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Some Memories of Hajj AbdalAziz Salahuddin Redpath

Sayyedina Shaykh Dr Abdalqadir as-Sufi ad-Darqawi al-Murabit once said of Shaykh Muhammad ibn al-Habib, may Allah be pleased with him, “For every story you know about Shaykh Muhammad ibn al-Habib, there are another ten stories that you don’t know.” This is also true of sayyedina Shaykh. It is also true of Hajj AbdalAziz Salahuddin Redpath, alayhi rahma. These are some of my memories of him, but there is far more to Hajj AbdalAziz than has met my eye. Sayyedina Shaykh once said, “There are some things you must say – and there are some things you must not say, because they concern your secret.” It is not possible to speak of Hajj AbdalAziz without speaking about sayyedina Shaykh, because it is the Shaykh who gathers the fuqara together. The fuqara are the manifestation of what is in the Shaykh’s heart. This is one of the meanings of why it is said that when you meet the faqir, you meet the Shaykh. Sayyedina Shaykh has written, in ‘Self-Knowledge’, that when you see that the fuqara are perfect, you have reached your Shaykh. Whenever I met Hajj AbdalAziz, I always met my Shaykh. Colonel Rahim, alayhi rahma, once said, “Hajj Isa is like a naked light that guides. Hajj AbdalAziz is like a perfume that invites.” The first time I met Hajj AbdalAziz was at my first laylat’al-fuqara, in the zawiyya in Bristol Gardens. I had a bit of a cold at the time. I had arrived in good time and we were having some tea and talking before the dhikr was due to begin. “I hope I don’t give you my cold,” I said. “It’s not yours to give,” said Hajj AbdalAziz with a friendly smile. A few months later, when I asked if I could join the community, it was Hajj AbdalAziz who said, “If you want to join us, you will have to embrace Islam.” – “I have already made the intention to embrace Islam,” I replied. “Welcome,” said Hajj AbdalAziz. “There is a room for you in the zawiyya.” My room was above A’isha’s room – from which there was always the sound of typing! I have been told that the first time Hajj AbdalHaqq proposed marriage to A’isha, she replied that she was already married to her typewriter! Fortunately for all concerned Hajj AbdalHaqq persevered. Since sayyedina Shaykh was in America at the time, the fuqara arranged for me to say the shahada with the Raja of Mahmudebad, alayhi rahma. The Raja gave me my name. “No-one can bring you to Islam,” he said to me, “and no-one can take you away from Islam.” When sayyedina Shaykh returned from America, it was I who opened the zawiyya door at his knock. “Ah, Ahmad,” sayyedina Shaykh said, “don’t expect anything from anyone.” What good advice this has proved to be. Soon after I had embraced Islam, I met Hajj AbdalAziz in a clear dream by a swift flowing mountain river. He was with Hakim AbdalKhabir. We stepped into an Indian canoe which we had to paddle upstream against the current. As we started paddling, Hajj AbdalAziz started to sing the blues, beginning with the words, “It’s hard …” I realised that although I had joined an extraordinary company, it was not all going to be plain sailing.

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The community grew swiftly and the days when I had a room of my own were short-lived. Soon there were several fuqara in every room – living proof of the saying that you can fill a room with twenty fuqara, but not with two shaykhs! Hajj AbdalAziz and Hajja Rabia and young Abdullah lived in a top flat a few houses up from the zawiyya and many was the time that Hajj AbdalAziz would invite fuqara to share what food there was. We would sit next to the large wood-burning stove which Hajj AbdalAziz had installed with great effort. I remember being in awe of Hajj AbdalAziz because of the life that he had led. As if he were reading my thoughts, Hajj AbdalAziz smiled at me and said, “Ahmad, it’s not about how experienced you are – it’s about how pure your heart is.” Once, Hajj AbdalAziz appeared in the zawiyya with a large hole burnt in his bright blue robe. “I got too close to the Fire,” he laughed. We all remember the time when Abdallah was badly scalded by boiling water. Hajj AbdalAziz and Hajja Rabia nursed him. I still remember the relief in Hajj AbdalAziz’s voice when he brought the news that Abdallah was on the mend: “Abdallah just said that he wanted some ZamZam to drink – he’s going to be OK, al-hamdulillah.” In the days when we had very little money, Hajj AbdalAziz always seemed to have something to sweeten our lives stashed away in his VW. On several occasions he quietly left the minza, soon to return with a large round tin of honey halwa, or a block of sugar. This is why we sometimes called him ‘Sugar Redpath’ – a title which I have been told used to be up in lights over the freeway in LA. One evening I was alone in the minza. Hajj AbdalAziz suddenly appeared in the doorway. “We’re going to see the film ‘Blue’ (the 1968 film starring Terence Stamp) at the Electric Cinema. Do you want to come?” Although I did, I found my self saying, “No, I think I’ll stay in this evening.” – “OK,” said Hajj AbdalAziz who promptly disappeared without trying to change my mind. The next time, the situation arose, I had learnt my lesson – I said, “Yes!” (to ‘The Saragossa Manuscript’). I still haven’t had another chance to see ‘Blue’. It was around these times that AbdalMumin would tell us amazing stories about Hajj AbdalAziz – about how once he was in America and received a telegram from sayyedina Shaykh to come to London immediately. Hajj AbdalAziz only had enough money to go to the airport, so he went to the airport and bought a coffee. As Hajj AbdalAziz sipped on his coffee, he noticed an air ticket lying on the floor. He picked it up. It was a valid ticket. He used it to fly to London on the next available flight. On another occasion, so AbdalMumin told us, Hajj AbdalAziz was at the airport in America. It was one of those impossible situations. Hakim AbdalKhabir’s wife Zahra was about to fly to London. Hakim AbdalKhabir wanted to go with her but did not have any money. Zahra’s Jewish mother was also there. She did not want Zahra to go to London and she did not want her to be a Muslim and she did not want her to be married to the Hakim. She wanted her baby back. Hajj AbdalAziz took the Hakim on one side. “Look,” Hajj AbdalAziz said, “When the final call for the flight is made, I’m going to call the adhan – and while I’m calling the adhan you just grab hold of Zahra and board the plane.” – And that’s what happened, some forty years ago!

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I have been told that as Hajj AbdalAziz’s adhan filled the air, it was as if everything became suspended – except that by the time it was finished, Hakim Abdalkhabir and Zahra were out of the airport and on the ‘plane. There were times when Hajj AbdalAziz could be bitter. When I first joined the fuqara, I was one of the few people who had a steady job, at Luzac’s, the oriental bookshop opposite the British Museum, whose bronze sign showed a ship sailing in stormy seas between two reefs, with the words ‘Nec Sinistra, Nex Dextra’ – ‘Neither to the Left, Nor to the Right’ beneath. After one pay day, I remember giving a five pound note (a lot of money in 1973) to the person in charge of the zawiyya food shopping. Collecting money from people who had no money was one of the most difficult (on the nafs) tasks ever. He was so thankful that I could not help smiling – and at that very moment Hajj AbdalAziz appeared from nowhere, plucked the note from his hand and gave it back to me. “We don’t need your money,” he said. I understood that Hajj AbdalAziz was saving me from being pleased with my self. Nevertheless, I returned the fiver back to the food kitty when Hajj AbdalAziz was no longer present. On another occasion when we were having breakfast together in the zawiyya, I put a piece of freshly buttered toast on Hajj AbdalAziz’s plate. He immediately picked it up and was about to return it to mine when he sensed the predicament this would put me in – so he put it on another faqir’s plate who then put it on mine. Hajj AbdalAziz was always teaching, even in simple everyday situations. So much learning takes place at the meal table. On another occasion, the fuqara were preparing to travel to the moussem, mostly by car or van. I took it upon myself to cook enough loaves of bread for everyone to take with them as provision for the journey. At one point in mid bake, Hajj AbdalAziz walked into the kitchen and weighed one of the loaves in his hand. “Ahmad,” he said, “the only thing these loaves are good for is throwing at people and hitting them on the head!” Undeterred, I completed what I had started and was glad to see that during the journey the bread was used to appease hunger rather than as a missile. “Wow,” said Maimuna from America on the ferry to Dover, “I didn’t know you were such a cool dude, Ahmad.” Praise indeed, but yet again Hajj AbdalAziz had gently reminded me of the importance of not feeling pleased with my self. Several moussems later we were driving back from Granada in convoy, with Musa Isa, Muhammad Qasim and myself in one car (generously lent to us by Khadija al-Murcia) and Hajj AbdalAziz and Hajja Rabia in their car. We had no money, so Hajj AbdalAziz was paying for our accommodation and food as we travelled up through Spain and into France. The two cars became separated near Poitiers on the second evening (probably much to Hajj AbdalAziz’s and Hajja Rabia’s relief!) and so we carried on to Calais as there was nothing else to do. At one point, around dawn, our car’s engine cut out – but even as it rolled quietly to a halt at the side of a road, a car appeared from nowhere, two Frenchmen hopped out, opened our bonnet, had a look, asked for a piece of string, tied something up with it, started our engine, said goodbye and disappeared back into nowhere. After reaching Calais, I managed to borrow enough money to buy Muhammad Qasim a ticket on the ferry as he had an exam to sit the next day.

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“Tengo sueno,” – “I need a dream,” said Musa Isa who had been driving all night and all morning. We both fell asleep and both awoke at the same time. “I dreamt that Hajj AbdalAziz and Hajja Rabia were just arriving,” said Musa Isa – “And here they are,” I said as they drove into sight. Hajj AbdalAziz paid for our crossing, courtesy of Barclaycard, and of course being Hajj AbdalAziz, he never asked to be repaid. Many moussems later, we were all crowded into Shaykh AbdalKabir’s zawiyya. The time for asr came and there was hardly room to prostrate. When I went into sajda, my forehead landed on Hajj AbdalAziz’s feet. I was amazed at how clean and fresh his socks were. It was as if they were new – and yet Hajj AbdalAziz had been serving the fuqara all day. Returning to the Bristol Gardens era, in the ripeness of time, Hajj AbdalAziz painted the exterior of Luzacs oriental bookshop in Darqawi Green, with the lettering of the name of the shop in red and gold. He also re-wired the internal electric cables, often perfectly balanced on the smallest of chairs. “I hope you know what you’re doing,” said one of the motherly secretaries. “Of course I do,” said Hajj AbdalAziz, without taking his eye off what he was doing. Around that time we were having a coffee together in a nearby coffee shop. It was packed with people, all talking away. “Look at these people,” Hajj AbdalAziz said. “They’re not really talking to each other at all.” – “What are they doing?” I asked. “They’re devouring each other!” replied Hajj AbdalAziz. The days in Bristol Gardens were extraordinary days. This was the “Journey to the East” that I had wanted after reading the book by Herman Hesse – one of the last books that I had read, along with sayyedina Shaykh’s book, ‘The Book of Strangers’, before embracing Islam. Whether we realised it or not, sayyedina Shaykh was travelling swiftly on the path, moving from being the muqaddem of Shaykh Muhammad ibn al-Habib towards being a realised gnostic Shaykh. During this process, I witnessed how the relationship between sayyedina Shaykh and Hajj AbdalAziz changed. Before Islam, they had been friends and fellow intrepid travellers. After Islam, they had become murids of Shaykh Muhammad ibn al-Habib, fellow travellers on the path. Now Hajj AbdalAziz was becoming the murid of sayyedina Shaykh. The contract between them had changed. Now it was sayyedina Shaykh’s job to break Hajj AbdalAziz’s nafs – and break it he did. I remember the time when sayyedina Shaykh kept Hajj AbdalAziz in the zawiyya for a week. Hajj AbdalAziz would sometimes look longingly out of the window, but he never complained. “You are all very lucky,” sayyedina Shaykh once said to us. “In the past, the Shuyukh used to make their fuqara do really difficult tasks to break their nafs, but nowadays all you have to endure is my tongue!” My first two ‘Ids as a Muslim were prayed at Alexandra Palace. In those days, before the London Central Mosque had been built, there was only one ‘Id prayer for all of the Muslims in London and this is where it was prayed. On the second ‘Id, ‘Id al-Adha, several of us were going with Hajj AbdalAziz in his VW, including the three men from Spain who had embraced Islam on the very same day that Franco died: Muhammad del Pozo, AbdalAlim and Ahmad ibn Ata’illah. We were a little late in getting ready to leave. I noticed that one of the tyres was flat. “It

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looks like we won’t be able to make it in time,” I said. Hajj AbdalAziz did not say a word. He pulled out the jack, jacked up the van, changed the wheel and in ten minutes we were on our way, arriving in time to do the prayer. On another memorable day, Hajj AbdalAziz and I went to fill water containers from the rusty spring on Hampstead Heath. It was one of those what used to be a typically dank and drizzly English day and by the time we had walked to the spring, a few hundred yards from Kenwood House, and waited for the containers to fill, we were soaking wet. Hajj AbdalAziz looked around him in wonder, at one with our surroundings: “Listen to the trees,” he said. “They are saying, ‘What on earth are you doing here!’” Hajj AbdalAziz was never lost for words and he had great insight into most things. Sayyedina Shaykh said that he shouldn’t say anything until he had first done 20,000 ‘la ilaha il’Allah’, each day. I don’t know if Hajj AbdalAziz managed that much, but he was always doing dhikr and often repeating the shahada. I remember once we were driving down Park Lane together and a Bentley passed by with a very bourgeoise family entombed within its depths, a cameo in motion. Hajj AbdalAziz looked at me and smiled. “It’s very deep,” he said. “Don’t fall in.” On another occasion, we were standing together, just as a very smartly dressed woman with a smoking cigarette in an elegant cigarette holder, strode past. She was fuming. Hajj AbdalAziz looked at me and smiled. “It’s a very angry age,” he observed. During the time when we used to call the adhan in Hyde Park on Sundays and pray dhur there, we would sit in small circles afterwards so that anyone who was interested could ask whatever they wanted. During one such conversation, Hajj AbdalAziz was talking about angels, when he was rudely interrupted by an elderly woman with a broad Yorkshire accent: “Just a minute,” she said, “here we are in the twentieth century and here you are going on about angels!” – “Well,” said Hajj AbdalAziz, “If you want to believe in Mr Callaghan and Mrs Thatcher, you go right ahead.” On another Sunday, a very attractive well-dressed woman had joined our circle. Without it being apparent that he was talking about her, Hajj AbdalAziz summed up her situation. “It’s a very lonely society, we live in nowadays,” he said. “People have no-one at home, or no-one they care for at home, so they only dress up for when they go out and mix with strangers, because there’s no-one to dress up for at home.” Tales of Hajj AbdalAziz’s interactions with irate taxi drivers and determined parking fine collectors in those days are almost legendary. One of the latter would knock on his door, determined not to leave empty-handed. Hajj AbdalAziz would invite him in for a cup of tea, talk about life, maybe bring his mother into the conversation and what happened in his early childhood – and eventually the fines collector would leave empty handed, resolved to leave this poor man alone. I have heard that when Latifa died of natural causes in Hajj AbdalAziz’s arms, he and Hajja Rabi’a buried her in the garden, because they did not want their baby daughter to be subjected to a post mortem. I have been told that Hajj AbdalAziz

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reported Latifa’s death and informed the authorities of what he had done. I have been told that when a local police officer was sent to arrest Hajj AbdalAziz, he removed his uniform before knocking on the front door and telling Hajj AbdalAziz that he understood exactly why he had done what he had done and that he simply could not arrest him. Hajj AbdalAziz had this gift of being able to touch people’s hearts deeply and to make contact with the human being within – in spite of their social conditioning and whatever the rule book said. It was during the Bristol Gardens era that we all did kendo and archery together. Although I thought I was quick, it was impossible to outsmart Hajj AbdalAziz with the shenai. I remember exhausting myself just trying to land one blow on Hajj AbdalAziz’s armour. After effortlessly parrying my every stroke, Hajj AbdalAziz chose his moment perfectly and gently bopped me on my helmet with his shenai, smiling broadly. When the time came to leave Bristol Gardens, it happened swiftly. Within seventy-two hours of the decision being made, everyone had packed and we were on our way to Hajj AbdalAziz’s cottage near Diss. As we disembarked from the vans drinking in the summer setting, Hajj AbdalAziz said, “What do you think you’re doing? Don’t just stand there – start weeding!” No rest for the good. Ramadan soon came and what a Ramadan it was, the men in one half of the cottage, the ladies in the other half, not a patch of carpet to be seen when we were all bedded down for the night, even with some camped outside, a discourse from sayyedina Shaykh between asr and maghrib every day, Hajj Isa teaching the meanings of the wird, laylat’al-qadr so clearly laylat’al-qadr when it came – and always in the background Hajj AbdalAziz serving the fuqara, buying the food, taking care of things. I once asked Hajj AbdalAziz why his marriage to Hajja Rabia was so successful. “I always put the fuqara first,” was his reply. During that Ramadan, Wood Dalling Hall was discovered and thanks to Hajj AbdalAziz’s generosity it was purchased and renamed Darqawi. During the last ten days we prepared one of the adjacent barns for the ‘Id prayer. Shortly before the day of the ‘Id, I was standing with Hajj AbdalLatif and Hajj AbdalAziz when a man from the planning department arrived to ascertain what was happening to a listed building. We explained that we were converting the barn into a mosque. “Well,” he said, “You’ll have to apply for planning permission first of all, or else we’ll have to lock it up.” – “In that case,” said Hajj AbdalAziz, “you’ll have to lock up the whole earth, because Allah says in the Qur’an that the whole earth is a mosque.” A somewhat confused official left soon afterwards and was never seen again. “By the baraka of this time,” said sayyedina Shaykh to those who were present one evening, “you will forget whatever it is that is troubling your heart.” Sayyedina Shaykh was right. During the Darqawi days, Hajj AbdalAziz was appointed by sayyedina Shaykh as a muqaddem. It was sometimes difficult being there, especially when it was mid-winter. On one cold, wet day, sayyedina Shaykh asked a group of the fuqara to begin digging the foundations for the new gateway that was to be built at the front of Darqawi. We walked out in the pouring rain and began to dig the cold hard

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earth with our pickaxes, soon shivering and drenched to the bone. After what seemed about an hour, Hajj AbdalAziz burst out laughing. “If only your mothers could see you now!” he chuckled. Hajj AbdalAziz was always full of good counsel. He knew that these days would be too much for some of the fuqara, especially for those who had never lived in the countryside before. “Just keep together,” he would say, “and life will be easier further on. This is not an endurance test.” On one occasion when life seemed a bit much to me, I was sitting cross-legged in silence in the small minza with a bowed back. Hajj AbdalAziz proceeded to climb gently on to my shoulders, adding his weight to my burden, but I just sat there. “Leave the poor man alone,” someone said. “It’s alright,” I said, “he’s only doing his job,” and we all laughed – and my blues were gone. This was one of the very few times when I saw Hajj AbdalAziz looking surprised. I remember the night at Darqawi when sayyedina Shaykh addressed those who were present. “I want you to know,” said sayyedina Shaykh, “that you have reached the maqam of iman – how few are the people who arrive at it.” How fewer still are the people who arrive at the maqam of ihsan. I always remember my arrival back at Darqawi after my first overland Hajj. It was Christmas Eve, which had prompted the driver of a Securicor van to give me a lift to within walking distance of Darqawi, even though this was strictly against Securicor rules. When I finally reached Darqawi, it was past midnight, and the building was in darkness, outlined against a bright star-filled sky. Being a faqir, I recited the shahada in a loud voice as is our custom as I walked up the drive. Miraculously the front door opened almost instantaneously – and there was Hajj AbdalAziz. “Shut up Ahmad,” said Hajj AbdalAziz, “you’ll wake everyone up.” Hajj AbdalAziz found me a place to sleep, brought me some blankets – and before I had time to fall asleep, appeared with a large plate of warm liver and potatoes. It was one of my top ten meals ever, as I had been hitchhiking through France and England for the last week, with little food or warmth. When the adhan for fajr was called, I could hardly walk. Hajj Isa came up to me after the prayer and after greeting me, bluntly placed the blame for my condition where it belonged. “A faqir knows how to look after his legs,” he said. I smiled and remembered the words of Colonel Rahim. I remember when we first arrived at Darqawi, sayyedina Shaykh said, “Allah will destroy it. This is the sunnah of Allah with zawiyyas, so that they do not become worshipped.” His words were true. After completing his suluk in khalwa in Benghazi and returning as a Shaykh of idhn, the steep ascent was completed and the company which had been gathered for this purpose was dispersed. The fuqara from Spain were sent there to establish the deen. The Ihsan Mosque in Norwich was acquired and members of the community moved either there or elsewhere. These were interesting times. Spies suspecting the worst had infiltrated the community. One was sent to do dawa in China (!) and another of them was appointed as the Amir of the community in order to put him on the spot. During his short tenure, he managed to mortgage the Ihsan Mosque in order to raise money. It is typical of Hajj AbdalAziz, that when he discovered what had

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happened, he paid off the debt to the bank from his own pocket in order to safeguard the mosque. On another occasion which Hajj AbdalAziz told me about, he had just received a ridiculous bill for some rates dating back several years. Hajj AbdalAziz was furious. He strode into the local authority offices and demanded to speak to someone about it. The official turned out to be a fellow Scot. After listening to Hajj AbdalAziz, he said, “Just wait here a moment,” and disappeared. After a while he returned. “I think I’ve buried it in the system pretty well,” he said. “It may resurface, but you should be OK for a few years.” It was because Hajj AbdalAziz was so generous that this kind of thing happened to him. If he did not have the money to help people with, he would borrow it and then help them. He was a twentieth century Robin Hood. I have been told that on one occasion Hajj AbdalAziz and his family were just about to drive off in their car when he spotted a bailiff walking straight towards them. “Recite ‘husbuna’llahu wa ni’ama’l-wakil’,” said Hajj AbdalAziz – and they all did. The bailiff walked right past them up to their front door as if they were not there – and off they went! Many years later, sayyedina Shaykh was visiting the ribat in Palermo Road. Hajj AbdalAziz was frying two eggs for sayyedina Shaykh, with a couple of fuqara looking on. “No, those two are not good enough,” Hajj AbdalAziz said. “You have them,” and he gave them to one of the onlookers. This happened a couple more times. “I suppose after all these years you know exactly how to serve sayyedina Shaykh,” I said. “It’s funny, said Hajj AbdalAziz as he concentrated on the next attempt, “but it doesn’t make the slightest bit of difference. I still don’t know what Shaykh Abdalqadir is going to do next.” Finally there were two freshly fried eggs with which Hajj AbdalAziz was satified and these were conveyed swiftly to sayyedina Shaykh who ate them with relish. When Hajj AbdalAziz first visited the ribat in Palermo Road, he assessed its chemistry almost as soon as he had entered the door. “What a pity,” he said. “It’s not going to work.” It was around this time that Sidi Ibrahim Thompson had his bad fall from an attic onto a balustrade while doing a house clearance. He had not been in hospital long before Hajj AbdalAziz was at his side giving him the homoeopathic remedies which would speed his recovery. This is just one example of what Hajj AbdalAziz did all the time. He was always treating someone, either with homoeopathic remedies or with acupuncture. As sayyedina Shaykh once joked, “Hajj AbdalAziz loves sticking needles into people!” As time passed, Hajj AbdalAziz became more and more humble and invisible when in the presence of the Shaykh. When the Shaykh was not present, he was a tower of strength and good humour and good advice. When he was in the hadra, or leading the hadra, he did the hadra like the fuqara of Shaykh Muhammad ibn al-Habib. This is the proof of direct transmission. I have been told that Shaykh Muhammad ibn al-Habib asked all of the first of the English and American fuqara and faqirat who met him to promise never to leave Islam. They all did – and those who have kept their promise have benefited

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without measure. They all bear the mark of Allah’s love for them and this sets them apart from other people – and we are permitted by the words of the Messenger of Allah, may Allah bless him and grant him peace, to envy them. Somehow Hajj AbdalAziz always seemed to know what was happening to each one of the fuqara. I remember once I had some sadaqa to give and I asked Hajj AbdalAziz to whom I should give it. He immediately suggested a faqir in a far away place, explaining his situation and how he needed help. I had always thought that the faqir was well off and had no idea of his situation until Hajj AbdalAziz informed me of it. Hajj AbdalAziz would often give very specific advice to a faqir, but it would be expressed in such a way that it seemed as if he was talking in general, or about someone else. He never cornered anyone. Once Hajj AbdalAziz asked me, “How are things with you?” – “They are good, al-hamdulillah,” I replied, “but there seem to be too many interruptions these days.” Hajj AbdalAziz paused and smiled. “That’s life,” he said. There is no doubt that Hajj AbdalAziz was a wali of Allah, even before Shaykh Muhamad ibn al-Habib, radi’Allahu anhu, gave him the glass of milk to drink which changed his life for good, saying, if I remember Hajj AbdalAziz’s account correctly, “Allah is pleased with you.” Although Hajj AbdalAziz was a very humble man, he was also a man who commanded the respect and courtesy which was due to him. “If you think I’m just like everyone else,” he once said to me, “you are making a big mistake.” I have never thought that, from the moment of our first meeting until now. In fact Hajj AbdalAziz has always been one of my litmus paper tests for people. If someone spoke well of him, it meant that person’s colour was mumin. If someone spoke ill of him, it meant that person’s colour was kafir or munafiq. Many years ago sayyedina Shaykh, Ibrahim Thompson, alayhi rahma, and I were discussing the meaning of Hajj AbdalAziz. I mentioned that among the meanings of this attribute of Allah are ‘the inestimably precious’, ‘the hard of access’ and ‘the one who uses great strength with gentleness’. “I’ll tell you what AbdalAziz means,” said sayyedina Shaykh. “It means ‘pretty damn scary’ – I wish I had twenty Hajj AbdalAzizs.” I was at the moussem which turned out to be Hajj AbdalAziz’s last moussem. In retrospect, he did seem distant, as if he knew he was about to leave. News of his death reached me in the early hours of the morning. I had been working all night and had only been asleep for an hour or two. Hajja Amina insisted on waking me up, handing me the ‘phone. A tearful Hajj Hassan Jalaluddin informed me that Hajj AbdalAziz had just died. “Inna lillahi wa inna ilayhi raji’un. Ma sha Allah.” This is the truth, but it was hard to take in. After Hajj Hassan Jalaluddin had explained what had happened and rung off, I needed to sleep. “Tengo sueno,” – “I need to dream,” I said, repeating the phrase of Musa Isa from another time in another place. As I slept, I met Hajj AbdalAziz in a clear dream. He was relaxed and smiling. “I’m with Chimi Rimpoche at the moment,” he said. So when I awoke, I knew Hajj AbdalAziz had moved on, may Allah give him light and space in his grave.

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I was reminded of the time when Barrister AbdulRashid had just lost two of his sons in a drowning accident in Grenada. Hajj AbdalAziz and I, along with many others, attended their funeral in Southall. “What a destiny, to die so young,” I said. “It’s often the ones you least expect,” replied Hajj AbdalAziz. “It’s often the ones who are young and strong – not the weak and the helpless – whom Allah takes, because strength and independence are Allah’s attributes.” Hajj AbdalAziz’s funeral brought fuqara from around the world together. Having carried his coffin to the place of burial, we paused before doing the funeral prayer, doing dhikr. There was no sound of weeping, but tears were running out of our eyes. Cool tears, not hot tears. Sayyedina Shaykh once said that hot tears are for the dunya and cool tears are for Allah. Sayyedina Shaykh said that first you weep for your self, then you weep for others, then you weep for Allah. After the funeral prayer had been done and after the grave had been filled with earth as Surah YaSin and Surah Waqi’a were recited, Hajj AbdalHaqq gave the fitting tribute that Hajj AbdalAziz deserved as he simultaneously made du’a for him. It was Hajj AbdalHaqq who had helped wash Hajj AbdalAziz’s body. “He looked so peaceful,” said Hajj AbdalHaqq to me. “He looked so beautiful.” The Messenger of Allah said, may Allah bless him and grant him peace, “When a wali of Allah dies, even the whales in the depths of the ocean weep at his passing.” I have no doubt that many whales wept on that day. As Shaykh Ahmad ibn Ata’illah says in his ‘Hikam’, “Whoever has a noble beginning has a noble end.” Over a year later, I returned to visit Hajj AbdalAziz. It was mid-winter and very cold. After reciting YaSin and making du’a for Hajj AbdalAziz, I explained a couple of things to him which I had not had time to explain while he was still in this world. It is always good to finish unfinished business. Hajj AbdalAziz’s grave was surrounded with green plants. I found an uprooted plant nearby which was still alive and replanted it near the head of his grave. After remembering and reflecting, it was time to say, “As-salamu alaikum,” and continue my journey. In writing down some of my memories of Hajj AbdalAziz, I have been reminded of just how much he was a part of my every day life for a time and then how he became like a comet on a large trajectory, showing up every so often, trailing light behind him and illuminating our company for a while before disappearing from view once again. Insh’Allah we will meet again in the akhira, in the best of places, but until then situations and words involving Hajj AbdalAziz surface in my heart from time to time, still teaching me and still reminding me how generous Allah has been to me – to have been given such good company. Hajj AbdalAziz, although in reality there is no separation, like so many others, we miss you.

Among the muminun there are men who have been true To the contract they made with Allah.

Some of them have fulfilled their pact by death And some are still waiting to do so, Not having changed in any way at all. (Qur’an: 33.23)

20th Rajab 1428, 4th August 2007

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