The Arabian gates

The sound of the early morning call to prayer echoed eerily across the silent landscape. At first it appeared that no one stirred, yet out of the corner of my eye  some shadowy movement caught my attention. I peered into the gloom of the dawn.

Looking closely I observed a group of travellers that  were of a different land to the normal pilgrims of the hajj. European in origin they were now in their fortieth week of waiting outside these Arabian gates. Forty long weeks since they boldly declared their arrival in the ancient place of pilgrimage that Jeddah sits beneath. Brandishing recommendations from as far afield as Cairo, Damascus, Jerusalem and yes even Rome they had eventually settled into a level of patient waiting that belied their western origins.

There is no doubt however that the nine long months had left its mark for some of their youthful confidence had been knocked out of them. Yet, in this fortieth week I had detected a spring to their step that had been absent before; a confidence befitting those who had learnt through many a time of testing the rhythm of the seasons and the workings of their story guide.

As the rest of the camp rose, turning to make their prayers towards the rising sun, so these from a different land gathered together into a small circle, passing round a small loaf of bread and sipping gently from the same cup. Together they entered into a ritual as precious to them as that of those who prostrated themselves towards the east.

It was at that point I noticed a black face amongst them; an ebony black that lit up when he smiled. A man of a gentle disposition he carried the look of a trader, and in his hands he held a pen.

Slowly the queue began to form as the ever hopefuls gathered in anticipation of papers that needed stamping and documents awaiting the signature that would mark the opening of the door before them. A doorway that spoke of new journeys and adventures, full of unutterable possibilities and new lands that beckoned invitingly.

Slowly the queue shuffled forward, a scene that had been re-enacted each day for many months gone.

Will this be the last week of waiting or has their reading of the signs been somewhat lacking? The days to come will tell.