Perhaps, without even knowing it, you have been waiting your entire life for this journey, the journey to the Ka’ba, the original and oldest house of monotheism, built thousands of years ago by the Prophet Abraham and his son, Ishmael. Before you were awake to it, your soul was yearning to walk where the Prophets walked, to retrace the footsteps of Hagar, left alone in the desert with her young boy, Ishmael-left alone and looking for water. Through the grace of God, you secure your funds for the journey, yet you do not know with whom you will go or even exactly the specific rites of Hajj. Still you make your intention, and the time draws closer. You take a class on Hajj, you read a couple of books, you shop for essentials, but the nearer the time comes, the more your world seems to spin out of control. Your bank account is depleted, your workload increases beyond your capacity, two weeks from the departure date you break out in hives, and you find out you need to have a tooth pulled. You get a cold. A few days before you are set to leave, your childcare arrangements fall apart, even your husband leaves for another trip, and there is not a soul to see you off on the morning of your journey.

Still you go. You turn off your computer, you step out the front door, and you-your mind, your heart, your soul-leave it all behind and go somewhere else. Before starting the Hajj ritual, your group first travels to Medina and visits Al-Masjid al-Nabawi, the Mosque of the Prophet Muhammad, peace and blessings be upon him. You forget everything from home in that place of tranquility. Your mind and heart are united in their focus on the journey. And it will begin in a few days. Along the way, you will stop at a miqat, a geographical boundary which before passing you must enter into a state of ihram by making your formal intention and donning your pilgrim garb. Your first visit is to the holy Ka’ba where you perform Umrah (Please see the table). Then, you travel on to the largest temporary city in the world, a place called Mina, a rocky, dusty outland where the Hajj rituals commence in earnest.

With much anticipation, you arrive at the camps of Mina, and as you realize your living situation for the next several days, you wonder how you will cope. The wall of one tent is the wall of the next, and so it continues, tent after tent, row after row, mile after mile. In one tent, forty-four sisters from various continents, lying head-to-head toe-to-toe, crowded restrooms, food prepared and packaged just like airline food, only not as good, but more plentiful, water from plastic canteens. But then you remind yourself that Mina is a camp, and you are camping, and for camping this is pretty good.

And so you settle in. You realize that the opportunities of the camp are greater than they might first appear. You and your tent mates soon find the few containers in camp with fresh, cool, Zamzam water and work to keep each other’s water bottles full of it. You get lost in the camp looking for a better shower, before admitting that this is it. You learn when the bathrooms are least crowded, and you discover an identical row of bathrooms in the back, a mirror image of the front.

You rest one day in Mina. You awake from your sleep at 2 am; the tent is alive with activity; all the lights are turned on. You think that everyone must be excited, for today is the day of Arafat, and Prophet Muhammad, peace and blessings be upon him, in a well-known hadith, stated that “Arafat is Hajj” (al-Tirmidhi, Tafsiru’l Qur’an, 2). Arafat is the day when all prayers are accepted, all sins are forgiven, and at the end you become as sinless as a newborn; here you become “Hajji.” Still you are not ready to get out of bed. You lie there resting and reflecting on this blessed day. For several days now, you have been reciting Labbayk, chanting “Here I am Allah at your service, here I am.” You have answered His Call; you have come to perform your duty and nothing else. He welcomes you as His guest and during your stay here, you will be treated in an extra special way, and just as a guest receives the best china, the best morsels of food, you will be offered a taste of the spiritual delights of the Hajj. And so you stay in your bed with your eye mask protecting you from the bright lights, and you let the spiritual atmosphere wash over and through you. Somehow the back of your mattress sandwiched between two others and wedged up against the back of the tent becomes a space for you to fall back into, a cave to another dimension where the sounds of the tent diminish and the sounds of the unseen world increase. And in this very early morning of the day of Arafat, you somehow sense that the whole universe, seen and unseen, is united in glorifying the oneness of God.

The day of Arafat causes you to reflect on the Day of Judgment when all humanity will stand before their Creator. The sea of white garments and bareheaded pilgrims standing in the hot sun where the rich is indistinguishable from the poor reminds you that we will all be judged by our deeds in this life according to divine principles. In this heat – which you sense will seem like a cool breeze compared to the heat of the Day of Judgment – you realize how badly you want to be included among those who will be shaded from the near sun of that day. As sunset nears, you wait and wait as your ear searches for the adhan, the call to prayer. But there is no adhan, there is only an increase in the refinement of the air. No adhan is recited in Arafat for your next duty as a hajji is to leave immediately at sunset and travel to Muzdalifah where you will combine your sunset and evening prayers in accordance with the sunnah or practices of the Prophet Muhammad, peace and blessings be upon him.

Finally, you reach Muzdalifah, a valley of dust situated near mountains of barren rock. Here you will spend the night out in the open. With the dust swirling all around, your group leader pulls out a tarp, and the mother of the group smiles while looking up to the sky and says “Five-star hotel.” We find comfort in the reminder that the reward for a successful Hajj is paradise, and that it is only obligatory to do it once. Later, we will all share how we cannot wait to come back again, but for now this knowledge fortifies us. With giant, glaring flood lights masking our true canopy-the hidden night sky, we settle in for the night having shared our face masks, our dates, and our last wipes.

The next day, we return to Mina with renewed appreciation, now recognizing its rightful glory, we are thankful for the showers we once disdained, blissful in our beds, now we truly settle into Mina. But we have also come prepared for the battle of the next four days. With our seventy stones collected at Muzdalifah, we will endeavor to remove the crusts from our hearts by stoning the jamarat.

The sunnah is to spend Eid (holiday) at Mina plus three more days. Eid at Hajj is not like Eid at home. Eid at Hajj is hard work; our duties that day are to offer our sacrificial animal to the poor, stone the jamarat, come out of ihram by cutting our hair (women) or shaving our heads (men), and if possible, travel to Mecca to perform tawaf ifadah-seven times circumambulation of the Ka’ba followed by walking seven times between the hills of Marwa and Safa.

The first task is taken care of for us by the Hajj authorities. We paid for our animal previously, and turned the task over to the slaughterhouse. We are not even required to visit, but it is possible if you wish. None of us wished to do so. We rest in the morning weary from the previous night. We wait until after the late afternoon prayer (Asr) when it is cooler and the crowds have thinned (“thinned” being a relative term when there are five million or more people performing rites at pretty much the same time), and set out for the long walk to the jamarat. Before leaving for Hajj, we were told to prepare ourselves for an hour-long walk from our camp to the jamarat. “No big deal” you naively thought as you pictured your often-enjoyed cool walks surrounded by trees around the lake in your neighborhood, time spent in reflection and enjoying the solace of nature. But this walk turns out to be something else all together, crowded streets filled with people, a makeshift bazaar lining the edges of the camp roads, piles of trash, and once you hit the main road, you are competing for road space with buses, as you try to find a gasp of fresh air in the dusty, diesel-fumed air with the hot sun relentless in its brightness.

What is this ritual of stoning the jamarat? We are told in our hajj training that the jamarat does not represent idols, it is not the devil as many believe; we are not stoning the devil. We are told that for each stone, we are forgiven a major sin, and reminded that in Islam lying and gossiping are major sins. So, what is this ritual then? Perhaps the jamarat represents our own hard hearts and with each rock thrown, we are chipping away at its crust endeavoring to restore it to its newborn softness. Perhaps, the enemy is within ourselves – our carnal self, the nafs. With each rock thrown, you hope to gain a bit more mastery over your nafs and you recall the prayer of Prophet Muhammad, peace and blessings be upon him; “O God, cleanse me of sin as a white garment is cleansed from filth. O God, wash away my sins with snow and water and hail.” Indeed, the many rocks hitting the jamarat make the same sound as a hailstorm. In this context, the long difficult walk to and from becomes part of the cleansing, part of the blessings of this ritual. You learn the importance of striving in reaching nearer to God, the All-Glorified.

It is your last day to stone the jamarat. You no longer have the energy to compete with the buses, so you decide to take your chances with the pedestrian route – which means you must pass through tunnels. Tens of thousands throng through the streets, from all over the world, and all on the same mission. We reach the tunnel; we fill the tunnel; we walk; and then suddenly we stop. You do not know the reason for this stopping, you cannot see past the masses of people in front of you. You pray for sakina (peaceful calmness) for all your fellow travelers. We wait, we start to move again, we stop, we move again. It happens three times; all of the thousands remain calm. With the Grace of God, we make it through the tunnel and continue on to our mission.

One day, you venture out of the camp into the streets of Mina sprawling with vendors who have come to sell their wares to the hajjis-jilbabs, scarves, dhikr beads, toys, fruit, and henna. Suddenly, a truck pulls up, opens its back and the driver starts distributing its contents. The shouts of free food go out and people seem to lose themselves a bit in the rush to get whatever is being given away. You realize that they are giving away yogurt, and after a few days on antibiotics, it is just what your body is craving, yet you do not want to push in for a gift. So you wait and you watch when suddenly, the driver reaches down and pulls out not one, but two containers of yogurt. He shouts your name, “Hajji,” extends his arm over the crowd and hands you your body’s desire.

An apple purchased from a street vendor is infused with the scent and flavor of roses. You realize that despite the multitudes of people, the heat, and the dust, the camp does not smell. In gratitude, you start to comprehend the sacredness of this place, this time, this space. Mina is a place you must see with your heart, and not let your eyes blind you to its true beauty.

We were warned to pack lightly for Mina and told that we would not be allowed to board the bus if our guide deemed our luggage too big. This was good and as it should be. Upon arriving at the tent, we all quickly realize there is no room for luggage, but having packed light, we are not quite prepared for the hardship of the camp and our changing personal needs as our cycles shift with the close proximity to so many sisters, and as we pass illness from sister-to-sister in the close sleeping quarters. The conditions force us to rely on each other. Here, as we share our last Advil, our last cough drop, our last wipe, as we share our shampoo, hangers, clothes, and soap, we are tested daily and sometimes hourly. Here in Mina, we find the true meaning of sisterhood where you can live the Prophet’s saying, “None of you have faith until you love for your neighbor what you love for yourself.”

We pass our days, sleeping, eating, and praying, spending our energy on the basic chores of living, punctuated each day with a late afternoon trip to stone the jamarat. One morning a sister approaches and asks to read the Qur’an together. A circle of us passes the book around each taking a passage, from a young girl to her mother, and sister-to-sister. We find our hearts soft, our eyes overflowing and the angels pressing in – here in Mina – a camp where first we were anxious about staying and now find ourselves not wanting to leave.

Margaret A. Johnson, PhD, is a sociologist, writer, and business owner residing in Germantown, MD.

Eid Eve

Enter state of ihram and move to Arafat

Pray noon and afternoon prayers together

Stay in Arafat until sunset and move to Muzdalifah

Pray evening and night prayers together

Collect pebbles for jamarat, stoning of the pillars

1st day of Eid

Move to Mina after morning prayer

Throw seven pebbles to Aqaba pillar

Animals are sacrificed

Shave and now you can leave the state of ihram

Make your tawaf and sa’ee

2nd and 3rd Days

Following the noon prayer, go to Mina to the jamarat and throw seven pebbles to all the three pillars. This can be repeated voluntarily on the fourth day too.

Brief Overview of the Main Steps of the Hajj Journey1

Hajj starts on the 8th Day of the lunar month of Dhu al-Hijjah.

Before Hajj: Perform Umrah:

1. Ihram-Cleanse oneself, don the hajj garments, and make intention.

2. Umrah-Perform Tawaf: circumambulate around the Ka’ba seven times, perform two Ra’kah prayers of prostration behind the Station of Prophet Abraham, and make Sa’ee: go back and forth between the hills of Safa and Marwah seven times (legs not laps).

Day 1 – Mina: Get back into state of Ihram and arrive in Mina around noon time.

Day 2 – Arafat (Eid eve): Leave Mina after sunrise prayer for Arafat and stay there until Sunset. After sunset in Arafat leave immediately for Muzdalifah, spend the night there.

Day 3 (first day of Eid): After sunrise prayer, proceed to Mina. Go to the stoning pillars (3 rock columns, small, medium, and large) after the noon prayer and throw seven pebbles at the large pillar, slaughter your sacrifice, come out of Ihram by cutting or shaving the hair.

Day 3 or after: Go to Mecca and perform Tawaf. After Tawaf, make Sa’ee.

Day 3-Day 6: Return to Mina and spend the 11th and 12th nights of Dhu al-Hijjah in Mina. On days 4, 5, and 6, you will return to the stoning pillars after the noontime prayer, and throw seven pebbles at each of the three pillars.

You may leave Mina on the fifth day after the stoning ritual.

After day 5 and before you leave Mecca: Perform a farewell Tawaf, and two Ra’kah prayer. This should be the last thing you do in Mecca.

1 These steps are for “Hajj-Tamattu” which is the type of Hajj which combines Umrah with Hajj. It is the most frequently performed Hajj today, and it was recommended by the Prophet Muhammad, peace and blessings be upon him. This is just a brief overview; it does not include all the details.

As citizens of this macro-reality, we can often feel as if we are but pawns in the vast global chess game being played by multinational corporations, traditional superpowers, new and emerging nuclear powers, and the economic pushbuttons of development and consumer capitalism. Within such a world, some may find it difficult to believe that our individual choices can make a difference in our communities. So what if a few dozen or even a few hundred people in our city get together for an interfaith meal? So what if families from different cultures living together in a town get to know each other? What difference does it make in the end? Political powers and other forces call the larger shots and will send us all into war and conflict if they so desire. Human nature being what it is, we will succumb to our baser instincts in hard times no matter how many positive interfaith or intercultural experiences we’ve had with others.

Critics of interfaith dialogue often make this case. They point to examples from Bosnia, the Middle East, Kashmir, Punjab, Rwanda and elsewhere to illustrate that people who coexist peacefully for centuries can be manipulated into barbarically killing each other relatively quickly. Tyrants, insurgents and other power-seekers have learned that cultural, ethnic, and/or religious differences can form natural fault lines in a given communal fabric, which can be exploited by skillful media messaging and the opportunistic staging of current events into powerfully persuasive political theater. Once the mass media have been harnessed, if not outright hijacked, power seekers can move populations as if mountains – whipping up mass fear, anger, hysteria and eventually an appetite for genocide.

Interfaith dialogue seems no match for these gargantuan modern monstrosities. And, in many cases, it isn’t. The warmly felt bonds of interfaith harmony that thrive in times of relative peace and prosperity chill easily in times of strife and hardship, especially when political, economic or national security interests are at stake. In such times, usually all but a few individuals will succumb to fear, and then retreat to their respective religio-ethnic corners to prepare for a fight. The individuals who maintain their commitment to peaceful coexistence with their neighbors resist the fight, try to save their friends who have suddenly become “the enemy” because of their religion or ethnicity, and often lose their lives in the process. They may be heroes, to be sure, but they are dead. And they do not win in the end; the warmongers do – at least, most of the time.

But not all the time. Occasionally, we find exceptions to this all too common trajectory in human socio-political relations. Situations wherein populations held themselves together despite enormous pressures to fight and kill one another. Where community leaders resisted the gravitational pull of hatred that strips them of their voices and replaces them with those of fear mongers and peddlers of hatred. When we find these exceptions, we must review and analyze the exact conditions that made them possible in the first place, and determine if they can be replicated in other situations of strife and war.

I encountered such an exceptional situation this past spring while visiting Croatia. Fuzine is one of several quaint mountain villages in the district of Gorski Kotar in northern end of the Dalmatian coast of Croatia. I recently listened to the former governor of the district and a local radio producer tell their stories from the period of the war in 1991.

A Yugoslavian Army base camp was built near the district, on top of a hill. Normally, the existence of this base would have been the beginning of the end for peaceful relations between the Croat and Serbian villages of the district. Croats would view the base as a danger and a provocation, as well as a support camp to the Serbian villages. The Serbians, for their part, would have used the base as a “back-up” for their own violence against their Croat neighbors. Since violence begets violence, Croats or Serbs would make the first strike and the cycle would begin. Many would die, the villages would be destroyed, and the resulting “life” would resemble existence on the surface of the moon.

That’s not what happened.

In a stunning turn of events, the municipal leaders of all the villages – Serb and Croat – approached the base commanders and established a relationship with them. After several meetings, it became clear that none of them wanted either to shoot at each other or to be shot. So, they made a written agreement that constituted the “terms” of their coexistence during those months. For example, when the Yugoslav army was required to fire on the villages, per orders from up the chain of command, they warned the citizens ahead of time and instructed them on how to survive the barrage. They provided the citizens with maps of the mines they laid. The village leaders returned the favor and provided base commanders with a “heads up” when they were forced, by public opinion and the radical fringe, to fire on the army base. The local radio producer treated the army base as another “village” in the district and reported its news, events, and played music for the troops, etc. They called the families of wounded guards to apologize – and did so publicly on the radio – when radical elements in their midst broke the agreement and fired on the soldiers. Media reports stayed ahead of the rumor mills, reported the facts of things, and controlled the message to minimize the inflammatory impact of the angry rhetoric coming from other sources.

As a result of the extraordinary bravery and commitment from people on both sides, no one from the district was killed and no one was taken to a wartime prison camp.

Leaders on both sides suffered consequences. Two of the base commanders went to prison for 12 years. One of them disappeared into the mists of “the system” while the other was killed by civilians after being released. The radio producer in Gorski Kotar was banned from media and only recently has begun to work again. Other city leaders voluntarily disappeared into anonymity – this story was kept quiet at first – so as to avoid persecution and death for their actions.

Upon analysis, a few things stand out about this exceptional situation. First of all, there were conditions on the ground that the village leaders exploited to their advantage. The Gorski Kotar district was somewhat geographically remote from the heart of the fighting during the war. As such, neither the base nor the villagers had direct daily involvement in the heart of the war’s operations. Without interventions for peace that could have certainly changed, and the district could have become an additional center or “theater” of the war; however, the interventions took advantage of the district’s “off the beaten path” status. An additional opportunity came in the fact that one of the base commanders was nearing retirement, weary of his job and of fighting, and was inclined to strike a deal with the villagers as long as he could save face. Therefore, when village leaders approached him and his colleagues with a plan for peaceful coexistence, they were ready to negotiate a plan that would let both sides fly under the radar of the larger war and possibly come away from it largely unscathed.

Secondly, media leaders took their share of responsibility for the creation and maintenance of the arrangement with the base camp, as well as for keeping the peace between the villages during particularly tense weeks. Put simply, radio and print media controlled the message in favor of peace. When infractions to the agreement happened from time to time, from both sides, reporting of the story was done in the least inflammatory way possible. For example, when the base camp did an obligatory firing on the villages (after warning the villagers of the times and locations) and accidentally damaged the radio transmission tower, the base commander sent his own soldiers to repair it immediately so that broadcasts could resume as soon as possible. More importantly, this fact was reported to the community so as to minimize anger and outrage over the incident. In short, media operatives used their power for peace and not for war. They recognized the power of media to incite, enflame, and create the larger narrative in which people experience things in their communities. Through skillful messaging and the coordination of communication lines, they maintained and nurtured the agreement for peace through its many months, creating the very conditions for peaceful coexistence.

Finally, we can see that community leaders in the villages refused to relinquish immediately their roles as leaders to the larger forces of the army. They easily could have done otherwise. Once the base camp was established, they could have decided that war was now inevitable, that their little villages stood no chance to resist the war tide rolling towards them, and that each village needed to now begin fortifying themselves against the army and each other, and prepare to fight and die.

They didn’t do this. Instead, they banded together, created a plan, and took a huge risk in walking up the hill to the base camp and presenting it to the commanders. The creativity, courage and will power this required of them simply cannot be overstated. In the end, this human element is what makes the ultimate difference. Human beings are endowed with self-consciousness, agency and imagination, which allows us to not only visualize alternative scenarios in any given situation, but also to imagine and implement alternative courses of action within them – for ourselves and for others. These leaders together resisted the war tide, created an alternative possibility for their district, and bravely took radical steps to implement it. And it worked. Not flawlessly, but enough to keep their people, their homes and their way of life from going up in flames.

Can what happened in Gorski Kotar work everywhere? No and yes. No, in the sense that certain conditions in place on the ground in this district that contributed to the peace are not in place ubiquitously. Most army base commanders aren’t open to illegal agreements with “enemy” villagers. Not all regional or district leaders – in the media or otherwise – have working relations good enough to band together in wartime to create and implement such a thing as this. Many other factors prevent any one exception, such as what happened in Gorski Kotar, from providing a stable template for peace easily applicable to any other situation. These situations are exceptions, after all.

Nevertheless, what happened here can be instructive for other areas. The positive and necessary role of media in maintaining the peace agreement in Gorski Kotar is abundantly clear. Those who find themselves in similar situations of religious and ethnic conflict will do well to procure access to media, if possible, sooner rather than later in order to shape the messaging toward peace and restraint, away from hatred and violence. Today’s 21st century media technology resists totalitarian control in important ways, as recent events in Iran, China and even North Korea indicate. Those with skills can exploit media for peace as well as for war.

Finally, in the end, much turns on the simple power of human agency and choice, and the willingness of people to join together and exercise that agency in the direction of peace in the face of seemingly impossible circumstances. Of course, such principled action plans don’t always make a difference. In fact, such plans may often fail in times of war. But, they certainly have no chance of success at all if people give up on the fight from the beginning and refuse even to attempt to alter the course of things. On this point, people on the brink of war in all sorts of situations have at least a chance – perhaps not a big chance, but a chance nevertheless – to turn the tide in another direction, or at least to reduce the body count and carnage.

I am haunted by an image one of the community leaders in Gorski Kotar used in telling us their story when we met with them. The radio producer told us that media flies “as fast as a bird, as fast as the speed of light” even; however, it typically arrives after the dead bodies already lay on the ground. The producer and the other leaders in the community wanted to avoid bodies on the ground altogether. They wanted media to be faster than the dead.

It seems, in this case at least, they succeeded.

B. Jill Carroll is an Adjunct Associate Professor in the Department of Religious Studies at Rice University.