The Way to Jeddah - Pt. I

Faraj stepped across the threshold of the jet bridge into the cabin of the massive Saudia Airlines jetliner with its two-tone paint, tan on top and white on the bottom, and distinct yellow palm tree and crossed-swords logo on the hulking blue tail fin. He was immediately struck dumb by the seemingly endless rows of seats divided by two aisles that stretched back as far as he could see. He knew many of these passengers and also knew how many made the long pilgrimage each year but it was still difficult for him to comprehend that this plane would be filled with nearly 400 people, all going to the same place. A Saudia flight attendant, mysteriously efficient in her round hat and signature scarf draped around her face, directed Faraj to Row 28, Seat L. After an irritating stop-and-go trip down the crowded aisle and a brief struggle finding his seat belt, he sank into his seat and thought of how much had changed over the past year and how improbable this trip had been one year ago.

It had been 12 long months since his wife and young son were killed in that car crash, the image of which had been seared into his brain like a brand and which he relived many times each day. He had been following them home from dinner when it happened. The mangled wreckage, the smell of gasoline, the blood of his own family flowing down the road; these memories were inescapable and had driven him to near madness at times. The only thing that saved him from planning and executing his own demise was a return to his faith. Those long hours at the mosque, five times a day, prostrated on his prayer rug, fervently praying to God for the strength to make it through the next hour had borne fruit in a renewed religious fervor that, one year later, now manifested in this mandatory Hajj, or pilgrimage to the holiest place on earth: Mecca, near his beloved seaside home of Jeddah.

The Kaaba...House of God.

In the few moments each day he wasn’t reliving the accident, Faraj would relive his youth in Saudi Arabia. Jeddah was on the western coast of the country, right on the Red Sea. As a boy, he would often walk alone to the sea port and watch the oil tankers and container ships come and go into the harbor. He daydreamed about being the captain of one of these gargantuan ships, plying the trade routes of the Red Sea, south to the Gulf of Aden, and out into the vast expanse of the Arabian Sea. He dreamed of returning to a hero’s welcome, his ship full of exotic cargo from faraway lands. But, like the dreams of many kids whose parents struggled to provide for their family, it slowly vanished into a harsh reality of a job he didn’t like to make money for a life in which he found little joy.

Early in his third decade, Faraj decided he’d had enough of the heat, the sand, the wind, and of Jeddah, and applied for a scholarship to study abroad in the United States. When the letter arrived, informing him of his new future, he excitedly contacted his relatives in California to make living arrangements. It was here that he met his future wife, Rana. They married after a brief courtship and, within a year, welcomed a baby boy, Amir. After graduating from the University of the Pacific in Sacramento, Faraj had turned his Data Science degree into a nice middle-class living for his new family. It was a short-lived American Dream, however. Within two years, his wife and child were dead and his life was without direction and hope.

Now, a year later, he was on a plane at one of the busiest airports in the world, standing at the precipice of a new life. The Saudia 777 powered west out of LAX and was immediately over water. From his window seat on the right side of the plane, he could see the smoky hills of Topanga State Park to the north and the serpentine crawl of the Pacific Coast Highway winding along the shore. It was in stark contrast to the desolate, arid landscapes of Jeddah, a place he thought he’d never miss when he left so many years ago. Now he was invigorated by the thought of the dry desert air on his face and the short journey from Jeddah eastward to Mecca, the Holy City and birthplace of Muhammad. The anticipation of seeing the Holy Kaaba, (the “House of God”), the black granite cube in the middle of the Sacred Mosque in Mecca, was like an innate driving force that led him blindly on this pilgrimage. Faraj silently wondered how many others on the plane shared his passion or if, for them, it was merely a religious duty to be fulfilled and no more. It didn’t matter to him. In 15 hours, the wheels of that plane would be landing on holy ground and his new dream would become a reality.