Many Hajjis describe the summon at Mount Arafat, the crucial mount and place of a major Hajj rite, as a foretaste of Judgement Day. The heat and the vast mass of people in one place often provoke feelings of belonging to a wide unified body of believers, whose numbers and strength in their eyes represents an untapped human potential, a pool of unbreakable solidarity and a firm link between all Muslims. Hasan Ljubunčić, one member of a tiny Yugoslav group of Hajjis travelling in 1949, was not overly impressed by this idea. The difference between Muslims was stark at Arafat: Turkish Hajjis meticulously pondered over every single detail of the ritual and marvelled at the things that the Yugoslavs told them about freedom of religion in their homeland, raising their hands in prayer for the long life of Marshal Tito. Indonesians tearfully recounted their struggles against the colonisers and asked for help. Ljubunčić dejectedly thought how the mission of gathering all Muslims in Mecca for the purpose of knowing and learning from each other had somehow failed, since to him it seemed that it only served to support the poor in this desert region.

The Hajjis were invited to a dinner at King Ibn Saud’s court. The instructions for the attendance were clear: the guests were asked not to request songs or music, and they were to abstain from giving speeches. The dinner was served in ‘European style’ yet simple: whole roasted sheep and turkeys, with cold water for drinks. Hasan Ljubunčić noted the high-ranking guests that flocked around the king: one of them was Amin al-Husseini (1895–1974), a former Palestinian mufti who, as the author recalled, had helped with forming the infamous Handžar division in Bosnia during the Nazi occupation. Ljubunčić added that the Yugoslavs had extremely bad memories of al-Husseini.

Just a few days later, the Yugoslav Hajjis were attending the Eid reception at the king’s court. Waiting in the tent in the courtyard, the Hajjis were sipping lemonade in the scorching heat.