Against the advice of my six other hotel roommates, I set out to find a taxi that would take me to the Mountain of Light. I had completed my Umrah at the Holy Mosque and purchased food for my sahoor, and I was ready to go. Now, imagine the worst traffic you have ever been stuck in, add to that 200 to 300 tour buses and close to 2,000 people, all of whom are trying to navigate a single-lane divided highway. And in the center of all that, there I was weaving in and out of that traffic at 2 a.m. trying to flag down a cab.
When I arrived at the mountain I noticed that I was not alone. There were pockets of pilgrims heading up and down the mountain. As I got closer and closer to the top of the mountain I felt the air around me weighing down on me. The last time I was here I felt the same thing, except that I was not able to find the actual cave. I continued up the mountain and reached the entrance of the cave. Another pilgrim from Turkey was step by step behind me with his cane in hand. As I squeezed through a boulder that was just past the entrance I began to wonder, "How was it that the Prophet Mohammed found this location?" And, "Why did he come here?"
On the other side of the first entrance was a standing area to the left of which was the actual cave in which the Prophet would meditate. The pilgrims who were there, most of whom were from Turkey, took turns praying. I wondered if the irony of the situation was apparent to them, since the Prophet did not pray in the manner in which they were praying because he had not received any revelation at that point. He simply sat in the cave, remembered God and meditated. I decided to do the same thing. There was an area in the cave that was just wide enough for me to sit on.
I sat there, closed my eyes, and started thinking about God and the gravity of the location in which I was sitting. I was not expecting revelation, don't get me wrong, but there was something spiritual and special about this mountain, and I wanted to see if I could experience some sort of heightened sense of spirituality. Unfortunately, the solemn quiet was broken with the popping of the flash from a pilgrim who was taking pictures.
Sincere and Meaningful Prayer
I decided to finish eating sahoor, pray fajr, and head back to Masjid-Al Haram (where the Kaaba was). I could still feel the weight and thickness of the air, fully aware of something around me. I stood to pray fajr. Out of the corner of my eye I noticed a dark shadowy figure moving about. As it came closer I realized that it was a baboon. It started to walk along the railing, and within a split second it grabbed my bag and took off the backside of the mountain.
In a heartbeat I ran down the steps, jumped over the barrier, and started to chase the baboon down the mountain in the darkness of night. My bag had all of my identification papers, money, and very expensive camera equipment.
As I chased the baboon down the backside of the mountain I was trying to stop myself from sliding on the very slick and treacherously rugged mountainous terrain. All I could see in front of me was the baboon's pink rear end and my bag being knocked around from one rock to another like a pinball. Then as though the creature was daring me to come close, the baboon stopped and stared me down. Then the creature started to try and rip open the bag.
I was sure it smelled the food I had stashed in there. The baboon could not get it open no matter how hard it tried. I thought about stepping close and snatching my bag; however the thought of catching rabies through its savage bite crossed my mind. That added on top of it happening in Saudi Arabia petrified me, and I stood still.
The baboon was on the move once more and the chase continued. And then, in a moment of absolute helplessness and loss, I screamed out, "Oh Allah, help me!" No sooner could I have caught my next breath than I noticed my bag just lying on the boulder below me and not a single trace of the baboon, or any other baboons that had hovered earlier. I grabbed my bag and a small stick and made my way back up the mountain where the rest of the pilgrims had been watching the drama unfold. I immediately checked my camera and it was fine, there was not even a scratch on my bag. I checked my bare feet for any cuts or bruises and there was nothing. It was as though the last three minutes of my life never even happened.
In reflecting back on what took place on top of the Mountain of Light I realized that we truly have only the Creator upon whom to rely. In good times and in bad times, only God can come to our aid. It is true that we pray five times a day and ask Him for guidance and help. But how sincere are we when we ask for God's help day in and day out, and especially when we are not in crisis? Is it coming from the bottom of our hearts and our souls or simply from the tip of our tongues? Because when I was flying down that mountain I felt like my entire world was crumbling around me, and I had no control over it. I did not even have control over the direction in which I was sliding. I don't think I will ever forget those moments of my life.
My deepest wish is that when I come to pray and stand in front of my Lord, that I may converse with God using the same depths of my being and soul as I felt in those moments on the Mountain of Light.
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