“I’m dying. I’m dying. I need water.” Rashid Siddiqui kept hearing those words from his fellow Muslim pilgrims lying mangled on the ground in 118-degree heat, under a searing Saudi sun. Barefoot, topless and dazed, Mr. Siddiqui had somehow escaped being crushed by the surging crowd. It was Sept. 24, 2015, the third morning of the hajj, the annual five-day pilgrimage to Mecca by millions of Muslims from around the world. By some estimates, it was the deadliest day in hajj history and one of the worst accidents in the world in decades. An American from Atlanta, Mr. Siddiqui, 42, had been walking through a sprawling valley of tens of thousands of pilgrim tents. His destination: Jamarat Bridge, where pilgrims throw pebbles at three large pillars in a ritual symbolizing the stoning of the devil. He was less than a mile from the bridge when the crush began.
Mr. Siddiqui took this photograph about 15 minutes before the crush.
Hundreds, and probably thousands, died. But nearly a year later, the Saudi authorities have yet to explain exactly how the disaster happened. Nor have they provided what is widely considered an accurate death toll. Many of the victims came from Iran, Saudi Arabia’s bitter rival, creating a new source of acrimony between the countries that led Iran’s government to bar its citizens from the hajj this year. Deadly crowd crushes once frequently marred the hajj, especially around the Jamarat Bridge. The Saudis sought to prevent such calamities by expanding the bridge after more than 360 people died near it in 2006. After the expansion, there were no major episodes — until last year. A count by The Associated Press, derived from official and state news reports of the dead from 36 countries with pilgrims in Mecca, found that at least 2,400 people had died. The Saudi authorities, however, still give an official death toll of 769.
Rashid Siddiqui at his home outside Atlanta.
Despite years of accusations of mismanagement, the Saudi royal family has repeatedly insisted on its right to supervise the hajj. All Muslims who are physically and financially able to complete the hajj are obliged to do so at least once in their lives. Under Saudi Arabia’s ruling royal family, which regards the king as the custodian of Islam’s holiest sites, the number of pilgrims coming from outside the country has grown more than tenfold since World War II. In recent years, two million to three million people have attended the annual hajj. The Saudis have poured tens of billions of dollars into expanding pilgrimage accommodations that often cater to the wealthy, who can pay upward of $2,700 a night for choice hotel rooms overlooking the Kaaba, the black cube that is considered to be the House of God, at the center of Islam’s holiest mosque in Mecca.
Mr. Siddiqui took this photograph just before he and his companions were stopped.
But even the wealthiest pilgrims spend part of the pilgrimage in an enormous tent city, known as Mina, where Muslims are grouped according to the part of the world they come from. Mr. Siddiqui awoke before dawn inside a brightly lit tent. He had stayed up late, chatting and drinking tea with friends, then slept on a floor mattress beside dozens of other pilgrims separated by canvas partitions. Despite the hour, Mr. Siddiqui said, he felt fresh and strong. Two weeks earlier, he had been working as a building information manager in Riyadh, the Saudi capital, but he quit and decided at the last minute to make his first hajj. He was surprised to find the pilgrimage relaxing — almost like a vacation, he said — not the grueling trek that some hajj veterans had warned him to expect. Dressed in sandals and his ihram, the men’s hajj clothing of two white, cloth wraps, Mr. Siddiqui washed, prayed and ate breakfast from the tent’s buffet with his companions, relishing the communal experience.
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