Good evening, ladies and gentlemen.
My name is Sadettin Kirmiziyüz.
I am an assimilated agnostic migrant son,
but my name, Sadettin, means "Joy of Faith".
I was asked to give a short report
on the pilgrimage to Mecca I conducted in 2010 with my father.
I have 18 minutes to do that.
I will try to make it.
I will take you through
the rituals you perform during this pilgrimage.
Where should I point?
You apply for the Hajj with the Hollanda Diyanet Vakfi.
For the Belgians: there's also a Belgica Diyanet Vakfi,
but I'll stick to the Dutch version.
It is a Dutch affiliated department of the Turkish
Presidency of Religious Affairs,
founded in 1923 after Mustafa Kemal Atatürk
abrogated the caliphate.
The caliphate was the islamic pope.
You enlist here.
You pay 3,500 euro and you get
your airplane ticket, visum, 4 weeks stay in a hotel
and this
Hajji bag.
This is a survival kit.
It contains all sorts of things:
practical information, pictures, backgrounds, slippers,
scentless soap, towels,
the Ihram -- the white garment you wear
when you are in the sacred state --
and this prayer book.
You keep it safe.
You get vaccinated against malaria, streptococcus, diphtheria, hepatitis, meningitis --
hepatitis A, B, anything, polio,
you send your vaccination passport and your passport
to the Presidency of Religious Affairs
and you're done.
May God accept this pilgrimage and make it easy for you.
For muslims, the Hajj is the culmination of their religious life.
To celebrate this, at Schiphol airport, in my case,
thousands of happy family members say goodbye to hundreds of Hajji.
There is a joint prayer
to bless the journey,
and those who stay behind are solemnly promised
that they will be prayed for
at the house of God, Baitullah, the Ka'aba.
I was at Schiphol too,
where thousands of happy family members said goodbye
to me and hundreds of Hajji.
Next to me stood my girlfriend,
from the Judeo-Christian civilisation.
As we are standing there,
the imam who will accompany us, starts to pray.
I say agnostic, yes I do,
but I understand very well that this is a serious endeavour.
So I raise my hands in prayer
and realise that my girlfriend, with whom I have been cohabiting for 7 years,
has never seen me praying in all those years.
Painful? Maybe.
Even more painful is the fact that the prayer I am supposed to join in,
is unknown to me.
So I playback.
In Istanbul we enter the state of Ihram.
The garment is called Ihram.
The sacred state has the same name.
This is a Hajji looking very much like me.
My father helped me into this.
There is no other way to put on the garment.
You can't do it alone, you help each other.
The belt I wear around my waist
needed an extra hole,
because according to my father
I am thin because I smoke.
So I had to pray in Mecca for Allah to help me quit smoking.
To which I responded,
"Oh, yes? Do you think Allah will help me quit?
Really?"
He said blandly, "Of course. If you ask him, he helps you."
You tuck one cloth around your waist and one over your shoulder.
As of that moment, the restrictions of the sacred state apply.
The restrictions are:
no nail cuts, no haircuts, no shaving, no scratching wounds,
no use of scents, no swearing, no complaining, no fighting,
no underwear, no killing living beings and no sex.
That means no talking of sex,
no thinking of sex,
for four weeks.
Infringements of these restrictions require atonement,
spiritually and materially.
Think "small gift to the poor".
In the plane from Istanbul to Jedda --
I can't show you here, but Jedda is on the West Coast,
it says "Jiddah", near the Red See --
in that plane there is another joint prayer.
You use your folding table to rest your forehead
and as of that moment the Talbiyah can be intoned,
a special pilgrimage prayer.
Labbayka Allhumma labbayk, labbayka la shareeka.
No Hajji in the room?
Freely translated, it means,
"Here I am, God, here I am,
as I was meant to be here.
Thine is the honor and the glory."
But when one Hajji intones
this Talbiyah, the others are supposed to join in.
So you may happen to be on the bus
from Jedda to Mecca, four and a half hour through the desert,
and you are slowly but soundly falling asleep,
and the Hajji behind you may start,
Labbayka Allhumma labbayk, labbayka la shareeka,
so you join in.
You need to get used to it, but believe me: you get used to anything.
Then we arrive in Mecca.
We go straight to the sacred part of the city.
You will not see Mecca itself during those four weeks.
This is a replica of the Big Ben.
They built it there.
My father pointed out to me that it says "Allah" in Arabic on the Big Ben.
He thought that was very beautiful.
You check into your hotel and as of that moment you no longer enjoy double citizenship.
You are no longer a Belgian Moroccan or a Dutch Turk,
you are simply a Moroccan or a Turk. That's all.
Go on.
To the Masjid al-Haram, the holy mosque,
because that is where the Ka'aba is.
By the way, Ka'aba just means "cube".
What struck me immediately, was its architecture,
and I don't mean the number of minarets
or domes, or the beauty of the ornaments,
no, it was as if the architect had counted in
the suspense generated by a first look
at the Ka'aba.
Because first you have to walk around those walls.
That is a 500 to 600 meter walk.
But you know it is there, the Ka'aba. You feel it.
Outside, Hajji are praying, in that direction.
You get closer
until you reach Gate 11.
You take off your slippers, put them in a plastic bag, put the bag in your backpack
and then -- astonishment
because I did not feel the way I thought I would feel.
Not that I didn't feel anything, make no mistake.
It was different.
At home, in Amsterdam,
I listened a lot to Oum Kalsoum,
Fairuz, sufi music, Verdi's Requiem,
I put the volume up and thought,
yes, I will feel this, exactly this --
but I wasn't.
It was not what everybody said I would feel.
My father, on the bus to the Masjid al-Haram,
"The Ka'aba is a magnet and we are pieces of iron."
Or my mother, who couldn't speak of it without tears in her eyes,
or my aunts, who called it indescribable.
But astonishment too -- because I make jokes, I laugh,
I say 'agnostic',
I flirt with atheism, maybe,
but there were times when I was different.
In every house I visited, when I was a child,
every family member had a picture --
maybe this picture.
I walk around, butterflies in my stomach,
in this white speckled human hurricane,
pumped around this black pulsating heart,
above me the moon and the stars,
Allah on the Big Ben,
and I feel the moon and the stars, God on the Big Ben,
and that black pulsating heart.
Here we perform the first real ritual:
the Tawaaf, the procession.
Like the planets around the Sun, the Moon around the Earth,
so does man revolve around God.
We go round seven times, anti clockwise.
We are reciting prayers from the prayer book,
a prayer for every round,
and after seven rounds we perform a special prayer
to close the Tawaaf. Masha Allah, congratulations, you performed the Tawaaf.
We go straight on. I have 9 minutes left.
We go to the next ritual, the Sa'i.
The Sa'i is a hike between to hilltops,
Seffa and Merveh, currently situated within the Masjid al-Haram resort.
It is a reconstruction. Everything is a reconstruction.
They are enacting a big theatre play.
It is a reconstruction of the story of Ibrahim, Abraham, Ibrahim --
whom God ordered to send his wife, Hagar, and their son Ismail into the wilderness.
They arrive at this spot, there, in Mecca.
She understands very well that they will not survive,
looks for water,
stands on the hilltop and puts down her baby,
because she lacks the force to carry it,
and walks to the other hilltop.
She arrives at a ravine she needs to bridge
in order to reach the hilltop.
So she climbs down,
and upon arrival at the bottom of the ravine,
she panics, because she can't see the baby,
so she runs to the other side, climbs up,
looks, sees baby Ismail, nothing happened, thank God --
looks around, sees nothing, runs back,
through the ravine again, panic again, running to baby Ismail.
She does this seven times.
After seven times, she is about to give up,
when she finds God hasn't forgotten her.
An angel descends from heaven
and kicks a hole in the ground with the tip of his wing.
From that hole, pop! water, the Zamzam Well.
The part with the ravine
is now indicated with green lights.
When pilgrims pass a green lamp,
they are supposed to run to the next ravine.
It's a reconstruction.
The Zamzam Well still flows.
And what did the Saudi do? Very smart:
they connected the source to an intricate system
of pumps, tubes, and kettles, so that anywhere in the enormous Masjid al-Haram resort
you can drink Zamzam water, all day long. Delicious!
We go straight on.
We have ten days left to go to the Masjid al-Haram, as often as possible.
You do it at night.
It's too hot in daytime. It's 40° Celsius.
You rest during the day. We go at night.
We use the special shuttle buses
taking us to the Masjid.
You perform a Tawaaf, two, three, four, vijf,
but most of all: you pray as much as possible.
Pray, pray, pray, pray, pray.
Not on your knees, Dear Lord Jesus,
no, the Salat, physical exercise.
Because one prayer in the Masjid al-Haram, counts for a thousand.
In the four weeks that I was in Saudi Arabia,
I prayed 247 times, of which 120 times in the Masjid al-Haram.
Times thousand.
Not bad, for an assimilated agnostic migrant son, isn't it?
After ten days we go to the plain of Arafat.
Number four.
We officially become Hajji.
Mohamed gave his last sermon here,
and all pilgrims present in Saudi Arabia
gather on that plain.
5.5 million people.
We spend the night in tents,
men and women separated,
and it's hot, cramped,
and there's an exceptional amount of mosquitoes.
Which you are not allowed to kill.
You are not allowed to complain.
The next day, there's a prayer service
lasting 5.5 hours.
God is honoured, praised,
hymns are sung,
and at the end of the prayer, you congratulate each other:
Masha Allah, you became Hajji.
But we are only half way through.
We move to number 5, Mozdalefah.
We collect pebbles
for what I think is the most spectacular part:
the stoning of the devil.
You collect 49 pebbles, each symbolizing a sin.
A bad quality. You will cast them off.
The stones cannot be smaller than a chickpea
nor bigger than a hazelnut.
I had collected 49 pebbles and was ready, at point 5,
to walk with my father to point 6, Mina,
where 3 giant pillars symbolize the devil.
We were waiting for --
Okay. The Saudi authorities, for some reason,
had decided that all 140,000 Turkish Hajji present at the time,
had to gather in an area that was hedged
with fences, the standard kind
that you see here as well. Heras-fences, I think.
This was -- this is about 4 meter.
Here was a gate that was closed.
We stood in front of that gate.
Along the area there was a road.
On that road there were buses full of pilgrims from other countries.
The road curved to the right,
so we waited to cross the road.
But it took a long time. Longer. And longer.
It was crowded. More crowded. Even more crowded.
A few hours earlier, we had run out of water.
But hey, this is a test. I am zen.
I am calm. I will not be upset.
I lower my breath.
As I lower my breath, my father says,
"I really don't feel like doing this, man.
I'm not going to stand here, no way.
This will bow wrong."
"Hey, dad, come on! We've come this far.
Let's stone the devil together."
"No, no, no way, no way.
Got your phone?" "Yes, yes."
"I will stand on a quiet spot.
As soon as you cross that gate, call me and we move on.
"Fine, okay."
He leaves the crowd and at that moment someone faints.
A lady. The lady had a tougher time, they were covered.
Someone faints over there, and there, and there.
Someone yells in the back:
for heaven's sake, make room, she is dying.
Which caused the Hajji standing there
to yell that the damned fucking arabs needed to open the fucking gate
because he wanted value for his 3,500 euro.
Hajji, sabr, sabr, what are you doing, think, think!
A Hajji responds that the son-of-such-and-such-woman needs to shut up
or else he'll smack the teeth out of his mouth.
As of that moment, things get hazy.
I know that suddenly I didn't feel the ground under my feet
and before my mind's eye I saw images
of '97, '98, 2000, 2001, 2004, 2006, 2008,
of Hajji with distorted limbs and bloody Ihrams,
and okay, I know I am a skinny guy,
but I have been in a mosh pit at a concert
so I know, mmmm!
I was surrounded by Turkish aunties, this high.
I do not know what happened to these women.
I just know that suddenly I was at the other side of the gate
with stuff sticking to my legs.
Did I stand on someone? Did I fall? No idea.
I can only walk, so that I get the fuck out ...
No, I didn't think fuck, I didn't, really not.
Run, run, run. I ran like hell.
Because behind me on the road 139,998 Turkish Hajji came up.
So I ran, I took my phone
and I swear, as if the devil had it's way,
battery empty.
I lose everyone, my father,
the other Dutch Hajji,
and I walk alone for hours, 7 kilometer,
lost, along dusty roads, looking for water.
I find a fountain with Zamzam water, finally,
I get there and think,
"I've been having inappropriate thoughts.
I will stone the devil.
I will cast off my bad qualities --
I have more than I can recount now, but I have little time left --
I think, concentrate, Sadettin,
it is still possible.
I get a poach with the 49 stones.
I empty it in my hand.
From now on, never, really never --
and then all hell breaks loose around me.
To my left are 3 Iranian Hajji.
Long beards, turban.
I see slippers fly through the air.
A crutch flies by
and luckily, just before that,
I put on my face mask.
Because I start laughing out loud.
I walk on to the hotel.
Before I enter the hotel,
I enter a store.
I buy three mars bars, three snicker bars,
one bottle of Mecca cola, a pack of cigarettes.
I sit down in the lobby of the hotel,
I eat the snickers, the marses,
I drink the entire bottle of Mecca cola in one gulp,
I light a cigarette and someone taps on my shoulder.
And? How did it go, my boy?
Was my father. All quiet and peace.
The stoning of the Devil is the start of the Feast of the Sacrifice.
I say "Sacrifice". Some say "Slaughter".
I prefer "Feast of the Sacrifice".
It commemorates this scene:
the story of Abraham who is again put to the test.
God orders him to sacrifice his son.
In the Bible it's Isaac, in the Quran it's Ismail.
Let's say it's Ismail.
But at the moment suprême, this moment, that is,
an angel descends from heaven.
It points out this ram to Abraham,
in the lower right corner,
with its horn entangled in the bush.
The Feast of the Sacrifice, you might say
commemorates the fact that we don't slaughter
our children but our animals unstunned.
I offered a sheep too.
Really. I kept the ticket.
Where is it? Here. Can you see it?
Sharp eyes. It says 410, doesn't it?
Take it. It says 410 rial, doesn't it?
Saudi currency. Divide by 5. 82 euro.
82 euro to buy a sheep, have it slaughtered,
chopped up, fly across the world,
distributed among the poor and needy.
I haven't seen the sheep.
Impossible. 5.5 million people who all want to be there.
Slaughterhouses only have limited capacity.
That ticket is the only proof of the sheep
which is why I want it back.
The Feast of the Sacrifice also means you may shave off your hair
as a sign of literal transformation.
You leave part of yourself behind
in this sacred place.
Only the men shave.
5.5 million people, 60% males, 80% of whom go bald.
That means 2.4 million men.
It happens everywhere, this going bald.
As a result the streets of Mecca
are covered in men's hair for three days.
So you need to clean your slippers
before you enter your hotel room.
This is him, Satan.
Not really, it's a symbol.
You throw stones at it, for three days.
Then we pay a last visit to the Masjid al-Haram.
We perform a farewell Tawaaf.
This is the last thing we do in Mecca.
We go on to Medina
to visit the mosque and the grave of the prophet,
the Masjid an-Nabawi, the prophet's mosque,
which is built around Mohammed's grave.
We salute the grave.
Salute. Remember, no praying at the grave, that is not allowed.
It is sherk, idolatry.
No, Muhammad was a simple man, we salute.
Then you buy 7 kilos of dates,
you fill a jerry can with 10 liter of Zamzam water,
you buy an alarm indicating the hours of prayer
and having the call to prayer as an alarm tone.
You buy it for your mother.
You get onto the plane in Medina, stop over at Istanbul.
You land at Schiphol airport.
There are thousands of happy Turks.
There are flowers.
There is applause. Masha Allah.
You performed the Hajj.
(Applause)