Sīdī Muḥammad al-Tawzānī al-Miḍārī, known as Sīdī al-Ḥājj Muḥammad (1883–1943), had studied in the Qarawiyyīn mosque in Fes and acted as a religious scholar in Nador and Hoceima in the Moroccan Rif, which was governed by the Spanish at the time (al-Miḍārī 1997, 3). The text was probably not written to reach a wide audience, but intended for his family and a small circle fellow-Sufis, since it does not seem to have been widely distributed at the time and only a single copy of the manuscript has been preserved.

1 The Political Context

Before we proceed with a discussion of Muḥammad’s text, it is convenient to briefly outline the political situation at the time of his journey. In 1929, Morocco was administratively divided among two colonial powers. The French had established a mandate administration in most parts of Morocco in 1912, while the Spanish controlled the northern parts—the Rif and the towns of Melilla, Ceuta, and Tangier.1 Colonial rule had important consequences for the annual undertaking of the hajj. First, the traditional overland route through North Africa and the Sahara to the Hijaz was now completely under the domination of the Western colonial powers: Spain, France, Italy and Great Britain. Second, the colonial administration implemented a system of regulations, including passports, visa, permissions, and health regulations by which they gradually took control of pilgrimage traffic. During World War I, they initially prevented pilgrims from travelling to Mecca, as they were unable to guarantee their safety. In 1916, however, after Sharīf Ḥusayn of the Hijaz had revolted against the Ottoman government, the French and British authorities (later followed by the Spanish and Italians) organized a much-advertised hajj expedition for a selected group of pilgrims on a sumptuous ship and surrounded by French and British protocols, in order to express their support for the Arabian leader and Muslims more generally. It was surely the only occasion in history that the ‘Marseillaise’ and ‘God save the king’ were played during the wuqūf at ʿArafa (Tresse 1937, 62).

Another consequence of the colonial administration of North Africa and the transformations it incurred was the rapid deployment of new systems of transportation, through the construction of railroads and the introduction of steamships, automobiles, and buses. Already over the course of the nineteenth century, steam traffic in the Mediterranean had made the annual caravans through the desert virtually obsolete, especially after the opening of the Suez Canal in 1869. Obviously, travel by ship from Casablanca or Tangier was more comfortable than jolting on camels and it greatly reduced the duration of the journey, but it was also rather expensive. That is probably the reason why our traveller preferred to travel by land to Tunis and take a ‘very old’ ship from there (al-Miḍārī 1997, 42). The background of colonial rule is conveyed by descriptions of French visa requirements, the border at Oujda, and the presence of the French and English soldiers in the ports of Oran and Port Said respectively (ibid., 22–23, 43, 121).

In the meantime, the situation in the Hijaz was changing rapidly.2 During World War I, Sharīf Ḥusayn declared his independence from the Ottoman Empire in 1916, and in the aftermath of the revolt he became entangled in a struggle for power with his local rival ʿAbd al-ʿAzīz ibn al-Saʿūd. The latter declared himself king of Najd and in 1924 succeeded in defeating Ḥusayn and establishing his own rule in the Hijaz. This change in government set in motion a process of reform and modernization that greatly affected the practical and religious aspects of the hajj. Motorized transport was extended, health conditions were gradually improved, levies were abolished, and the danger of Bedouin raids was neutralized. Apart from these measures, the actual rites of the hajj and associated practices, such as ziyāra or visitation to the grave tomb of the Prophet Muhammad and other important early role models in Islamic history were subjected to a new, strict regime, inspired by the doctrines of the eighteenth-century reformer Muḥammad ibn ʿAbd al-Wahhāb.3 The conspicuous monuments of sacred history, especially the tombs of the Prophet’s family, were razed to the ground and certain expressions of piety at graves and monuments, such as touching and weeping, were discouraged or forbidden. For Moroccan pilgrims, with their tradition of Sufism and the veneration of saints, these reforms were often difficult to accept.

These circumstances, relating to a process of far-reaching transformation and the spread of modernity, were not merely a diffuse background of Sīdī Muḥammad’s pilgrimage; they decisively shaped the experience of the journey, since they affected both the logistic and the religious components of the hajj.

2 The Journey

In 1929 the time of the great caravans from the Maghreb to Cairo through the North African desert was past, and the trajectory of Sīdī Muḥammad’s journey shows how modern means of transport began to be organized. The group of travellers consisted of seven pilgrims, Maymūn, ʿAbd al-Razzāq, Muḥammad, Aḥmad, ʿĪsā, Muhannad, and the narrator, Sīdi Muḥammad (here not yet called al-Hājj) (ibid., 16, 24, 28, 104). Maymūn and Sīdī Muḥammad belonged to the followers of the Sufi Shaykh Ibrahīm al-Būdālī who was popular in the region and who founded a branch of the Darqawiyya-Shādhiliyya order in Mascara, Algeria. As was customary at the time, the days before departure are spent buying provisions for the journey and food for the many gatherings held to say farewell to the pilgrims. In Midar, the imam of the village and the disciples of the village shaykh accompany the group in the rain to the zāwiya (Sufi lodge), which is filled with ‘brothers and sisters’. They travel first by taxi to Nador, where they meet with other Sufis from the region and then by taxi to Melilla to buy provisions and later to Zaïo and Oujda at the Algerian border to say goodbye to Sufi friends and to arrange visas from the Spanish and French authorities. They try in vain to find out the departure schedule of the trains, so they decide to travel to Oran by car and bus instead (ibid., 18–22).

From Oran the group travels by train to Mascara to visit the zāwiya of the son of the famous Sufi master (quṭb),4 Shaykh al-Būdālī. However, when they call the zāwiya by telephone, they are informed that the shaykh is not present, because he went to visit his sick son. They then decide to continue their journey to Saida, hoping to meet the shaykh there. They negotiate with the train conductor so as not to pay an extra fare. However, in Saida, the zāwiya appears to be deserted, so they spend the night in a hammam (a public bath). Afterwards, on horses and mules, through rain and mud, they ascend a mountain to a remote zāwiya of the Būdāliyya order in Takhmirt, where they wash their clothes that are stained by the smoke of the train. Here they meet with their shaykh, the son of Ibrahim al-Būdālī, whom Sīdī Muḥammad has previously met during a khalwa (or meditative seclusion of sixty days). Subsequently, they journey to Mascara to visit the zāwiya and the mausoleum of Shaykh al-Būdālī. The leader of the Sufi community there, ‘the great ecstatic knower of God Sufi Muḥammad al-Qadarī’ (al-faqīr al-majdhūb and al-ʿārif bi-Allāh), a disciple of Shaykh al-Būdālī, assigns roles to each of the travellers: Maymūn will have the authority to take decisions; ʿĪsā and Jalūl5 have to be silent; ʿAbd al-Razzāq is responsible for the finances; Aḥmad will be the tea-server; Sīdī Muḥammad will be the imam, and the other two will be ‘donkeys’ carrying the luggage (ibid., 28). The group returns to Oran by bus, which is so crowded that people sit on the roof, and take the train to Tunis via Algiers. The narrator complains about the train to Algiers, which is full of mice and shakes so heavily that they are unable to boil water for tea. After a 39-hour train ride, they arrive in Tunis, where they stay in a hotel owned by the captain of the ship, who will take them to Jedda, together with a group of fellow-pilgrims (ibid., 34–39).

The extensive regional tour as a preparation for the actual journey to Mecca was a long-standing tradition in Morocco. It shows especially how the hajj was connected with the networks of Sufi communities in the region; and was taken as an opportunity to strengthen social and religious bonds between them. An element of authority was involved, too, since the pilgrims had to receive both the permission for their journey from their shaykh and the blessing of other brothers. Moreover, the visiting of sacred places, such as zāwiyas and saints’ tombs, was an integrate part of the journey, affirming its sacred nature. This religious preoccupation is maintained throughout the journey. In Tunis, the travellers take the time to delve into the religious institutions as well, visiting scholars, schools and libraries, and a graveyard where 3,066 holy men lie buried. They inspect the teaching methods of the Zaytūna madrasa, the salary of professors, and the subjects that were taught, as compared to Fes. They remark that both the pupils and the teachers shave their heads and indulge in smoking, saying that this habit costs no more than 11/2 francs a day. This clearly frustrates the author, who is against permitting the use of tobacco (ibid., 34–39).

From Tunis they board a ‘very old’ ship, praying and pronouncing the appropriate formulae—Qurʾanic verses and hadiths before sailing—for safety and protection. Nevertheless, they become seasick on the journey and the boat is also forced to stop for repairs. After crossing the Suez Canal, they don the iḥrām clothes at the level of the mīqāt of Rābigh, saying the niyya (the formula is cited in the text), and putting on sandals that have been officially approved by the qadi of Tunis as complying with the prescriptions for the outfit of pilgrims. Arriving in Jedda, Sīdī Muḥammad is relieved that the sea journey has passed reasonably well, apart from seasickness, a storm, and the mattress of a woman that had caught fire and had to be thrown overboard, but which ended up on a lower deck. In Jedda they are met by their muṭawwif (pilgrims’ guide), who takes care of the customs formalities and their lodgings. They purchase provisions and visit the nearby grave of Eve, which is partly destroyed by the Wahhābī authorities, who especially frown upon the veneration of this particular grave, since its historical credentials are thin. The grave used to be a fixed component of the ‘touristic’, non-obligatory part of the pilgrims’ journey, but they are sent away by a guard (ibid., 42–54).

3 Mecca

Until this point, Muḥammad’s travelogue is straightforward and focused on practicalities, giving little space to religious formalities or even religious framing in the form of hadiths, prayers, or Qurʾanic verses. Still, the text is steeped in religious connotations, which are clearly an integrated part of the narrative. Conventional references to religion are the reciting of the obligatory Sufi litanies and prayers (ḥizb and wird) each morning (ibid., 26, 105, 122); the prayers, formulae, and hadiths for protection when embarking on a sea journey; and the ceremony of entering the state of iḥrām (ibid., 44, 45). In the zāwiyas in Morocco and in Mascara, and even on the ship from Tunis, the group attends Sufi ceremonies with entrancing music and dancing (ḥaḍra; samāʿ; and ʿammāra, an ecstatic ritual continuing the whole night), according to the rites of the Būdāliyya and Raḥmāniyya orders (‘only shaking the head’) (ibid., 26, 28, 46). They visit the graves of Shaykh al-Būdālī in Mascara, and a place of seclusion (khalwa) of the great master Abū al-Ḥasan al-Shādhilī (1196–1258), the founder of the Shādhiliyya order, and the mausoleum of his wife and son (ibid., 37). When the group arrives in Mecca, to emphasize the solemnity of the undertaking, they decide that the fine for speaking trivialities, set by Maymūn at ½ riyāl, will be increased to 1 riyāl (ibid., 25, 48). There are also references to the juridical aspects of the hajj. During his meetings with other shaykhs on the way, in Algeria and Tunis, the manāsik al-ḥajj (the rules for the rituals) are discussed in debating sessions (mudhākira). The narrator especially mentions the Mukhtaṣar by al-Khalīl, a compendium of Mālikī law that was extremely popular in North and West Africa from the fourteenth century until the present day, and is referred to by many pilgrims. He also mentions the well-known scholars al-Nawawī and Ibn ʿĀshir (ibid., 49). Later on the boat they receive lessons in the rules for the rituals of the hajj, and the muṭawwif, too, helps them abide by the rules. He explains to them, that, since they are from the Rif, their iḥrām is for the ḥajj al-ifrād, that is, a hajj detached from the ʿumra, according to Mālikī law, instead of a combined, uninterrupted sequence of ritual acts (ibid., 68). At a certain point, Sīdī Muḥammad feels sufficiently confident to insert a summary of the rules for the hajj. Still, in spite of these preparations, they meet inconvenience from the Saudi authorities, who not only prevent them from visiting the tomb of Eve and entering the cave of the Prophet, but also forbid them to climb Mount ʿArafa at the day of the wuqūf, since this is not part of the orthodox ritual (ibid., 662). Sīdī Muḥammad observes that the authorities have also abolished the tradition that four imams, one from each of the legal schools, led the prayer in the Grand Mosque; now only the Ḥanbalī imam is allowed to lead the prayer (ibid., 48).

Of course, these religious references in the text concern only either everyday routine or preparations for the actual religious experience of the hajj. Not surprisingly, the account of the ceremonies in Mecca is the most formalized part of the text. Here poems are added besides prayers, hadiths, and descriptions of the Grand Mosque, which conform to the conventions of hajj accounts. The prayers are supplemented with summaries of the lives of Fāṭima, the daughter of the Prophet Muhammad, and others, as well as lists of the Prophet’s sons and spouses (ibid., 89–94). The ceremonies are mentioned without much personal flavour, except the repeated remarks that the group is very tired. They kiss the Black Stone and avoid the crowd as much as possible. After the obligatory ritual acts, they buy camping gear and rent camels to proceed to Minā, where, according to the muṭawwif, 2,000 pilgrims die of illness every day. Here the hardships really begin. It starts raining and thundering and many pilgrims faint because of the heat or illness. At ʿArafa and Minā the crowds are enormous and the group falls apart, only reuniting by coincidence the following evening. In spite of the hectic circumstances, our narrator falls asleep on his camel, and bumps against the hump of the camel, losing two teeth. They are exhausted and only succeed to perform the stoning of the devil (jamra) with great effort, seated on their camels, which are beaten by soldiers (ibid., 60–71).

To add to the hardships, they inadvertently drink a sweet, yellow liquid, which immediately makes them sick, forcing them to postpone certain rites, such as the ṭawāf al-ifāḍa (the circumambulation of the Kaʿba after ʿArafa). They drink large quantities of Zamzam water, known for its healing qualities (‘only for true believers, not for hypocrites’) (ibid., 65), because they cannot stand normal water, and eat only ḥarīra, a rich Moroccan chickpea-tomato soup, and sometimes made with pumpkin, onion, and oil. The narrator is unable to chew bread, because of his missing teeth, but fortunately he is still able to drink tea with the others. The inconveniences do not stop here. The group fails to arrange for a bus to take them to Jedda, and from there to Medina, and therefore they haves to split up. One of Muḥammad’s companions—now called al-Ḥājj Muhannad,—decides to travel to Medina on foot. Our narrator has to share a car with some Arabs, which is fortunate, he observes, because they are much more patient, pious and polite than their Berber brothers, who are irascible and have no patience (ṣabr), especially in this extreme crowdedness. They arrive in Jedda sick and tired, with hardly any water even for the ailing Aḥmad (ibid., 71–72).

Although transport by automobile, which emerged in the Hijaz in the 1920s, was in principle more comfortable than on camel back, it still had its particular inconveniences. Cars tended to get stuck in the sand or to break down somewhere in the middle of the desert, and the tracks were bumpy and dusty. Although the car carrying al-Ḥājj Muḥammad was checked by a (Christian) mechanic, it still breaks down on the way and the passengers have to wait for hours in the blazing sun to have it repaired. The driver is described as a scoundrel who asks for a baqshīsh, and as an ‘enemy of God’, since he does not perform his prayers and smokes tobacco. Moreover, he drives too closely behind the car preceding them, so that the sand blows into their faces. Because they are feverish and coughing, they wind shawls around their faces, so they are unable to see the road or the landscapes surrounding them. When they protest, the driver, who wears protective goggles, just makes jokes and laughs at them, which infuriates Maymūn, who shouts: ‘You will be held accountable before God and His Prophet!’ (ibid., 78). Soon afterwards, the car breaks down unexpectedly. At some points the car stops for unknown reasons and they have to wait while the driver exchanges pleasantries with his colleagues. Just as suddenly they depart again, the chauffeur driving so fast that they fear to be thrown out of the car. During all these tribulations, the Arabs remain calm, polite, and full of respect until they arrive in Medina (ibid., 76–78).

At the gate of Medina, they have to wait a whole day before the others arrive; their car has also broken down on the way. The guide (murshid) advises them to rent a car to enter the town, because they are too weak to walk, but they insist on going by foot, because this is the place where the Prophet has put his feet (ibid., 83).

The part of al-Ḥājj Muḥammad’s journal about the group’s stay in Medina is, like the Meccan episode, dominated by references to religion, rules, and prayers for the occasion of the visit to the Prophet’s grave. This account was been written later, in Tunis, because, as the author states, in Medina he was too ill to write. Unfortunately, he adds, he failed to copy the Qurʾanic verses written on the walls in the Prophet’s Mosque, which he had forgotten by then. In the Medinan part, first a eulogy is given for Mālik ibn Anas, the great legal scholar and founder of the law school that is predominant in Morocco, and whose tomb is located in Medina. According to our narrator, Mālik had visions of the Prophet every night; he knew 100,000 hadiths; he was the most distinguished scholar in Medina in his time and mufti of the Ḥaramayn; of all human beings, he was the most beloved by God and most cognizant of the Qurʾan during his lifetime (ibid., 83).

Apart from visiting the tomb of Mālik, the highlight of the group’s stay in Medina is, of course, the visit (ziyāra) to the Prophet’s Mosque and his grave. Here, the pilgrims are again confronted with the strictness of the new Wahhābī authorities. After they have been sent away from the grave of Eve in Jedda and the cave of the Prophet near Mecca, which, according to the new doctrines, were potential sites of unlawful veneration and polytheism (shirk), they are now prevented by guards from touching the grille of the Prophet’s tomb. Still, they are allowed to visit the graves of the family of the Prophet in al-Baqīʿ, the cemetery, and the tomb of the martyr Ḥamza at Uḥud. Due to the oppressive heat and general illness, the group is unable to visit other sites. Al-Ḥājj Muḥammad supplements his account with prayers and formulae dedicated to the many religious and historical figures buried in Medina, including the Prophet, cited from well-known religious and historical texts (ibid., 83–99).

d19783155e20084

Figure 8.1

Picture of the Sanctuary of Medina the Radiant (c. 1907)

Photographer: H.A. Mirza & Sons [4r] (1/1), British Library: Visual Arts, Photo 174/4, in Qatar Digital Library https://www.qdl.qa/archive/81055/vdc_100023483748.0x000013 [accessed 18 April 2022].

4 Practical Concerns: Food

Among the remarkable features of the travelogue summarized above, is its strong emphasis on the material aspects of the hajj and how it combines the physical and spiritual aspects of the undertaking. A clear sign and solid anchoring of this materiality in the narrative is the author’s preoccupation with food, to such an extent that a discussion of the text would not be complete without referring to it. At several occasions, Sīdī Muḥammad carefully registers the victuals purchased by the group, either as provisions for the journey or to be consumed by the group on the way or with brothers in the zāwiyas. In Melilla, before their departure, the group buys butteroil, olive oil, and dried couscous, and enjoys a dinner of meat and green beans (ibid., 19–21). In Oran a brother of the ʿAlīwa order serves them a meal of string beans and fish (ibid., 21, 23). In Saida, during their meeting with members of the Būdāliyya order, they are treated on muḥammiṣa, a pasta with chickpeas and vegetables, with bread and meat, two tagines with meat, and couscous with meat, a ‘vegetable dish they call “salad” with vinegar,’ and, finally, lisān burtaqāl (ibid., 24–25). They are also served skewers with meat. Later they have a more frugal breakfast made up of bread, butteroil, and tea. Also on the way, they regularly consume a simple meal consisting of butteroil, olives and bread (ibid., 21).

For the journey, the first commodity purchased in Oujda is tea (because ‘in the east there is no good tea available’), which is later supplemented with butteroil, olives, couscous, flour, and spices (ibid., 30, 105, 107). They carry with them a primus enabling them to boil water in less than ten minutes, apparently to be used in the train (ibid., 31). Since later they have to collect wood to make a fire for boiling water, the primus was apparently dispensed of on the way (maybe because of a lack of petroleum). On the boat they have difficulty eating because of their seasickness. Food is available, but rather expensive, so when they halt in Port Said they buy and prepare Egyptian cucumbers with meat (ibid., 43). After arriving in Jedda, they buy a stock of victuals consisting especially of sugar and tea, although they have brought tea from Oujda and Oran in tins (ibid., 48–57). The narrator remarks that they drink tea three times a day and usually have one or two guests at every meal (ibid., 49). Their breakfast consists of honey, butter, and eggs mixed with jerked meat (ibid., 122). In Mecca they eat bread with honey, bread and beans, and fava beans with tomatoes. However, everything changes when they become ill after drinking lemonade: al-Ḥājj Muḥammad only consumes tea, Zamzam water, ḥarīra soup, and sometimes pumpkin with onion and olive oil. Again, he does not take bread, because he is unable to chew it, probably because of his missing teeth.

In Medina al-Ḥājj Muḥammad buys baked liver with bread and two thermos water containers (ibid., 103). On the way back they seem to be feeling somewhat better, because they buy meat and rice, and fried fish (ibid., 105). They still have tea left from Oujda and Oran. In Rābigh, on the return journey, some of them are unable to take in food and only chew a piece of melon, while the others feast on fried fish. In Jedda, they are reunited with Muhannad, who had gone to Medina on foot, and who is so exhausted and ill that he is unable to eat anything (ibid., 71, 77, 106). They prepare sour ḥarīra boiled in the morning, like they did in Mecca when they were ill. Fortunately, Maymūn, who is ill, has spices, which they use to have in the zāwiya. For themselves, they prepare meat with spaghetti with or without milk and a bit too many lentils, which causes some inconvenience, along with another dish consisting of meat with bread. Other pilgrims gave them some uncooked, crushed seeds (ibid., 77, 106–107). Al-Ḥājj Muḥammad declares that he enjoyed the tea and meat the most. They drink green tea with sugar and mint in Mecca, Medina, and Jedda, apart from the tea they brought from Morocco, because they do not like the black Medinan tea, and they eat watermelon, of which he remarks: in ‘our dialect’ dallāḥ, one during the day and one in the evening, instead of water (ibid., 107). On the boat they buy potatoes, bread, and onions in Port Said along with two sheep from the captain to make a ‘delicious’ meal consisting of roasted mutton, boiled potatoes, brain, and eggs (ibid., 110–120). Remarkably, when al-Ḥājj Muḥammad has returned to Midar, he is served a welcome meal at home, which is mentioned without any specifications (ibid., 121–124).

Al-Ḥājj Muḥammad’s careful registering of the culinary events of their journey not only suggests that he was a gourmand, enjoying good food and drink, but also that the hajj was basically experienced as a primarily physical journey. The connection between consumption and illness is the basic substratum of almost all the rites and acts performed in the Holy Places, next to other physical inconveniences such as fatigue, dust, accidents, transport, heat, etc. Some of the less crucial components of the hajj have to be omitted or postponed as a result of indispositions partly caused by the consumption of water. Conversely, although it is not made explicit, Zamzam water is at least psychologically adopted as a cure. They even drink it instead of food, as is recommended in popular lore. On the other hand, exhaustion is not taken as an excuse to diminish the physical-religious experience, symbolized by their entering Medina on foot. At other times, they are forced to arrange for transport, for instance a donkey to relieve the poor, sick Maymūn, or camels for the jamra (ibid., 95).

Some interesting observations can be made by examining at the narrator’s remarks about food. First, it is remarkable that the group takes only minimal provisions for the journey. Tea seems to be the most important commodity that has to be brought from Morocco, since the quality of other teas cannot be relied upon in the Hijaz. Even on the way back, they still have a stack of Moroccan tea. Apparently, the group did not visit many coffeehouses along the pilgrimage routes in the Hijaz; in fact, there is no mention of coffee. Second, the pilgrims clearly preferred to prepare Moroccan dishes as much as possible, according to familiar recipes and with familiar ingredients (and names). Third, the fact that al-Ḥājj Muḥammad elaborates particularly on the more copious meals indicates that there was a pattern of eating quite simple meals of bread, butteroil, and olives. Meat and fish were purchased when they were not too expensive. Fourth, this shows that foodstuffs were mainly bought at the local markets where and when they were available. Finally, meals were preferably shared with others, either with brothers in Morocco or fellow pilgrims. Meals are portrayed as enhancing the narrator’s sense of community and the intensity of the common spiritual experience.

5 The Return Journey

After saying farewell to the Prophet, the resilient pilgrims, with the title al-Ḥājj added to their names, prepare for the return journey from Medina to Jedda. Unfortunately, when they want to buy bread it appears that there is no bread left on the market, because previous travellers have bought it all. But to their relief, the obnoxious driver has been fired by the transport company and is replaced by a pious and polite chauffeur who does not smoke. On the way they are reunited with other pilgrims, and they meet two pilgrims from the Rif who have journeyed to Mecca on foot in about eight months, almost all the way from Morocco through Libya—under Italian administration—and Egypt—under British administration. The boat journey to Tunis is bearable, except for seasickness and vomiting; references to the days of quarantine and disinfection in al-Ṭūr, in Sinai, are unfortunately lacking from the journal. In Tunis, al-Ḥājj Muḥammad cannot leave the hotel because of his illness, but he is able to continue his journey by boat to Oran and from there by bus to Oujda (the ‘French’ border) and by car to Berkane, where he is met by a group of members from the local orders of Aḥmad ʿAlīwa, Muḥammad al-Ḥabarī, and Shaykh al-Būdālī (ibid., 103–122).

In Nador, our pilgrim is awaited by a large crowd on the square in front of the zāwiya where carpets are spread out. When the car arrives, he is taken aside by his brother, who, seeing how exhausted, dusty and emaciated he is, gives him a new jallāba, two shirts, a vest, shoes, and a turban, which he immediately puts on before appearing before the crowd. Horse races are held and the district official arrives to greet him with two soldiers, a Spanish captain, and a tribal chief. After the festivities, he is taken to his home in Midar where dinner is served, which, remarkably, is not specified (ibid., 123–124). In a supplement to the text, a list is added of gifts that people had requested him to bring them from the Holy Places: a rosary from Mecca, some sand from the Ḥaramayn, and a razor blade sharpener, probably one that had been used for the shaving incident in Minā (ibid., 125, 128).

6 Conclusion

Although it is clear that the account of al-Ḥājj Muḥammad was written as part of a long tradition of Moroccan pilgrimage accounts, it is a unique text in several respects. It is not unique in the sense of consciously distancing itself from the tradition, but rather because it shows a particular balance between conventional and personal components. As has been observed above, the tradition of Muslim pilgrimage accounts allows for a certain degree of individual observations and impressions, and in that sense the text is no anomaly. What is different is an impression of directness and authenticity that seems to prevail over strategies of mediation and deliberate efforts by the author to construct a specific virtuous self-image. This may be the result either of a conscious attempt by the author to write a text that is different from other texts; it may also be the result of a changing intellectual climate, allowing for a more diverse field of discursive expression; or it may be that the text represents a kind of narrative that has always existed within the tradition but has largely remained out of sight.

At a superficial level, the text seems to conform neatly to the generic requirements. It begins with an account of the customary tour around the region to visit befriended zāwiyas and brotherhoods, to strengthen spiritual bonds and social networks, and to lay a solid spiritual foundation for the momentous undertaking through a kind of ‘permission’ to depart with the blessing of the saintly milieu. It proceeds to give an account of the journey, with its inconveniences and problems along with observing unfamiliar places, focusing on networks of scholars and religious and educational institutions. In the Holy Places, the focus shifts to the religious discursive framework of pilgrimage, referring to doctrines, law, prayer, rituals, acts of piety, etc., elevating the text to a more ceremonial and formal level. These structural features leave no doubt that the author situates his text within a specific genre, but at the same time he seems rather to add to its diversity than to its coherence.

What distinguishes this text from others is that, first, it has no formal and stylistic pretensions; second, that it focuses in much more detail on the practicalities of the journey, not so as to give guidelines for future pilgrims, but to convey the way they are experienced by the author; and, third, that there is a systematic emphasis on the physical and material aspects of the journey, as an experience in an often-hostile environment. These aspects of the text make it a distinctly individual narrative, a personal account. The perspective is personal to such an extent, that observations from a more distant perspective are scarce. There are no or very few remarks about the colonial authorities or the modern means of transport; there are only implicit complaints about the strict regime for pilgrims imposed by the new Saudi rulers; there are no comments related to the rapidly evolving environment of modernity, which required new visions of the hajj as a journey and as a religious obligation and practice.

The directness and suggestion of authenticity of the account can be compared to a similar diary that was written by a pilgrim from India also in 1929 (Alawi 2009). This account is also composed as a detailed diary, reporting on food and the illnesses of the author, but is still more consciously stylized to give a specific representation of the author, mainly by complaining about the restrictive measures of the Saudi government. It is a text aimed at a form of self-constitution vis-à-vis a specific audience by contrasting Indian practices with Wahhābī rules. This conscious effort to constitute the self seems to be lacking in al-Ḥājj Muḥammad’s text; even if he touches upon subjects of law or spirituality, his intention seems to be to enhance the sense of piety, humility, and submission that the text exudes rather than constructing an image of a proficient, modern scholar, or a knowledgeable literate, or a specifically Moroccan Muslim, or an esoterically inclined Sufi. It seems that the author inserts himself into the tradition of the hajj in a self-evident way, without overly clashing with the forces of modernity, because the tradition transcends these specific circumstances represented by modern means of transport, colonial occupation, or Wahhābī reforms. The harshness of the caravan route has just been replaced by new, modern inconveniences.

If the text was not written as a conscious effort of self-constitution by the author, nor as a guide for future pilgrims, then why was it written? Was it perhaps an unconscious product of the mingling of traditional and modern styles? Could a text such as this never have been written in the early modern period? Or would it just have remained hidden beneath a layer of more sophisticated texts? Questions such as these can only be answered when more texts of this kind are found, published, and examined, which is, in my opinion, a truly enviable task. Still, analysing texts can only to a certain extent provide answers to questions about the intention of authors, since these are dependent on social, rather than discursive, contexts. For whom were these texts written and in which contexts were they read? In the case of al-Ḥājj Muḥammad’s text we can be fairly sure that it was not distributed beyond a limited circle of close friends and family, and perhaps even as a personal diary to commemorate a momentous experience. This would explain the intimate tone of the journal and its lack of sophistication.

1

For the historical circumstances in Morocco, see Pennell 2003.

2

For a concise survey of developments on the Arabian Peninsula in this period, see al-Rasheed 2002.

3

For the history of the Wahhābī movement, see Mouline 2011; the best and most concise discussion of the reform measures after the takeover of ʿAbd al-ʿAziz ibn Saʿud can be found in Willis 2017.

4

Quṭb literally means ‘pole’ and is an honorific title for a Sufi master with great spiritual authority.

5

Jalūl is not mentioned in the remainder of the account.

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