Chapter 1: What is Hajj and why is it significant in Islam?
Ali, mate, what is Hajj? It's basically a halal Glastonbury. No, Ali, don't dumb it down for me. What actually is Hajj? The fifth pillar of Islam, an annual pilgrimage. Ali, stop pandering. I don't want textbook definitions. I want nuance and detail. I've watched Slumdog Millionaire, I drink masala tea, and I've been to four entire Asian weddings.
Tell me about Hajj like it's never been spoken about before. Alright, James. Here goes nothing. That is the sound of intense worship from Mount Arafat. Millions of Muslims gather every year to perform their spiritual obligation known as Hajj. In 2024, I was somewhere up there on that mountain. Hudge, a word you may remember from RE lessons and still not know it has two Js.
Hudge has been top of my bucket list since I was a kid, just above learning how to juggle and solving a Rubik's cube. I know, banging bucket list, bruv. I always thought I'd do Hudge much later in life, like properly old and gray type situation. You know, like when they finally fixed the potholes in my area, when Fast and Furious stopped doing sequels, or when people shut up about air fryers.
But then you live a little and see a lot and your thinking matures. What if I never reach old age and I'm gone before I can complete the last pillar of Islam? What will I tell my creator? Ya Allah, I didn't go Hajj but I can juggle. Come on now. Welcome to Hajj and Seek. A journey where you find yourself but lose your patience. And if you're my dad, your shoes as well. True story.
Let's get into it. Hajj and Seek with Ali Sharlow. Salaams and salutations. My name is Ali Shalom, a.k.a. Ali Official, a comedian, actor and content creator. I'm a Muslim in a non-Muslim space, trying to be a Muslim, which can be tricky. It's like trying to be halal in a casino. I shouldn't be here. But then slowly I realized that, yo, they sell curry here. And that waiter serving it is Asian.
And he's my cousin. And then together we take over the casino and turn it into a mosque. Relax, James. We only turn churches into mosques. For me, Islam isn't just a religion. It's a way of life. And we call this life, dunya. This dunya has many trials and tribulations. Islam helps inform even the decisions in my career.
I've turned down action roles where on page one everything seems halal, but then page ten, big fat kissing scene. I've been offered brand deals from gambling companies and sponsorships from pork products. I can't do any of that. Although if you're listening in the future and I have done, just know it's only because my career is going really bad or the money is really good.
Hajj happens once every year. It involves long periods of walking throughout the sacred sites in and around Mecca. The physical journey is an act of devotion filled with worship, remembrance and patience. The reward for an accepted Hajj is paradise. So, you know, no pressure in it. Two years ago, I was one of 5,000 UK pilgrims granted a Hajj ticket.
And I'll tell you now, securing that spot was harder than booking Glastonbury. Back in the day, you'd ring a Muslim travel agent, ask for a Hajj ticket and some uncle would sort you out like a mildew. I've even heard stories from my elders who just rocked up in Saudi during Hajj season and booked their hotels whilst being there.
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Chapter 2: How did Ali navigate the challenging Nusuk booking system?
Now the website's placed me in a queue, my password's not working and the platform crashed. All this before I've even packed a suitcase. I'm tired, frustrated and impatient. Then out of nowhere, boom! I see it. Check out. I smack that button with a bismillah and then Nusuk logs me out.
No! No!
Congratulations, this email is to confirm that your booking has been secured on the Nusuk Hajj platform. Allahu Akbar, I'm crying tears of joy. I cannot believe we got in. Within minutes, all the UK packages sold out. I tell my wife the good news, she cries. I tell my parents, they don't believe me. Together, all four of us are excited and for once, no pizza is involved.
It's 10th June and we're all on a plane to Saudi.
I'm 35,000 feet in the air worrying about two things. One, can my mum and dad do this? I'm basically asking my diabetic parents to complete an Ironman in scorching heat with sandals on. Secondly, is my wife going to annoy me? Before I could finish that thought, she already did.
After six hours, we land in Medina and head towards Masjid al-Nabawi, the second largest mosque in Islam, built by Prophet Muhammad himself, peace be upon him. For the first time, I'm seeing, touching and feeling these remarkable places that are symbolic to my faith. Immediately, my anxiety melts into amazement. This was better than watching Shaqib al-Hassan hit a six.
Everything clicked like I just solved a spiritual Rubik's Cube. Our hotel stood in the shadow of Masjid al-Nabawi. I would literally be sleeping next to the second holiest site in Islam. I'm used to sleeping next to three broken chargers, so this was a massive upgrade. The reward for praying in Masjid al-Nabawi is equal to a thousand prayers.
So me and my family wanted to maximize our short time here by gaining as many heaven points as we can. There were moments when tears would just gush down my face. And let me tell you, bro, I'm not a crier. The only time I cry is when Bangladesh lose in cricket. To be fair, they do lose quite a bit. Point being, this was all very emotional stuff. And the maddest part? This was just the beginning.
We spend the next few days in Medina, praying and absorbing the sights. Medina has this calm serenity, unlike anything I've experienced before. It feels like a home for your heart, which is probably how middle-class white people feel about John Lewis. This stage of our journey ends with the final preparations for Hajj.
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Chapter 3: What challenges did Ali face while preparing for Hajj?
Imagine having to sleep on the floor alongside two million people. There are rocks on my back, a foot in my face and some dude snoring like he's sound checking Wembley Arena. And to top it all off, Ali, I can't find my sandals. I didn't think I'd have to air tag footwear, but dad lost his shoes. Luckily though, I listened to a telegram user who said, pack a pair of backup shoes just in case.
We found out what just in case means in real time. Before we can attempt any sleep, we have to collect some pebbles for the next part of our hodge. Spoiler alert, it's not a hot stone massage. Once that's done, I jostle my way into some space on the floor with the aim of sleeping slash defending my family from the sandal snatcher. As I'm about to drift off, It's Fajr, dawn prayer time.
I'm so tired, man. I can barely see. But one look at my wife tells me we've got bigger problems. Her face is whiter than my ikhram. She's hardly eaten, surviving on adrenaline and Zamzam water. There are two ways to go back to Mina. You either walk, which is over an hour in the heat, or you take the bus.
Now, we're packed inside this crowd like sweaty sardines and everyone's trying to get to the front. My cute etiquette disappears faster than the Vaseline between my thighs. Elbows are flying, toes are getting trampled, and every time a bus appears, the crowd surges forward. It's madness. Suddenly, I feel the carrier bag of bananas I'm holding get snatched from my hand.
I spin to face the culprit, ready to give it some braveheart. You can take my sandals, but you'll never take my bananas. only to see a woman open it and vomit inside. We were in an open field. She could have chosen to be sick anywhere on the floor, but did it in my banana bag. Nothing in the telegram chat prepares you for that type of horror.
Then out of nowhere, my wife loses consciousness and collapses in my arms. She is out cold. I start screaming over the crowd. Everyone, make some space. I have an emergency. Bruv, no one moved. I look around desperately and spot a brother who has a wheelchair but isn't using it. He was literally stood up. I don't know if Hodge healed his limbs or he's taking a break from benefit fraud.
Either way, I shout, brother, is it okay if I use your wheelchair? My wife just fainted. Yeah, bro, take it. I just wanted good parking, innit? My unconscious wife is now in this wheelchair and all four of us slowly get to the front of the queue just as a bus pulls up. Now, in true Bollywood style, I have to carry my wife up these mahoosive bus steps.
My wife is skinny, but for some reason, that day she weighed heavy. As I'm climbing these steps, my knees are popping like bubble wrap left, right and centre. I'm there praying and hoping that my haram doesn't come off. I don't want to traumatise two million Muslims. And I definitely don't want them to think they've sighted the moon for Eid.
Finally, I lay my wife down on the bus and hear the doors slam shut behind me. And that's when I realise my parents are not on the bus. Panicked, I start banging on the window. But it's useless. I'm shouting at the driver, where are my parents? But the guy doesn't understand. The crowd has swallowed them. I can't see them anywhere.
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