Discussion

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Chapter 17: Mecca

Chapter 17: Mecca

Chapter Seventeen: Mecca The pilgrimage to Mecca, known as Hajj, is a religious obligation that ever orthodo Muslim fulfills, if humanl able, at least once in his or her lifetime. The Hol Quran sa s it, "Pilgrimage to the Ka'ba is a dut men owe to God; those who are able, make the journe ." Allah said: "And proclaim the pilgrimage among men; the will come to ou on foot and upon each lean camel, the will come from ever deep ravine." At one or another college or universit , usuall in the informal gatherings after I had spoken, perhaps a do en generall white-comple ioned people would come up to me, identif ing themselves as Arabian, Middle Eastern or North African Muslims who happened to be visiting, stud ing, or living in the United States. The had said to me that, m white-indicting statements notwithstanding, the felt that I was sincere in considering m self a Muslim -and the felt if I was e posed to what the alwa s called "true Islam," I would "understand it, and embrace it." Automaticall , as a follower of Elijah Muhammad, I had bridled whenever this was said. But in the privac of m own thoughts after several of these e periences, I did question m self: if one was sincere in professing a religion, wh should he balk at broadening his knowledge of that religion? Once in a conversation I broached this with Wallace Muhammad, Elijah Muhammad's son. He said that es, certainl , a Muslim should seek to learn all that he could about Islam. I had alwa s had a high opinion of Wallace Muhammad's opinion. Those orthodo Muslims whom I had met, one after another, had urged me to meet and talk with a Dr. Mahmoud Youssef Shawarbi. He was described to me as an eminent, learned Muslim, a Universit of Cairo graduate, a Universit of London Ph. D., a lecturer on Islam, a United Nations advisor and the author of man books. He was a full professor of the Universit of Cairo, on leave from there to be in New York as the Director of the Federation of Islamic Associations in the United States and Canada. Several times, driving in that part of town, I had resisted the impulse to drop in at the F. I. A. building, a brownstone at 1 Riverside Drive. Then one da Dr. Shawarbi and I were introduced b a newspaperman. He was cordial. He said he had followed me in the press; I said I had been told of him, and we talked for fifteen or twent minutes. We both had to leave to make appointments we had, when he dropped on me something whose logic never would get out of m head. He said, "No man has believed perfectl until he wishes for his brother what he wishes for himself." Then, there was m sister Ella herself. I couldn't get over what she had done. I've said before, this is a ong big, black, Georgia-born woman. Her domineering wa s had gotten her put out of the Nation of Islam's Boston Mosque Eleven; the took her back, then she left on her own. Ella had started stud ing under Boston orthodo Muslims, then she founded a school where Arabic was taught! She couldn't speak it, she hired teachers who did. That's Ella! She deals in

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real estate, and he was saving up to make the pilgrimage. Nearl all night, we talked in her living room. She told me there was no question about it; it was more important that I go. I thought about Ella the whole flight back to New York. A ong woman. She had broken the spirits of three husbands, more driving and d namic than all of them combined. She had pla ed a ver significant role in m life. No other woman ever was strong enough to point me in directions; I pointed women in directions. I had brought Ella into Islam, and now she was financing me to Mecca. Allah alwa s gives ou signs, when ou are with Him, that He is with ou. When I applied for a visa to Mecca at the Saudi Arabian Consulate, the Saudi Ambassador told me that no Muslim converted in America could have a visa for the Hajj pilgrimage without the signed approval of Dr. Mahmoud Shawarbi. But that was onl the beginning of the sign from Allah. When I telephoned Dr. Shawarbi, he registered astonishment. "I was just going to get in touch with ou," he said. "B all means come right over." When I got to his office, Dr. Shawarbi handed me the signed letter approving me to make the Hajj in Mecca, and then a book. It was The E e nal Me age of M hammad b Abd-Al- Rahman A am. The author had just sent the cop of the book to be given to me, Dr. Shawarbi said, and he e plained that this author was an Eg ptian-born Saudi citi en, an international statesman, and one of the closest advisors of Prince Faisal, the ruler of Arabia. "He has followed ou in the press ver closel ." It was hard for me to believe. Dr. Shawarbi gave me the telephone number of his son, Muhammad Shawarbi, a student in Cairo, and also the number of the author's son, Omar A am, who lived in Jedda, " our last stop before Mecca. Call them both, b all means." I left New York quietl (little reali ing that I was going to return noisil ). Few people were told I was leaving at all. I didn't want some State Department or other roadblocks put in m path at the last minute. Onl m wife, Bett , and m three girls and a few close associates came with me to Kenned International Airport. When the Lufthansa Airlines jet had taken off, m two seatrow mates and I introduced ourselves. Another sign! Both were Muslims, one was bound for Cairo, as I was, and the other was bound for Jedda, where I would be in a few da s. All the wa to Frankfurt, German , m seatmates and I talked, or I read the book I had been given. When we landed in Frankfurt, the brother bound for Jedda said his warm good-b e to me and the Cairo-bound brother. We had a few hours' la over before we would take another plane to Cairo. We decided to go sightseeing in Frankfurt. In the men's room there at the airport, I met the first American abroad who recogni ed me, a white student from Rhode Island. He kept e eing me, then he came over. "Are ou X?" I laughed and said I was, I hadn't ever heard it that wa . He e claimed, "You can't be! Bo , I know no one will believe me when I tell them this!" He was attending school, he said, in France. The brother Muslim and I both were struck b the cordial hospitalit of the people in Frankfurt. We went into a lot of shops and stores, looking more than intending to bu an thing. We'd walk in, an store, ever store, and it would be Hello! People who never saw

ou before, and knew ou were strangers. And the same cordialit when we left, without bu ing an thing. In America, ou walk in a store and spend a hundred dollars, and leave, and ou're still a stranger. Both ou and the clerks act as though ou're doing each other a favor.

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Europeans act more human, or humane, whichever the right word is. M brother Muslim, who could speak enough German to get b , would e plain that we were Muslims, and I saw something I had alread e perienced when I was looked upon as a Muslim and not as a Negro, right in America. People seeing ou as a Muslim saw ou as a human being and the had a different look, different talk, ever thing. In one Frankfurt store -a little shop, actuall -the storekeeper leaned over his counter to us and waved his hand, indicating the German people passing b : "This wa one da , that wa another da --" M Muslim brother e plained to me that what he meant was that the Germans would rise again. Back at the Frankfurt airport, we took a United Arab Airlines plane on to Cairo. Throngs of people, obviousl Muslims from ever where, bound on the pilgrimage, were hugging and embracing. The were of all comple ions, the whole atmosphere was of warmth and friendliness. The feeling hit me that there reall wasn't an color problem here. The effect was as though I had just stepped out of a prison. I had told m brother Muslim friend that I wanted to be a tourist in Cairo for a couple of da s before continuing to Jedda. He gave me his number and asked me to call him, as he wanted to put me with a part of his friends, who could speak English, and would be going on the pilgrimage, and would be happ to look out for me. So I spent two happ da s sightseeing in Cairo. I was impressed b the modern schools, housing developments for the masses, and the highwa s and the industriali ation that I saw. I had read and heard that President Nasser's administration had built up one of the most highl industriali ed countries on the African continent. I believe what most surprised me was that in Cairo, automobiles were being manufactured, and also buses. I had a good visit with Dr. Shawarbi's son, Muhammad Shawarbi, a nineteen- ear-old, who was stud ing economics and political science at Cairo Universit . He told me that his father's dream was to build a Universit of Islam in the United States. The friendl people I met were astounded when the learned I was a Muslim -from America! The included an Eg ptian scientist and his wife, also on their wa to Mecca for the Hajj, who insisted I go with them to dinner in a restaurant in Heliopolis, a suburb of Cairo. The were an e tremel well-informed and intelligent couple. Eg pt's rising industriali ation was one of the reasons wh the Western powers were so anti-Eg pt; it was showing other African countries what the should do, the scientist said. His wife asked me, "Wh are people in the world starving when America has so much surplus food? What do the do, dump it in the ocean?" I told her, "Yes, but the put some of it in the holds of surplus ships, and in subsidi ed granaries and refrigerated space and let it sta there, with a small arm of caretakers, until it's unfit to eat. Then another arm of disposal people get rid of it to make space for the ne t surplus batch." She looked at me in something like disbelief. Probabl she thought I was kidding. But the American ta pa er knows it's the truth. I didn't go on to tell her that right in the United States, there are hungr people. I telephoned m Muslim friend, as he had asked, and the Hajj part of his friends was waiting for me. I made it eight of us, and the included a judge and an official of the Ministr of Education. The spoke English beautifull , and accepted me like a brother. I considered it another of Allah's signs, that wherever I turned, someone was there to help me, to guide me.

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The literal meaning of Hajj in Arabic is to set out toward a definite objective. In Islamic law, it means to set out for Ka'ba, the Sacred House, and to fulfill the pilgrimage rites. The Cairo airport was where scores of Hajj groups were becoming M h im, pilgrims, upon entering the state of Ihram, the assumption of a spiritual and ph sical state of consecration. Upon advice, I arranged to leave in Cairo all of m luggage and four cameras, one a movie camera. I had bought in Cairo a small valise, just big enough to carr one suit, shirt, a pair of underwear sets and a pair of shoes into Arabia. Driving to the airport with our Hajj group, I began to get nervous, knowing that from there in, it was going to be watching others who knew what the were doing, and tr ing to do what the did. Entering the state of Ihram, we took off our clothes and put on two white towels. One, the I a , was folded around the loins. The other, the Rida, was thrown over the neck and shoulders, leaving the right shoulder and arm bare. A pair of simple sandals, the na'l, left the ankle-bones bare. Over the I a waist-wrapper, a mone belt was worn, and a bag, something like a woman's big handbag, with a long strap, was for carr ing the passport and other valuable papers, such as the letter I had from Dr. Shawarbi. Ever one of the thousands at the airport, about to leave for Jedda, was dressed this wa . You could be a king or a peasant and no one would know. Some powerful personages, who were discreetl pointed out to me, had on the same thing I had on. Once thus dressed, we all had begun intermittentl calling out " Labba ka! Labba ka!" (Here I come, O Lord!) The airport sounded with the din of M h im e pressing their intention to perform the journe of the Hajj. Planeloads of pilgrims were taking off ever few minutes, but the airport was jammed with more, and their friends and relatives waiting to see them off. Those not going were asking others to pra for them at Mecca. We were on our plane, in the air, when I learned for the first time that with the crush, there was not supposed to have been space for me, but strings had been pulled, and someone had been put off because the didn't want to disappoint an American Muslim. I felt mingled emotions of regret that I had inconvenienced and discomfited whoever was bumped off the plane for me, and, with that, an utter humilit and gratefulness that I had been paid such an honor and respect. Packed in the plane were white, black, brown, red, and ellow people, blue e es and blond hair, and m kink red hair -all together, brothers! All honoring the same God Allah, all in turn giving equal honor to each other. From some in our group, the word was spreading from seat to seat that I was a Muslim from America. Faces turned, smiling toward me in greeting. A bo lunch was passed out and as we ate that, the word that a Muslim from America was aboard got up into the cockpit. The captain of the plane came back to meet me. He was an Eg ptian, his comple ion was darker than mine; he could have walked in Harlem and no one would have given him a second glance. He was delighted to meet an American Muslim. When he invited me to visit the cockpit, I jumped at the chance. The co-pilot was darker than he was. I can't tell ou the feeling it gave me. I had never seen a black man fl ing a jet. That instrument panel: no one ever could know what all of those dials meant! Both of the pilots were smiling at me, treating me with the same honor and respect I had received ever since I left America. I stood there looking through the glass at the sk ahead of us. In America, I had ridden in more planes than probabl an other Negro, and I never had

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been invited up into the cockpit. And there I was, with two Muslim seatmates, one from Eg pt, the other from Arabia, all of us bound for Mecca, with me up in the pilots' cabin. Brother, I kne Allah was with me. I got back to m seat. All of the wa , about an hour's flight, we pilgrims were loudl cr ing out, " Labba ka! Labba ka!" The plane landed at Jedda. It's a seaport town on the Red Sea, the arrival or disembarkation point for all pilgrims who come to Arabia to go to Mecca. Mecca is about fort miles to the east, inland. The Jedda airport seemed even more crowded than Cairo's had been. Our part became another shuffling unit in the shifting mass with ever race on earth represented. Each part was making its wa toward the long line waiting to go through Customs. Before reaching Customs, each Hajj part was assigned a M a af, who would be responsible for transferring that part from Jedda to Mecca. Some pilgrims cried " Labba ka!" Others, sometimes large groups, were chanting in unison a pra er that I will translate, "I submit to no one but Thee, O Allah, I submit to no one but Thee. I submit to Thee because Thou hast no partner. All praise and blessings come from Thee, and Thou art alone in Th kingdom." The essence of the pra er is the Oneness of God. Onl officials were not wearing the Ih am garb, or the white skull caps, long, white, nightshirt- looking gown and the little slippers of the M a af, those who guided each pilgrim part , and their helpers. In Arabic, an mmmm sound before a verb makes a verbal noun, so " M tawaf" meant "the one who guides" the pilgrims on the " Ta af," which is the circumambulation of the Ka'ba in Mecca. I was nervous, shuffling in the center of our group in the line waiting to have our passports inspected. I had an apprehensive feeling. Look what I'm handing them. I'm in the Muslim world, right at The Fountain. I'm handing them the American passport which signifies the e act opposite of what Islam stands for. The judge in our group sensed m strain. He patted m shoulder. Love, humilit , and true brotherhood was almost a ph sical feeling wherever I turned. Then our group reached the clerks who e amined each passport and suitcase carefull and nodded to the pilgrim to move on. I was so nervous that when I turned the ke in m bag, and it didn't work, I broke open the bag, fearing that the might think I had something in the bag that I shouldn't have. Then the clerk saw that I was handing him an American passport. He held it, he looked at me and said something in Arabic. M friends around me began speaking rapid Arabic, gesturing and pointing, tr ing to intercede for me. The judge asked me in English for m letter from Dr. Shawarbi, and he thrust it at the clerk, who read it. He gave the letter back, protesting -I could tell that. An argument was going on, abo me. I felt like a stupid fool, unable to sa a word, I couldn't even understand what was being said. But, finall , sadl , the judge turned to me. I had to go before the Mahgama Sha ia, he e plained. It was the Muslim high court which e amined all possibl nonauthentic converts to the Islamic religion seeking to enter Mecca. It was absolute that no non-Muslim could enter Mecca.

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M friends were going to have to go on to Mecca without me. The seemed stricken with concern for me. And I was stricken. I found the words to tell them, "Don't worr , I'll be fine. Allah guides me." The said the would pra hourl in m behalf. The white-garbed M a af was urging them on, to keep schedule in the airport's human crush. With all of us waving, I watched them go. It was then about three in the morning, a Frida morning. I never had been in such a jammed mass of people, but I never had felt more alone, and helpless, since I was a bab . Worse, Frida in the Muslim world is a rough counterpart of Sunda in the Christian world. On Frida , all the members of a Muslim communit gather, to pra together. The event is called a m al-j m 'a -"the da of gathering." It meant that no courts were held on Frida . I would have to wait until Saturda , at least. An official beckoned a oung Arab M a af's aide. In broken English, the official e plained that I would be taken to a place right at the airport. M passport was kept at Customs. I wanted to object, because it is a traveler's first law never to get separated from his passport, but I didn't. In m wrapped towels and sandals, I followed the aide in his skull cap, long white gown, and slippers. I guess we were quite a sight. People passing us were speaking all kinds of languages. I couldn't speak an bod 's language. I was in bad shape. Right outside the airport was a mosque, and above the airport was a huge, dormitor -like building, four tiers high. It was semidark, not long before dawn, and planes were regularl taking off and landing, their landing lights sweeping the runwa s, or their wing and tail lights blinking in the sk . Pilgrims from Ghana, Indonesia, Japan, and Russia, to mention some, were moving to and from the dormitor where I was being taken. I don't believe that motion picture cameras ever have filmed a human spectacle more colorful than m e es took in. We reached the dormitor and began climbing, up to the fourth, top, tier, passing members of ever race on earth. Chinese, Indonesians, Afghanistanians. Man , not et changed into the Ih am garb, still wore their national dress. It was like pages out of the Na ional Geog aphic maga ine. M guide, on the fourth tier, gestured me into a compartment that contained about fifteen people. Most la curled up on their rugs asleep. I could tell that some were women, covered head and foot. An old Russian Muslim and his wife were not asleep. The stared frankl at me. Two Eg ptian Muslims and a Persian roused and also stared as m guide moved us over into a corner. With gestures, he indicated that he would demonstrate to me the proper pra er ritual postures. Imagine, being a Muslim minister, a leader in Elijah Muhammad's Nation of Islam, and not knowing the pra er ritual. I tried to do what he did. I knew I wasn't doing it right. I could feel the other Muslims' e es on me. Western ankles won't do what Muslim ankles have done for a lifetime. Asians squat when the sit, Westerners sit upright in chairs. When m guide was down in a posture, I tried ever thing I could to get down as he was, but there I was, sticking up. After about an hour, m guide left, indicating that he would return later. I never even thought about sleeping. Watched b the Muslims, I kept practicing pra er posture. I refused to let m self think how ridiculous I must have looked to them. After a while, though, I learned a little trick that would let me get down closer to the floor. But after two or three da s, m ankle was going to swell.

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As the sleeping Muslims woke up, when dawn had broken, the almost instantl became aware of me, and we watched each other while the went about their business. I began to see what an important role the rug pla ed in the overall cultural life of the Muslims. Each individual had a small pra er rug, and each man and wife, or large group, had a larger communal rug. These Muslims pra ed on their rugs there in the compartment. Then the spread a tablecloth over the rug and ate, so the rug became the dining room. Removing the dishes and cloth, the sat on the rug -a living room. Then the curl up and sleep on the rug -a bedroom. In that compartment, before I was to leave it, it dawned on me for the first time wh the fence had paid such a high price for Oriental rugs when I had been a burglar in Boston. It was because so much intricate care was taken to weave fine rugs in countries where rugs were so culturall versatile. Later, in Mecca, I would see et another use of the rug. When an kind of dispute arose, someone who was respected highl and who was not involved would sit on a rug with the disputers around him, which made the rug a courtroom. In other instances it was a classroom. One of the Eg ptian Muslims, particularl , kept watching me out of the corner of his e e. I smiled at him. He got up and came over to me. "Hel-lo --" he said. It sounded like the Gett sburg Address. I beamed at him, "Hello!" I asked his name. "Name? Name?" He was tr ing hard, but he didn't get it. We tried some words on each other. I'd guess his English vocabular spanned ma be twent words. Just enough to frustrate me. I was tr ing to get him to comprehend an thing. "Sk ." I'd point. He'd smile. "Sk ," I'd sa again, gesturing for him to repeat it after me. He would. "Airplane . . . rug . . . foot . . . sandal . . . e es. . . ." Like that. Then an ama ing thing happened. I was so glad I had some communication with a human being, I was just sa ing whatever came to mind. I said "Muhammad Ali Cla --" All of the Muslims listening lighted up like a Christmas tree. "You? You?" M friend was pointing at me. I shook m head, "No, no. Muhammad Ali Cla m friend -f iend!" The half understood me. Some of them didn't understand, and that's how it began to get around that I was Cassius Cla , world heav weight champion. I was later to learn that apparentl ever man, woman and child in the Muslim world had heard how Sonn Liston (who in the Muslim world had the image of a man- eating ogre) had been beaten in Goliath-David fashion b Cassius Cla , who then had told the world that his name was Muhammad Ali and his religion was Islam and Allah had given him his victor . Establishing the rapport was the best thing that could have happened in the compartment. M being an American Muslim changed the attitudes from merel watching me to wanting to look out for me. Now, the others began smiling steadil . The came closer, the were frankl looking me up and down. Inspecting me. Ver friendl . I was like a man from Mars. The M a af's aide returned, indicating that I should go with him. He pointed from our tier down at the mosque and I knew that he had come to take me to make the morning pra er, El Sobh, alwa s before sunrise. I followed him down, and we passed pilgrims b the thousands, babbling languages, ever thing but English. I was angr with m self for not having taken the time to learn more of the orthodo pra er rituals before leaving America. In Elijah Muhammad's Nation of Islam, we hadn't pra ed in Arabic. About a do en or more ears before, when I was in prison, a member of the orthodo Muslim movement in Boston, named Abdul Hameed, had visited me and had later sent me pra ers in Arabic. At that time, I had learned those pra ers phoneticall . But I hadn't used them since.

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I made up m mind to let the guide do ever thing first and I would watch him. It wasn't hard to get him to do things first. He wanted to an wa . Just outside the mosque there was a long trough with rows of faucets. Ablutions had to precede pra ing. I knew that. Even watching the M a af's helper, I didn't get it right. There's an e act wa that an orthodo Muslim washes, and the e act wa is ver important. I followed him into the mosque, just a step behind, watching. He did his prostration, his head to the ground. I did mine. " Bi mi-llahi- -Rahmain- -Rahim --" ("In the name of Allah, the Beneficent, the Merciful -") All Muslim pra ers began that wa . After that, I ma not have been mumbling the right thing, but I was mumbling. I don't mean to have an of this sound joking. It was far from a joke with me. No one who happened to be watching could tell that I wasn't sa ing what the others said. After that Sunrise Pra er, m guide accompanied me back up to the fourth tier. B sign language, he said he would return within three hours, then he left. Our tier gave an e cellent da light view of the whole airport area. I stood at the railing, watching. Planes were landing and taking off like clockwork. Thousands upon thousands of people from all over the world made colorful patterns of movement. I saw groups leaving for Mecca, in buses, trucks, cars. I saw some setting out to walk the fort miles. I wished that I could start walking. At least, I knew how to do that. I was afraid to think what might lie ahead. Would I be rejected as a Mecca pilgrim? I wondered what the test would consist of, and when I would face the Muslim high court. The Persian Muslim in our compartment came up to me at the rail. He greeted me, hesitantl , "Amer . . . American?" He indicated that he wanted me to come and have breakfast with him and his wife, on their rug. I knew that it was an immense offer he was making. You don't have tea with a Muslim's wife. I didn't want to impose, I don't know if the Persian understood or not when I shook m head and smiled, meaning "No, thanks." He brought me some tea and cookies, an wa . Until then, I hadn't even thought about eating. Others made gestures. The would just come up and smile and nod at me. M first friend, the one who had spoken a little English, was gone. I didn't know it, but he was spreading the word of an American Muslim on the fourth tier. Traffic had begun to pick up, going past our compartment. Muslims in the Ih am garb, or still in their national dress, walked slowl past, smiling. It would go on for as long as I was there to be seen. But I hadn't et learned that I was the attraction. I have alwa s been restless, and curious. The M a af's aide didn't return in the three hours he had said, and that made me nervous. I feared that he had given up on me as be ond help. B then, too, I was reall getting hungr . All of the Muslims in the compartment had offered me food, and I had refused. The trouble was, I have to admit it, at that point I didn't know if I could go for their manner of eating. Ever thing was in one pot on the dining-room rug, and I saw them just fall right in, using their hands. I kept standing at the tier railing observing the court ard below, and I decided to e plore a bit on m own. I went down to the first tier. I thought, then, that ma be I shouldn't get too far, someone might come for me. So I went back up to our compartment.

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In about fort -five minutes, I went back down. I went farther this time, feeling m wa . I saw a little restaurant in the court ard. I went straight in there. It was jammed, and babbling with languages. Using gestures, I bought a whole roasted chicken and something like thick potato chips. I got back out in the court ard and I tore up that chicken, using m hands. Muslims were doing the same thing all around me. I saw men at least sevent ears old bringing both legs up under them, until the made a human knot of themselves, eating with as much aplomb and satisfaction as though the had been in a fine restaurant with waiters all over the place. All ate as One, and slept as One. Ever thing about the pilgrimage atmosphere accented the Oneness of Man under One God. I made, during the da , several trips up to the compartment and back out in the court ard, each time e ploring a little farther than before. Once, I nodded at two black men standing together. I nearl shouted when one spoke to me in British-accented English. Before their part approached, read to leave for Mecca, we were able to talk enough to e change that I was American and the were Ethiopians. I was heartsick. I had found two English-speaking Muslims at last -and the were leaving. The Ethiopians had both been schooled in Cairo, and the were living in R adh, the political capital of Arabia. I was later going to learn to m surprise that in Ethiopia, with eighteen million people, ten million are Muslims. Most people think Ethiopia is Christian. But onl its government is Christian. The West has alwa s helped to keep the Christian government in power. I had just said m Sunset Pra er, El Magh ib; I was l ing on m cot in the fourth-tier compartment, feeling blue and alone, when out of the darkness came a sudden light! It was actuall a sudden thought. On one of m venturings in the ard full of activit below, I had noticed four men, officials, seated at a table with a telephone. Now, I thought about seeing them there, and with elephone, m mind flashed to the connection that Dr. Shawarbi in New York had given me, the telephone number of the son of the author of the book which had been given to me. Omar A am lived right there in Jedda! In a matter of a few minutes, I was downstairs and rushing to where I had seen the four officials. One of them spoke functional English. I e citedl showed him the letter from Dr. Shawarbi. He read it. Then he read it aloud to the other three officials. "A Muslim from America!" I could almost see it capture their imaginations and curiosit . The were ver impressed. I asked the English-speaking one if he would please do me the favor of telephoning Dr. Omar A am at the number I had. He was glad to do it. He got someone on the phone and conversed in Arabic. Dr. Omar A am came straight to the airport. With the four officials beaming, he wrung m hand in welcome, a oung, tall, powerfull built man. I'd sa he was si foot three. He had an e tremel polished manner. In America, he would have been called a white man, but -it struck me, hard and instantl -from the wa he acted, I had no feeling of him being a white man. "Wh didn't ou call before?" he demanded of me. He showed some identification to the four officials, and he used their phone. Speaking in Arabic, he was talking with some airport officials. "Come!" he said. In something less than half an hour, he had gotten me released, m suitcase and passport had been retrieved from Customs, and we were in Dr. A am's car, driving through the cit of Jedda, with me dressed in the Ih am two towels and sandals. I was speechless at the man's attitude, and at m own ph sical feeling of no difference between us as human beings. I had heard for ears of Muslim hospitalit , but one couldn't quite imagine such warmth. I asked

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questions. Dr. A am was a Swiss-trained engineer. His field was cit planning. The Saudi Arabian government had borrowed him from the United Nations to direct all of the reconstruction work being done on Arabian hol places. And Dr. A am's sister was the wife of Prince Faisal's son. I was in a car with the brother-in-law of the son of the ruler of Arabia. Nor was that all that Allah had done. "M father will be so happ to meet ou," said Dr. A am. The author who had sent me the book! I asked questions about his father. Abd-Al-Rahman A am was known as A am Pasha, or Lord A am, until the Eg ptian revolution, when President Nasser eliminated all "Lord" and "Noble" titles. "He should be at m home when we get there," Dr. A am said. "He spends much time in New York with his United Nations work, and he has followed ou with great interest." I was speechless. It was earl in the morning when we reached Dr. A am's home. His father was there, his father's brother, a chemist, and another friend -all up that earl , waiting. Each of them embraced me as though I were a long-lost child. I had never seen these men before in m life, and the treated me so good! I am going to tell ou that I had never been so honored in m life, nor had I ever received such true hospitalit . A servant brought tea and coffee, and disappeared. I was urged to make m self comfortable. No women were an where in view. In Arabia, ou could easil think there were no females. Dr. Abd-Al-Rahman A am dominated the conversation. Wh hadn't I called before? The couldn't understand wh I hadn't. Was I comfortable? The seemed embarrassed that I had spent the time at the airport; that I had been dela ed in getting to Mecca. No matter how I protested that I felt no inconvenience, that I was fine, the would not hear it. "You must rest," Dr. A am said. He went to use the telephone. I didn't know what this distinguished man was doing. I had no dream. When I was told that I would be brought back for dinner that evening, and that, meanwhile, I should get back in the car, how could I have reali ed that I was about to see the epitome of Muslim hospitalit ? Abd-Al-Rahman A am, when at home, lived in a suite at the Jedda Palace Hotel. Because I had come to them with a letter from a friend, he was going to sta at his son's home, and let me use his suite, until I could get on to Mecca. When I found out, there was no use protesting: I was in the suite; oung Dr. A am was gone; there was no one to protest to. The three-room suite had a bathroom that was as big as a double at the New York Hilton. It was suite number 214. There was even a porch outside, affording a beautiful view of the ancient Red Sea cit . There had never before been in m emotions such an impulse to pra -and I did, prostrating m self on the living-room rug. Nothing in either of m two careers as a black man in America had served to give me an idealistic tendencies. M instincts automaticall e amined the reasons, the motives, of an one who did an thing the didn't have to do for me. Alwa s in m life, if it was an white person, I could see a selfish motive.

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But there in that hotel that morning, a telephone call and a few hours awa from the cot on the fourth-floor tier of the dormitor , was one of the few times I had been so awed that I was totall without resistance. That white man -at least he would have been considered "white" in America -related to Arabia's ruler, to whom he was a close advisor, trul an international man, with nothing in the world to gain, had given up his suite to me, for m transient comfort. He had no hing to gain. He didn't need me. He had ever thing. In fact, he had more to lose than gain. He had followed the American press about me. If he did that, he knew there was onl stigma attached to me. I was supposed to have horns. I was a "racist." I was "anti-white" -and he from all appearances was white. I was supposed to be a criminal; not onl that, but ever one was even accusing me of using his religion of Islam as a cloak for m criminal practices and philosophies. Even if he had had some motive to use me, he knew that I was separated from Elijah Muhammad and the Nation of Islam, m "power base," according to the press in America. The onl organi ation that I had was just a few weeks old. I had no job. I had no mone . Just to get over there, I had had to borrow mone from m sister. That morning was when I first began to reappraise the "white man." It was when I first began to perceive that "white man," as commonl used, means comple ion onl secondaril ; primaril it described attitudes and actions. In America, "white man" meant specific attitudes and actions toward the black man, and toward all other non-white men. But in the Muslim world, I had seen that men with white comple ions were more genuinel brotherl than an one else had ever been. That morning was the start of a radical alteration in m whole outlook about "white" men. I should quote from m notebook here. I wrote this about noon, in the hotel: "M e citement, sitting here, waiting to go before the Hajj Committee, is indescribable. M window faces to the sea westward. The streets are filled with the incoming pilgrims from all over the world. The pra ers are to Allah and verses from the Quran are on the lips of ever one. Never have I seen such a beautiful sight, nor witnessed such a scene, nor felt such an atmosphere. Although I am e cited, I feel safe and secure, thousands of miles from the totall different life that I have known. Imagine that twent -four hours ago, I was in the fourth-floor room over the airport, surrounded b people with whom I could not communicate, feeling uncertain about the future, and ver lonel , and then one phone call, following Dr. Shawarbi's instructions. I have met one of the most powerful men in the Muslim world. I will soon sleep in his bed at the Jedda Palace. I know that I am surrounded b friends whose sincerit and religious eal I can feel. I must pra again to thank Allah for this blessing, and I must pra again that m wife and children back in America will alwa s be blessed for their sacrifices, too." I did pra , two more pra ers, as I had told m notebook. Then I slept for about four hours, until the telephone rang. It was oung Dr. A am. In another hour, he would pick me up to return me there for dinner. I tumbled words over one another, tr ing to e press some of the thanks I felt for all of their actions. He cut me off. "Ma sha'a-llah" -which means, "It is as Allah has pleased." I sei ed the opportunit to run down into the lobb , to see it again before Dr. A am arrived. When I opened m door, just across the hall from me a man in some ceremonial dress, who obviousl lived there, was also headed downstairs, surrounded b attendants. I followed them down, then through the lobb . Outside, a small caravan of automobiles was waiting. M neighbor appeared through the Jedda Palace Hotel's front entrance and people rushed and

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crowded him, kissing his hand. I found out who he was: the Grand Mufti of Jerusalem. Later, in the hotel, I would have the opportunit to talk with him for about a half-hour. He was a cordial man of great dignit . He was well up on world affairs, and even the latest events in America. I will never forget the dinner at the A am home. I quote m notebook again: "I couldn't sa in m mind that these were white men. Wh , the men acted as if the were brothers of mine, the elder Dr. A am as if he were m father. His fatherl , scholarl speech. I fel like he was m father. He was, ou could tell, a highl skilled diplomat, with a broad range of mind. His knowledge was so worldl . He was as current on world affairs as some people are to what's going on in their living room. "The more we talked, the more his vast reservoir of knowledge and its variet seemed unlimited. He spoke of the racial lineage of the descendants of Muhammad the Prophet, and he showed how the were both black and white. He also pointed out how color, the comple ities of color, and the problems of color which e ist in the Muslim world, e ist onl where, and to the e tent that, that area of the Muslim world has been influenced b the West. He said that if one encountered an differences based on attitude toward color, this directl reflected the degree of Western influence." I learned during dinner that while I was at the hotel, the Hajj Committee Court had been notified about m case, and that in the morning I should be there. And I was. The judge was Sheikh Muhammad Harkon. The Court was empt e cept for me and a sister from India, formerl a Protestant, who had converted to Islam, and was, like me, tr ing to make the Hajj. She was brown-skinned, with a small face that was mostl covered. Judge Harkon was a kind, impressive man. We talked. He asked me some questions, having to do with m sincerit . I answered him as trul as I could. He not onl recogni ed me as a true Muslim, but he gave me two books, one in English, the other in Arabic. He recorded m name in the Hol Register of true Muslims, and we were read to part. He told me, "I hope ou will become a great preacher of Islam in America." I said that I shared that hope, and I would tr to fulfill it. The A am famil were ver elated that I was qualified and accepted to go to Mecca. I had lunch at the Jedda Palace. Then I slept again for several hours, until the telephone awakened me. It was Muhammad Abdul A i Maged, the Deput Chief of Protocol for Prince Faisal. "A special car will be waiting to take

ou to Mecca, right after our dinner," he told me. He advised me to eat heartil , as the Hajj rituals require plent of strength. I was be ond astonishment b then. Two oung Arabs accompanied me to Mecca. A well-lighted, modern turnpike highwa made the trip eas . Guards at intervals along the wa took one look at the car, and the driver made a sign, and we were passed through, never even having to slow down. I was, all at once, thrilled, important, humble, and thankful. Mecca, when we entered, seemed as ancient as time itself. Our car slowed through the winding streets, lined b shops on both sides and with buses, cars, and trucks, and tens of thousands of pilgrims from all over the earth were ever where.

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The car halted briefl at a place where a M a af was waiting for me. He wore the white skullcap and long nightshirt garb that I had seen at the airport. He was a short, dark-skinned Arab, named Muhammad. He spoke no English whatever. We parked near the Great Mosque. We performed our ablutions and entered. Pilgrims seemed to be on top of each other, there were so man , l ing, sitting, sleeping, pra ing, walking. M vocabular cannot describe the new mosque that was being built around the Ka'ba. I was thrilled to reali e that it was onl one of the tremendous rebuilding tasks under the direction of

oung Dr. A am, who had just been m host. The Great Mosque of Mecca, when it is finished, will surpass the architectural beaut of India's Taj Mahal. Carr ing m sandals, I followed the M a af. Then I saw the Ka'ba, a huge black stone house in the middle of the Great Mosque. It was being circumambulated b thousands upon thousands of pra ing pilgrims, both se es, and ever si e, shape, color, and race in the world. I knew the pra er to be uttered when the pilgrim's e es first perceive the Ka'ba. Translated, it is "O God, You are peace, and peace derives from You. So greet us, O Lord, with peace." Upon entering the Mosque, the pilgrim should tr to kiss the Ka'ba if possible, but if the crowds prevent him getting that close, he touches it, and if the crowds prevent that, he raises his hand and cries out "Takbir!" ("God is great!") I could not get within ards. "Takbir!" M feeling there in the House of God was a numbness. M M a af led me in the crowd of pra ing, chanting pilgrims, moving seven times around the Ka'ba. Some were bent and wi ened with age; it was a sight that stamped itself on the brain. I saw incapacitated pilgrims being carried b others. Faces were enraptured in their faith. The seventh time around, I pra ed two Rak'a, prostrating m self, m head on the floor. The first prostration, I pra ed the Quran verse "Sa He is God, the one and onl "; the second prostration: "Sa O ou who are unbelievers, I worship not that which ou worship. . . ." As I prostrated, the M a af fended pilgrims off to keep me from being trampled. The M a af and I ne t drank water from the well of Zem Zem. Then we ran between the two hills, Safa and Marwa, where Hajar wandered over the same earth searching for water for her child Ishmael. Three separate times, after that, I visited the Great Mosque and circumambulated the Ka'ba. The ne t da we set out after sunrise toward Mount Arafat, thousands of us, cr ing in unison: "Labba ka! Labba ka!" and "Allah Akbar!" Mecca is surrounded b the crudest-looking mountains I have ever seen; the seem to be made of the slag from a blast furnace. No vegetation is on them at all. Arriving about noon, we pra ed and chanted from noon until sunset, and the a (afternoon) and Magh ib (sunset) special pra ers were performed. Finall , we lifted our hands in pra er and thanksgiving, repeating Allah's words: "There is no God but Allah. He has no partner. His are authorit and praise. Good emanates from Him, and He has power over all things." Standing on Mount Arafat had concluded the essential rites of being a pilgrim to Mecca. No one who missed it could consider himself a pilgrim. The Ih am had ended. We cast the traditional seven stones at the devil. Some had their hair and beards cut. I decided that I was going to let m beard remain. I wondered what m wife Bett , and our little daughters, were going to sa when the saw me with a beard, when I got

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back to New York. New York seemed a million miles awa . I hadn't seen a newspaper that I could read since I left New York. I had no idea what was happening there. A Negro rifle club that had been in e istence for over twelve ears in Harlem had been "discovered" b the police; it was being trumpeted that I was "behind it." Elijah Muhammad's Nation of Islam had a lawsuit going against me, to force me and m famil to vacate the house in which we lived on Long Island. The major press, radio, and television media in America had representatives in Cairo hunting all over, tr ing to locate me, to interview me about the furor in New York that I had allegedl caused -when I knew nothing about an of it. I onl knew what I had left in America, and how it contrasted with what I had found in the Muslim world. About twent of us Muslims who had finished the Hajj were sitting in a huge tent on Mount Arafat. As a Muslim from America, I was the center of attention. The asked me what about the Hajj had impressed me the most. One of the several who spoke English asked; the translated m answers for the others. M answer to that question was not the one the e pected, but it drove home m point. I said, "The b o he hood! The people of all races, colors, from all over the world coming together as one! It has proved to me the power of the One God." It ma have been out of taste, but that gave me an opportunit , and I used it, to preach them a quick little sermon on America's racism, and its evils. I could tell the impact of this upon them. The had been aware that the plight of the black man in America was "bad," but the had not been aware that it was inhuman, that it was a ps chological castration. These people from elsewhere around the world were shocked. As Muslims, the had a ver tender heart for all unfortunates, and ver sensitive feelings for truth and justice. And in ever thing I said to them, as long as we talked, the were aware of the

ardstick that I was using to measure ever thing -that to me the earth's most e plosive and pernicious evil is racism, the inabilit of God's creatures to live as One, especiall in the Western world. I have reflected since that the letter I finall sat down to compose had been subconsciousl shaping itself in m mind. The colo -blindne of the Muslim world's religious societ and the colo -blindne of the Muslim world's human societ : these two influences had each da been making a greater impact, and an increasing persuasion against m previous wa of thinking. The first letter was, of course, to m wife, Bett . I never had a moment's question that Bett , after initial ama ement, would change her thinking to join mine. I had known a thousand reassurances that Bett 's faith in me was total. I knew that she would see what I had seen -that in the land of Muhammad and the land of Abraham, I had been blessed b Allah with a new insight into the true religion of Islam, and a better understanding of America's entire racial dilemma. After the letter to m wife, I wrote ne t essentiall the same letter to m sister Ella. And I knew where Ella would stand. She had been saving to make the pilgrimage to Mecca herself. I wrote to Dr. Shawarbi, whose belief in m sincerit had enabled me to get a passport to Mecca.

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All through the night, I copied similar long letters for others who were ver close to me. Among them was Elijah Muhammad's son Wallace Muhammad, who had e pressed to me his conviction that the onl possible salvation for the Nation of Islam would be its accepting and projecting a better understanding of Orthodo Islam. And I wrote to m lo al assistants at m newl formed Muslim Mosque, Inc. in Harlem, with a note appended, asking that m letter be duplicated and distributed to the press. I knew that when m letter became public knowledge back in America, man would be astounded -loved ones, friends, and enemies alike. And no less astounded would be millions whom I did not know -who had gained during m twelve ears with Elijah Muhammad a "hate" image of Malcolm X. Even I was m self astounded. But there was precedent in m life for this letter. M whole life had been a chronolog of -change . Here is what I wrote . . . from m heart: "Never have I witnessed such sincere hospitalit and the overwhelming spirit of true brotherhood as is practiced b people of all colors and races here in this Ancient Hol Land, the home of Abraham, Muhammad, and all the other prophets of the Hol Scriptures. For the past week, I have been utterl speechless and spellbound b the graciousness I see displa ed all around me b people of all colo . I have been blessed to visit the Hol Cit of Mecca. I have made m seven circuits around the Ka'ba, led b a oung M a af named Muhammad. I drank water from the well of Zem Zem. I ran seven times back and forth between the hills of Mt. Al-Safa and Al-Marwah. I have pra ed in the ancient cit of Mina, and I have pra ed on Mt. Arafat. There were tens of thousands of pilgrims, from all over the world. The were of all colors, from blue-e ed blonds to black-skinned Africans. But we were all participating in the same ritual, displa ing a spirit of unit and brotherhood that m e periences in America had led me to believe never could e ist between the white and the non-white. America needs to understand Islam, because this is the one religion that erases from its societ the race problem. Throughout m travels in the Muslim world, I have met, talked to, and even eaten with people who in America would have been considered white -but the white attitude was removed from their minds b the religion of Islam. I have never before seen ince e and

e brotherhood practiced b all colors together, irrespective of their color. You ma be shocked b these words coming from me. But on this pilgrimage, what I have seen, and e perienced, has forced me to e-a ange much of m thought-patterns previousl held, and to o a ide some of m previous conclusions. This was not too difficult for me. Despite m firm convictions, I have been alwa s a man who tries to face facts, and to accept the realit of life as new e perience and new knowledge unfolds it. I have alwa s kept an open mind, which is necessar to the fle ibilit that must go hand in hand with ever form of intelligent search for truth. During the past eleven da s here in the Muslim world, I have eaten from the same plate, drunk from the same glass, and slept in the same bed (or on the same rug) -while pra ing to the ame God -with fellow Muslims, whose e es were the bluest of blue,

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whose hair was the blondest of blond, and whose skin was the whitest of white. And in the o d and in the ac ion and in the deed of the white Muslims, I felt the same sincerit that I

felt among the black African Muslims of Nigeria, Sudan, and Ghana. We were l all the same (brothers) -because their belief in one God had removed the white from their mind , the white from their beha io , and the white from their a i de. I could see from this, that perhaps if white Americans could accept the Oneness of God, then perhaps, too, the could accept in eali the Oneness of Man -and cease to measure, and hinder, and harm others in terms of their differences in color. With racism plaguing America like an incurable cancer, the so-called Christian white American heart should be more receptive to a proven solution to such a destructive problem. Perhaps it could be in time to save America from imminent disaster -the same destruction brought upon German b racism that eventuall destro ed the Germans themselves. Each hour here in the Hol Land enables me to have greater spiritual insights into what is happening in America between black and white. The American Negro never can be blamed for his racial animosities -he is onl reacting to four hundred ears of the conscious racism of the American whites. But as racism leads America up the suicide path, I do believe, from the e periences that I have had with them, that the whites of the ounger generation, in the colleges and universities, will see the hand-writing on the wall and man of them will turn to the pi i al path of h -the onl wa left to America to ward off the disaster that racism inevitabl must lead to. Never have I been so highl honored. Never have I been made to feel more humble and unworth . Who would believe the blessings that have been heaped upon an Ame ican Neg o? A few nights ago, a man who would be called in America a white man, a United Nations diplomat, an ambassador, a companion of kings, gave me hi hotel suite, hi bed. B this man, His E cellenc Prince Faisal, who rules this Hol Land, was made aware of m presence here in Jedda. The ver ne t morning, Prince Faisal's son, in person, informed me that b the will and decree of his esteemed father, I was to be a State Guest. The Deput Chief of Protocol himself took me before the Hajj Court. His Holiness Sheikh Muhammad Harkon himself oka ed m visit to Mecca. His Holiness gave me two books on Islam, with his personal seal and autograph, and he told me that he pra ed that I would be a successful preacher of Islam in America. A car, a driver, and a guide have been placed at m disposal, making it possible for me to travel about this Hol Land almost at will. The government provides air-conditioned quarters and servants in each cit that I visit. Never would I have even thought of dreaming that I would ever be a recipient of such honors -honors that in America would be bestowed upon a King -not a Negro. All praise is due to Allah, the Lord of all the Worlds. Sincerel , El-Hajj Malik El-Shaba (Malcolm X)"