From Home to Home

The car ride ended soon enough. Madinah airport looked beautiful and clean — not huge, but more than adequate. The driver dropped them at the departure entrance. They pulled out all their bags carefully, confirming nothing had been left behind. A single car, more than six people, ten pieces of luggage. Quite a feat.

Inside, they needed to collect the Zamzam water they would be taking home. They found the designated area — multiple windows, one for payment and others for collecting the containers. Once they'd paid and received their Zamzam, Shehnaz carefully wrote each member's name on the boxes with a ballpoint pen to ensure nothing got mixed up.

Next came check-in. They walked to the Turkish Airlines counters and found, to their pleasant surprise, no queues at all. They approached one of the counters where a gentleman stood looking visibly tired and disinterested. He checked them in with minimal effort and handed over their boarding passes without much conversation. Security came next — they passed through like a breeze and made their way to Gate 110. It was Fajr time, so they prayed before departing. After their prayers, they caught up with Saji and her children. Boarding began slowly, then moved quicker.

This aircraft had a four-seat arrangement per row. Shehnaz, Nazia, and Soni sat down together, quietly hoping the fourth seat would be taken by a female passenger. Soon, however, a gentleman walked in and took the seat next to Soni. After a brief discussion, they decided to ask Saif — seated nearby ahead of them — if he would switch. The man only spoke Arabic, and a kind fellow passenger volunteered to translate. The man readily agreed, and Saif moved over. Later, Saji would switch with Saif, and it became an all-girls row once again. The Umrah team was sitting together — again. It felt right.

The flight was approximately three hours, departing from Madinah. The food served on board was not very enjoyable and all of them felt dissatisfied. But it was short, so they managed. They landed safely in Istanbul.

Once on the ground, they gathered their belongings and prepared to disembark. Soni had been battling sciatica pain throughout the trip — a sharp, radiating discomfort that could make even the simplest movements unbearable. And yet, remarkably, during their Umrah — during the tawaf around the Kaaba, the sa'i between Safa and Marwah — the pain had simply not come. It was as if Allah had granted her body a reprieve, allowing her to complete her rituals without distraction or difficulty. She had whispered prayers of gratitude for that blessing, knowing it was no coincidence. But now, preparing to leave, the pain had returned with intensity.

As they moved slowly through the crowds toward where Saji was waiting, Soni spotted a buggy weaving through the pedestrians. It seemed like a practical solution appearing at exactly the right moment.

They had seen these buggies throughout their time in the airport, assuming they were a complimentary service for pilgrims — especially the elderly, disabled, or unwell. The unexpected charge felt wrong somehow, out of place in a land where so much was given freely in service to those seeking Allah's pleasure. After a brief, silent consultation — the kind that happens through exchanged glances among people who know each other well — they decided against it. They thanked the driver and continued walking. By the time they reached Saji, Soni was moving more freely, the sharp edge of pain dulled to a manageable ache.

Shehnaz was fighting her own battle. She let out a small groan and reached for her shoulder — a deep, throbbing ache radiating from the joint down her arm and up into her neck. She had been battling frozen shoulder for quite a while. Over time, it had progressed into something far more limiting. Simple tasks — reaching for something on a high shelf, fastening a clasp, even putting on a jacket — had become small battles requiring strategy and patience.

Perhaps it came from all those long drives to Albany, hours gripping the steering wheel, shoulders tensed, her body held in the same position mile after mile. Or perhaps, as her doctor had gently suggested, it was a sign of perimenopause — women in that transition were particularly susceptible to frozen shoulder, something about the hormonal changes affecting connective tissue. It was one of those conditions that seemed to choose women in their late forties and fifties with particular preference, an unwelcome companion to the other transitions her body was already navigating.

During Umrah itself, she had been so absorbed in prayer and presence that she'd barely noticed it. But now, after hours in a cramped seat, unable to properly stretch or adjust, the shoulder had stiffened considerably. The others gathered around with concern.

Shehnaz nodded gratefully and took the pill Saji held out — swallowing it without water, as she always did. The others looked at her in mild disbelief. Shehnaz was used to it. One of the many things that was simply and distinctly her. She adjusted the strap of her carry-on to the other shoulder and kept moving forward — because that's what you did. You carried what you had to carry, whether it was luggage or pain or both, and you kept walking toward home.

They decided to eat. After wandering the airport, they settled at Shake Shack, sat down, and chatted warmly as they waited for their food. Saji shared some deeply personal experiences — emotional stories that moved everyone at the table. They all made heartfelt duas for her. The conversation turned to depression, a topic Shehnaz felt deeply connected to. She had long wanted to do something meaningful in that field, to help people struggling with mental health — but it never seemed straightforward. Saji shared experiences Shehnaz could completely relate to: moments of struggle, loneliness, and the slow search for peace. After the heavier conversations, lighter ones followed — fun memories, incidents that had brought laughter, the small joys that accumulate into a life.

Eventually, Saji headed to the lounge with her children, while Shehnaz, Nazia, and Soni made their way to the airport masjid to rest. They lay down, desperately needing sleep. The lady who tended to the prayer area came in a couple of times to wake them, pointing firmly to a poster on the wall.

They really needed rest. So, despite the reminders, they lay back down for a little longer. Eventually the lady left them to it, and they managed to catch a little more sleep. When they woke, they discovered the flight had been delayed by several more hours. Another woman at the masjid was in the same situation — she introduced herself as Sumaiyya from Pakistan, heading to Washington. They prayed together quickly, then picked up their bags and went in search of coffee.

At the coffee counter, Nazia stepped up to order. The man behind it asked if they wanted "milch" in their coffee. Nazia, mishearing it as "mint," responded firmly: "No mint." A hijabi girl standing nearby couldn't help but laugh. It became clear that "milk" sounded like "milch" in Turkish. They ordered coffee and an oatmeal yogurt, shared it between them, and finished it together. Then it was time to head to Gate D14.

This time the seating arrangement was perfect — three seats in a row, just for them. They settled in comfortably and soon felt drowsy. The plane sat on the runway for what felt like an unusually long time. They took a power nap and, waking, found it still stationary. Finally it took off. The flight was full, as usual.

Being utterly exhausted, all of them fell asleep shortly after takeoff. They were eventually woken by a flight attendant offering food. This time the food was actually quite good. They ate gratefully and went straight back to sleep.

At some point during the flight, Shehnaz decided to watch Piku on the in-flight entertainment. She had seen it before, but something about Amitabh Bachchan drew her back — his mannerisms, his expressions, the warmth in his voice. He reminded her so much of her father.

Shehnaz's phone had completely run out of charge, and the aircraft had no USB-C ports. After some hesitation, Soni and Nazia asked an elderly gentleman nearby if he had a cable to spare. He handed it over without any fuss, though it didn't fit the available port. He then pointed to a spot under the seat — Shehnaz tried her own cable there, and to her relief, the phone slowly came back to life.

When they were awake, Shehnaz and Nazia spoke at length — about themselves, their families, their journeys in life, and how surreally quickly this entire trip had passed. As they neared New York, the city lights began to glimmer into view below. Then, unexpectedly, the pilot announced he would have to retry the landing. The plane ascended again, circled, and came in for a second approach. This time, the landing was smooth and perfect.

Off the plane, they made their way to immigration — no major wait, the officer let them through easily. Baggage claim indicated their luggage would arrive at Belt 2, but when they got there, nothing was appearing. They waited, slightly anxious, before the bags finally came through. The Zamzam boxes followed — the first ones to come had names marked clearly in pen: Arshad, Idris, Shams. Shehnaz, Nazia, and Sonia were still missing. Then those boxes appeared too.

With all luggage and Zamzam collected, they walked toward arrivals where their families were waiting. Sarin, Mehboob, and Naufal had all come, along with Nazia's younger children. Everyone was ecstatic. Warm salaams were exchanged all round.

Naufal had thoughtfully brought a thermos of hot tea, which he distributed to everyone, and rolls a little later. The simple gesture felt enormously comforting after such a long journey. They took the train to the parking area and dispersed to their vehicles — Shehnaz, Soni, and their husbands together in one car since they lived nearby; Mehboob and Nazia in another.

All of them were utterly exhausted, but they also missed Makkah and Madinah terribly. They felt the weariness in their bones, but they also deeply missed what they had been doing — the prayers, the spiritual peace, the closeness to Allah, the blessed atmosphere of those sacred cities.

As they moved through the traffic toward their homes, a mixture of emotions washed over them. Bliss and sadness at once. They were back where they belonged, surrounded by their families and the familiar comforts of home. But they also longed to be where they had just spent all this precious time — in the holy cities, where their hearts had found a peace they had never quite experienced before.

As Shehnaz looked out the window into the quiet night, she whispered a prayer: "Ya Allah, please accept our Umrah. Bring us back to Your sacred lands again. Ameen."

And with that prayer in their hearts, they journeyed home — changed, renewed, and forever grateful.