Performing Umrah is an exfoliating, soul-cleansing shower, stripping you bare of pretences. Each black dot buried in the corners of your heart rises to meet you, stark and undeniable. It’s a raw, personal journey—physically taxing, mentally relentless, and soul shaking. As you circulate the Ka’ba, it’s just you and Allah. You brush off the aunty’s elbow to your face, endure being pushed by the brother, although he should know better not to touch you (try the outskirts to avoid this). If you can lock your focus—seeing no one and nothing but Al Khaliq before you—this is when Allah reveals the truth of who you are, past and present. Every corner of your soul is battle tested, and you are forged in its heat. This soul-stretching work—feeling desperate to attain Allah’s forgiveness and pleasure—is painful, yet tranquility follows, rushing towards you. Moreover, you are utterly humbled at how Allah azza wa Jal gave you, of all people, a personal invitation to go home again. That being said, you know you and your soul still have much work to do.
The truth is, I could wax lyrical for weeks about the impact my recent Umrah trip had on me but that’s not why I’m here today. I’d ike to share with you, if I may, a mini memoir of something particularly concerning which I observed during my trip which I feel compelled to discuss.
After completing the Sa’i—the seven lengths between As-Safa and Al-Marwah—my family and I found ourselves waiting for Salat al-Isha, which happened to coincide with our time there. We were right by Al-Marwah, all lined up and ready to pray. It was then that I noticed a sister to my right, her hair half-exposed, seated on her prayer mat, awaiting the adhan like the rest of us. But then, something struck me. She picked up her phone and began scrolling through her Instagram feed. A cascade of rapid-fire soundbites blared from the speaker of her phone as she mindlessly scrolled, absorbed in her phone as though it were a lifeline. I don’t know what led her to this moment—a habitual response to silence perhaps—but a deep sadness washed over me. She looked like she was in her mid 20s. It wasn’t clear if our sister had just completed her Umrah and perhaps discreetly cut a lock of hair behind a pillar or if she was still in the midst of her Sa’i. But there she was, in one of the holiest places on Earth, chasing a dopamine hit like a cocaine addict—and, all from the most meaningless content I hasten to add, oblivious to the sacredness around her.
And then came the real sting—her mother was sitting right next to her, silent, offering no correction. I couldn’t contemplate doing such a thing (Allah keep us on the sirat ul mustaqeem) But if that were me, I know my Punjabi mother would have snatched the chappal right off her foot there and then, and in the words of Khabib, “smeshed” me a few times— and one extra time for good measure! (I’m playing of course but there is something concerning about how and why this was accepted behaviour for the sister’s mother). Perhaps it’s the cultural garment placed on people in more recent times, “oh this is just what young people do nowadays, what can you do?”
Muslims reject the concept of sola fide, emphasising that both faith and actions are essential, which underscores the importance of what we do.
Incidentally, I observed another girl, seated in Masjid al-Haram a couple of days earlier, nonchalantly scrolling through her Instagram feed, engrossed with whatever the algorithm was seducing her with.
Okay, hold on. So, let’s assume for a second, that the sister at Al-Marwa had fallen from her deen and had been dragged along by her family to perform Umrah— even so, one would expect a measure of reverence for the sanctity of her faith.
I’m reminded of a moment back in London, sitting in a Morrisons car park, reciting the Qur’an while waiting for a family member. I had a specific goal for my Qur’an journey and didn’t want to waste time by heading inside. Suddenly, a car pulled up beside mine, blasting loud, obnoxious hip-hop music. As I glanced over, I noticed an Afghanistan flag hanging from the car’s rearview mirror; I quickly recognised these were brothers. I rolled down my window and, with the utmost politeness, asked, “Would you mind turning the music down, please? I’m trying to recite Qur’an.” Without hesitation, the brothers immediately turned off their music and began apologising profusely: “Sorry, sister, we’re really sorry.” At the time, I didn’t fully appreciate the beauty of their response, but looking back, it’s clear how deeply it reflected their respect for Islam despite being seemingly “non-practising.” It was a simple yet powerful moment of honour for the Kalam of Allah. And perhaps this simple act is something so pleasing to Allah that it will grant these brothers a first class ticket to Jannah.
As I grapple with understanding where the basic level of respect went from these two sisters performing Umrah, the following ahadith come to mind:
When the companions saw a man urinating in the mosque and moved to stop him forcefully, the Prophet (peace be upon him) said: “Leave him alone, and do not interrupt him.” Afterwards, the Prophet (s.a.w) instructed them to pour water over the area to clean it and gently taught the man about the sanctity of the mosque. This incident highlights Prophet Muhammad (s.a.w’s) exemplary patience and his ability to guide with kindness and understanding. (Sahih Muslim 285. Book 2, Hadith 127)
Similarly, a man who was frequently brought to the Prophet (peace be upon him) for drinking alcohol was once cursed by someone, who said:
“How often he is brought (to the Prophet) for this!”
The Prophet (peace be upon him) responded:
“Do not curse him, for by Allah, I know that he loves Allah and His Messenger.”
(Sahih Bukhari, Hadith 6780)
Now, I am no ʿĀlimah, and those far superior in knowledge than I am are undoubtedly better equipped to interpret how such actions should be responded to in today’s context. However, one thing I know for certain is that Shaytan had gotten a hold of both of these sisters of ours. Moreover, we are all engaged in an ongoing struggle against corruption. Countless people fall prey to the grip of the algorithm, relying on fleeting dopamine hits to live their lives- leading to insomnia, depression, a short attention span, mental health issues, reduced productivity and social disconnect as a plethora of studies suggest. But perhaps we should approach those who are lost with empathy, recognising that in their pursuit of instant gratification, they are in fact sick. After all, many may have missed some of the most meaningful and important opportunities Allah has offered them.
So many of us are merely going through the motions of life: “I finished my morning workout,” “I went to work,” “I made dinner”. However, with a little bit of love and elbow grease, I truly believe we will be able to lift our ummah back up. We are, are we not, taught to hate the sin and not the sinner. Moreover, this dance with the social media devil will no longer work.
The idea that entertainment could dominate society and distract people from critical thinking or meaningful engagement was of course penned by the works of Aldous Huxley. Brave New World’s fundamental message that people are controlled not through fear, but rather through pleasure and distraction is as pertinent today. Moreover, Shaytan’s subtle move to keep his believers distracted by entertainment inevitably has eroded their spiritually and distorted the focus of their purpose in life. Interestingly, in his 1958 essay collection Brave New World Revisited, Huxley argued that people might come to “love their oppression” and “adore the technologies that undo their capacities to think.”
In Neil Postman’s ‘Amusing Ourselves to Death,’ Postman expanded on Huxley’s ideas, arguing that entertainment, particularly through television, could degrade public discourse and reduce everything to trivial amusement. He famously compared Huxley’s Brave New World with George Orwell’s 1984, suggesting Huxley’s vision of entertainment as a tool of control was more relevant.
Similarly, in his 1953 dystopian novel Fahrenheit 451, Ray Bradbury depicts a future where books are banned and society is addicted to mindless entertainment via “parlor walls” (giant interactive TVs). He criticises how entertainment can erode critical thinking and intellectual curiosity.
Our brother Subboor Ahmad, CEO of iERA, is a respected writer, academic, and da’ee, widely recognised for his outreach work and debates on scientific skepticism and critiques of Darwinian evolution. Beyond these contributions, Brother Subboor has extensively studied the phenomenon of Zombie Scrolling and the modern challenges of compulsive and excessive screen usage. He has developed a comprehensive course to assist those struggling with such self-deprecating habits. If you’re struggling with excessive screen time, now is the time to address this problem and take back control of your focus, mental clarity and purpose in life in shaa Allah. You can sign up to his course here.
Whilst we are here, it seems abundantly clear how the religious police in Makkah and Madinah are incredibly lax about sisters wearing makeup nowadays— I saw some serious cake on sisters in Makkah. If you are a sister who finds it difficult to leave your hotel room barefaced in order to perform Umrah due to insecurities, my sincere advice to you would be to wear a niqab for the duration of your Umrah. On the other hand, if you are leaving your hotel room with Huda’s Easy Bake on, Velvet Teddy on your lips, highlighter glowing and blusher perfectly sculpted— all for that flawless selfie outside the ka’ba— I don’t know what to say to you sis. Deep down you know what’s right. And to those brothers adorned in ihram, pretending to perform Umrah in order to fabricate stories about how you lost your wallet in order to scam people out of their money— fear Allah!
