We are led on the journey of a lifetime to the city of Mecca – the pilgrimage known to Muslims as the Hajj. The pilgrims walk with heads bare and feet in sandals; they call to Allah; they kiss or point to the Black Stone, as the Prophet did. Arriving at Mecca, they surge round the Ka’aba, shave their heads and travel to Mount Arafat. Finally, though their bodies are tired and aching, their spirits are uplifted, knowing that with thousands of others they have performed the sacred pilgrimage.

This is a window on to a sacred journey for Muslims the world over – beautifully described and illustrated for younger children.

“An excellent way to encourage young children to understand the importance of going to Mecca, and to gain an insight into another faith.” – Parents in Touch

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Binding: Hardback, 32 pages
ISBN: 9781847801531
Format: 270mm x 214mm

Getting a new book published is very much like welcoming a newborn baby. A sense of wonder and tremulous pride accompany both occasions: is this really my baby?

The publication of my second picture book with Frances Lincoln, ‘Going to Mecca’, is mixed with another set of emotions: nostalgia and longing.

Nostalgia because I remember vividly where I was when I first wrote the prose poem that ended up in the pages of a children’s book: it was over five years ago, when a dear friend of mine had come back from the Hajj. She loved it and said that it accurately depicted the sights, sounds and emotions of the pilgrimage. Back then the piece was entitled ‘Walk with a Pilgrim’.

Longing because, up until now, I have not had the privilege of making Hajj. But reading this book, savouring the lovely illustrations and reliving the journey, I find myself hopeful once more that I will receive my invitation to Allah’s house very soon, bi’idhnillah.

In the meantime, share the book with your little ones – and the big ones too!

Warm thanks to Valentina Cavallini who did a wonderful job with the illustrations – and to my editor, Janetta Otter-Barry. Here’s to many more!
N.

Buy Going to Mecca from Amazon.co.uk HERE

As I look around me
The pain makes me flinch –
So many faces
Their features
So familiar,
Etched on the walls of the memory,
By shared tales,
Laughter and tears.

But today,
I do not delight in those faces
For each one holds the promise of pain,
The pain of parting,
The promise of more tears shed.

It hurts.
SubhanAllah, how it hurts
To see those you have loved
Disappear into the Cairo skies.
Spreading wings to fly,
To flee,
To seek out new horizons.

And those who are left behind
Survey the remains,
Bereft,
Aghast at the emptying
That was once so full of life
And love
And laughter
Is inhabited by shadows
Of memory,
Memory that will fade
As the dust season approaches.

It hurts,
SubhanAllah,
It hurts.

I cling,
Cling with a fervour
To the certainty
That there is a reason
That there is a season
That there is a higher purpose
To our meeting here,
In this time,
In this place,
In Egypt.

We have touched each other
Some of us
In ways so profound
That the marks will never fade,
Even with a lifetime of journeys.

We will carry the memory of this time
These golden days in Egypt
With us always
In our hearts,
In our smiles,
In the way we shrug when the lights go out,
In our accent when we recite Qur’am -
Fa bi ayy ala rabbihuma tukadhiban…

We thank Him that He brought us together
In this time,
In this place,
In Egypt.

As I look around
At the emptying of my Egypt,
I thank Allah for all that we shared
In this place.

My beautiful,
Wonderful,
Unforgettable
Sisters of Egypt.

xxx

Retreated
With sisters today
Sisters and children
Eager for the sunshine
Ready for the poolside
All out together
Before Ramadhan

A day full of laughter
And movement
And fun
Was stilled for me
For a few precious moments
Moments after
The adhan was called.

Because I prayed on grass
Today
Green blades
Tickling
My points of prostration
My nose
Inhaling
The warm scent
Of earth

Breath…

Focus…

Hear the earth
Sigh a prayer
In the leaves of the trees

The sun
Warm on my back
Through my clothing

The soil
Shimmering
In the final tashahud

The wind
Caressing
My cheek
As i turn to salaam

Salaam

Yes, peace was mine today
In those moments of prostration
Of quiet concentration
Of inner reflection
Of joyful realisation

When did you last pray on grass?

My sister
In humanity,
In the pain of childbearing
In the struggle of childrearing,
My sister in Islam

I heard that they killed your children
Slaughtered by the hundreds and thousands
Young lives snatched from the jaws of destiny
Young dreams to be dreamed no more

And I cannot comprehend.

For no matter how many times
I hear,
Read
Or see it,
I cannot know your pain.

I cannot know what it is to once have felt a life kick and twist inside you
And then, a few brief years later, lay those once kicking legs, lifeless, into the earth.

I cannot know what it is to once have heard a voice cry and laugh for you
And then, a few brief years later, lay that once smiling face, lifeless, into the earth.

I cannot know what it is to once have held your child, whole, in your arms
And then, a few brief years later, have to gather him up as blood, bones and flesh.

No matter how many times I hear,
Read,
Or see it,
I cannot know your pain.

For every number out of a hundred dead
Was a child once
With a mother who
Lived,
Loved
And sacrificed for him.

And so, my sister
Forgive me
My helplessness shames me
My powerlessness maims me
My conscience blames me.

So I will pray for you
I will give what I can for you
I will tell your story
I will remember you

But with a heart full of humility

For no matter how many times I hear,
Read
Or see it,
I cannot know your pain.

Forgive me, my sister
Forgive me.