AFTER TAWAF YOU leave the Ka’bah and walk up towards Safa.
Hajar once stood here too.
Not in a marble clad corridor, but in an empty valley with her infant son. Ibrahim (as) had left them there by Allah’s command. Limited food and water. No shelter. No people.
When she understood that this came from Allah, she said: Idhan lan yudayyi’ana, then He will not abandon us.
That is tawakkul.
But then she got up and moved.
This is important. Tawakkul is not passivity. Hajar did not sit beside Isma’il and wait for water to appear. She trusted Allah completely, and then she began searching.
She climbed Safa and looked. Then she descended into the valley and crossed to Marwa. Then she climbed again. Then she turned back.
Seven times she crossed between the two hills. Not because she knew where the water was. Because she did not.
As I performed the sa’i, it became clear that the ritual is not really about arriving anywhere.
You reach Marwa. Then you turn back. You reach Safa. Then you turn back. Again and again you find yourself in the middle, moving between two points.
And perhaps that is exactly the point.
Most of life is lived this way. We are always in motion. Trying to fulfil the responsibilities Allah has placed before us.
I felt that life in constant motion in tawaf, but there you could always see what is at the centre of your movement.
Sa’i was teaching me something different. The same constant motion, but rarely do we see the whole picture. Rarely do we know where all our efforts are leading.
We simply take the next step. Then the next. Then the next.
The hills themselves teach something about this. When Hajar climbed Safa or Marwa, she could see farther than she could from the valley below. The horizon widened. For a moment, she had perspective.
Then she descended again. Back into the valley. Back into the place where her view was limited.
Life often unfolds in the same way.
Sometimes Allah grants us a higher vantage point. Looking back, we understand why something happened. We see wisdom in a hardship that once made no sense. We recognise blessings that were hidden from us at the time.
For a moment, we see farther. Then we descend again.
Most of the time, we are in the valley. Not seeing the full picture. Not knowing how things will unfold. Not knowing what our efforts will ultimately produce.
Simply moving forward with the limited vision we have been given.
This is why the valley itself matters. Between Safa and Marwa is the low ground marked today by the green lights. When Hajar entered this part of the valley, she could no longer see Isma’il. The terrain obscured her view.
So she hurried. It is why men are required to hasten through that same stretch today. The place where her sight was most limited was the place where she moved fastest.
The believer does not wait until everything becomes clear before acting. If we waited for complete certainty, we would never move at all.
We act with the knowledge we have, trusting Allah with what we do not have.
Eventually, water came for Hajar and Isma’il. From beneath their feet. But that is not what she knew when she began. What she knew was that Allah was worthy of trust.
And that was enough to take the next step. Then the next. Then the next. Seven times.
The sa’i is what a life of tawakkul looks like in motion.
Sometimes you stand on the hill and see farther. Sometimes you are in the valley and can barely see ahead. A lot of the time, you do not know where the road will lead or what your efforts will produce.
But you keep moving.
And you leave the destination with Allah.
