My Dream Pilgrimage to Mecca by Toyin Falola

[Oluwatoyin Adepoju]

"Holy Place Kaaba, people circumambulating during the day, photographed with long exposure technique, Mecca, Saudi Arabia — Stock Editorial Photography"

     Image and text from depositphotos

https://depositphotos.com/editorial/holy-place-kaaba-people-circumambulating-day-photographed-long-exposure-technique-611967678.html

From Toyin Falola's Malaika and the Seven Heavens: A Memoir of My Encounters Islam ( 2025, 217-219). Title by myself. 

"I am many things; my name depicts that—Oloruntoyin Ifalola. While some  of my dreams are consistent with realities, my encounter with Islam transcends  the confines of waking life; it comes in dreams, too.

 Since I have told different tales of my encounters in reality, let me also set sail and share other stories from the other world, the dreamland. Perhaps the Yoruba saying that “dreams are foolish” isn’t entirely true, or maybe it’s a means of discarding the essence of dreams, especially to those who cannot find meaning in them.

In one such dream, I found myself amid devout souls who had gathered for devotion and prayers, a scene that depicted the holy land. I am over seventy years of age, and I have, at different times, sponsored Muslim friends and families on pilgrimage, but I have never gone on one. 

In my dream, the words being uttered sounded strange in my ears, and at the same time, I thought I had heard them before. They sounded like words used during a pilgrimage, but I couldn’t interpret the meanings.

'Labbayka -llāhumma labbayka,

Labbayka lā šarīka laka labbayka,

ʾinna -l-ḥamda wa-n-niʿmata laka wa-l-mulka lā šarīka lak

Here I am [at your service] O God, here I am.

Here I am [at your service].

You have no partners (other gods).

To You alone is all praise and all excellence,

And to You is all sovereignty.

There is no partner to You.'

Having a deep understanding of hajj, I can comprehend my dreams and narrate what they look like in detail when I am awake. It’s a gift, as not every one can narrate their dreams or find meaning to them.

I might not have visited  Saudi Arabia for hajj, but I know the intricate details: the actions, sayings, and  deeds—all of which I’d read about in books.

As pilgrims circumambulated in my dream, I joined the chanting, dressed in a white robe and with my white hair shaved. 

The chant continued:

'Labbayka -llāhumma labbayka,

Labbayka lā šarīka laka labbayka,

ʾInna -l-ḥamda wa-n-niʿmata laka wa-l-mulka lā šarīka lak.'

As we stopped at the seventh round, I realized it was such an engaging 

exercise and not for the weak. It took strength and piety. 

At this moment,  among individuals of diverse color, race, and title, the essence of what Prophet  Muhammad’s (PBUH) sermon was all about dawned on me. Islam doesn’t  segregate.

Moving to another setting, we were engaged in a vigil, a practice that some 

have claimed to be new to Muslims in Africa and other parts of the world. I partially agree and partially disagree with this claim, as every religion has its mode 

of worship detailed in the holy book of such religion. 

However, for most African traditional religions, there are no written holy books to guide worshippers.

I know some dua (prayers) are time-fixed, and this might have caused the  perception that night prayers are exclusive to one religion. 

Vigil prayers seem  to be peculiar to the Christian faithful, and some view such activities as an  innovation to Islamic practices, but the stories and the prayers we attended at  midnight for the last ten days of Ramadan as young children at Ode Aje seem  to negate these claims. 

The modes of worship and activities may have evolved;  however, I can’t flatly conclude that Muslim vigil prayers are a recent adaptation from their Christian neighbor.

As I stood among the believers, the air heavy with the mingling fragrances  of incense and the whispers of prayers, a profound sense of serenity washed 

over me. 

With each whispered invocation, I felt a connection to something  greater than myself, a divine presence that transcended earthly bounds, listening to the melodious language of Arabic and reciting verses from the Quran  with a reverence that resonated deep within the depth of my soul. 

With each  prostration, I felt the weight of the world lifting from my shoulders as I poured  out my hopes, fears, and aspirations before the Almighty. In the rhythm of the  prayer, I found solace and strength.

The dream stretched on, and I lost track of time, consumed by the intensity of the moment. 

Each rakka of prayer felt like a journey in itself, a testament to  the resilience of the human spirit and the power of collective devotion. 

In the  quiet space of that dream vigil, I found myself praying fervently for Nigeria, 

my beloved homeland. With each whispered plea, I prayed to the Almighty to  bestow his blessings upon the nation, to guide us through the darkness, and to lead us toward a future of peace, prosperity, and unity.

Just as the first light of dawn began to break, I woke up from the depths of 

my dream, my heart brimming with a sense of profound peace and purpose. 

Though the vigil existed only in my dreams, its impact lingered within me,  serving as a reminder of the transformative power of faith and prayer.?((