Ali Shahalom

Men and women stay separately in Minnow.

My dad and me are sharing with 20 men of mixed ages.

Each of us is allocated a small area with pegs for our rucksacks to go overhead and a single sofa bed we can fold out, which as it turns out is a pretty risky process in a room full of brothers going commando.

We're given free hot meals a day, cold drinks, snacks and ice creams whenever we want.

It's basically a massive Muslim sleepover.

Everyone's in matching white pyjamas, no one's getting any rest and we've all got brain freeze from eating too many chocolate magnums.

At last we've reached the central plank of Hajj.

In the coming hours pilgrims will gather for intense prayer, supplication and repentance at Mount Arafat.

This is the pinnacle of our journey.

Prophet Muhammad peace be upon him said, Hajj is Arafat.

Today we'll be reminded of the day of judgment, when mankind will be resurrected and gathered in crowds, stripped of worldly status and attachment, and left with nothing but our deeds.

But we have a problem.

To get to Arafat, we need to catch a coach.

But my mum and wife are nowhere to be found.

You're probably thinking, Ali, how do you lose two ladies in a crowd of two million people?

I'll tell you how.

Easily.

They're not answering my calls.

They haven't sent any messages.

Now I'm starting to worry.