Tears poured down my face. Rain whipped up flecks of mud and the desert wind pulled at me. There was a physical pain in my chest from crying. I could barely see my sister ahead of me through the torrential deluge soaking my body. We were each locked in our secret prayers, handing cupped and heads bowed, the sky weeping above us like the heavens had opened up.

We were standing on the plains of Arafah, a desolate terrain, on the third day of our pilgrimage to Mecca. The journey is compulsory on every Muslim once in their lifetime. I was there with my older brother and younger sister. It had been our first aeroplane journey in over ten years and none of us knew what we had gotten ourselves into. I just knew that I had to take this chance. I was overflowing with the need to go far away from my life and start a new leaf.

We couldn’t believe my mum was encouraging this. We were barely adults, my sister was still in college, for goodness’ sake! But there we were, turning the corner of the airport corridor, and suddenly the three of us naïve, not-so-very-experienced travellers were on our own in the burning heat of an Arabian sun. I felt afraid and alone. London felt a long way away…

We were thrown headlong into the fray immediately. Palm trees waved us welcome in the warm night wind as luggages were heaved aside and ritual clothes donned.

“Why does the airport only have two cubicles?” my sister and I shrieked as we landed in Jeddah and struggled our way into the overcrowded bathroom.

We went to Mina first, the place where Abraham was ordered to sacrifice his son. It was like walking into the past. I had never seen so many people gathered in one place before. There were tents spread out across the ground, stretching all the way to the mountains in the distance, where rocks reached up to meet the pale blue sky. I couldn’t see the sand below for the sea of white roofs in all directions.

I didn’t know any of the sixty women in my tent but they all smiled at me and greeted me with “peace be upon you, sister”. I was already feeling lighter. It was hard to reconcile the seriousness of our journey with the hilarity of our circumstances; all of us packed like sardines on narrow mattresses lined up side-by-side, with pillows and croissant packets strewn around like confetti. I kept reminding myself I was on a holy mission and I couldn’t mess up. But how was that possible when fate had other plans, and the first day of our pilgrimage started with us getting lost outside Mina, climaxed with the air-con raining over my mattress, and ended with my sister fainting of cold in the night? Very dramatic.

Then in a blur we were off to Arafah. I remember feeling dizzy that morning as we departed. It was 10am and the sun was scalding the floor. As we arrived at the deserted tent, mosquitos buzzing mischievously, I knew this was my only chance in a lifetime to have all my prayers answered. So I let it all out and cried. I held my tears in my palms and beseeched,

“Will you turn away the tears of one who has travelled the world to come to you?”

The rain had started suddenly, with no warning. I remember there were tens of us, standing in the mud alone in our desperate prayers, and no one moved into shelter as the rain drenched us to the skin and deeper.

I saw the Ka’bah, the house of God, for the first time. I was overwhelmed by the thought that centuries ago my religion had originated from this very place. The first Muslims had lived and breathed on the very land I was stepping on. It was like I had been summoned by invitation of God himself. There were people from all over the world, tall Nigerians, Bulgarians with blue-eyes, Indonesians who stuck together like shoals of fish, all equal.

I was doing things I never in my wildest dreams thought I could do, and with my own strength! I walked for hours on end in the sun between ritual sites, I survived off Ryvita crackers, rehydration drinks and bananas. I will say, thank God for those bananas! I slept on the bare pebble-ridden ground of Muzdalifa, I climbed the mountain where Adam and Eve are said to have been reunited on earth.

I never felt so strong as I did then, inspired by the people I met. Like the girl whose feet blew up after insect bites but she didn’t stop smiling, and our genial group leader who ran around making sure hotels were booked but still had time to joke with us… The list goes on, my own brother took on responsibility beyond belief by looking after the two of us, and he accomplished it too! It just showed I was stronger than I knew and more able than I believed. I just needed to prove it to myself.

Somehow, I found myself laughing at each new disaster. Whether we were stuck in the middle of the highway, well, at least we had water! Or when I fell ill with food poisoning, hey I got over it in one piece, right? I realised that I wasn’t afraid anymore. We were in God’s care and I knew he wouldn’t let us down.

Now, back in London, I feel unstoppable. After the trials of Mina, my petty problems are a piece of cake. At night, I can still see the light of the Prophet’s mosque and hear the bustle of the pilgrims praying, and the whispery breeze over the marble tiles. I know that even though I’m on the other side of the world, I’m not alone. Because someone heard my prayer back then, and he can surely hear me now.