People wade down a street after heavy rainfall in Jeddah, Wednesday. (Reuters) JEDDAH/MAKKAH: It was the most unlikely of nights to even venture out from the comfort – or safety – of one's house in Jeddah. But, even as I was being constantly bombarded with news of the army being called out, dire warnings of dams breaking and reports of cars and pedestrians being swept away in the aftermath of the unprecedented downpour on Wednesday – a record 111 meters of rain in just six hours – I decided to head to Makkah. I had not one but three good reasons. The first was the most compelling. I had my sister, who had flown down to Jeddah for a day – she wanted to perform Umrah (her first) and she would stop at nothing to do so, yes, even if she had to brave the floods on foot! The brother in me, just couldn't let her down. The second – in fact, to be honest, it is an extension of the first – was my love for God. And, whatever the circumstance, I did not want to lose an opportunity to perform Umrah. Besides, my wife had been insisting that we do so, before we shift residence this weekend. She was brave enough to accompany us despite the fact that, having just returned from the US under biting weather conditions, she is limping at home. The Muslim in me – who believed that Allah will help us proceed to His House whenever we wanted, no matter what the circumstances were – just couldn't let go of this opportunity. And thirdly, I also wanted to see firsthand how Jeddah was coping with – or reeling under – the aftermath of the floods. The journalist in me, who regretted seeing only pictures of the catastrophe that followed the flashfloods on Nov. 25, 2009, just didn't want to miss this chance. So, accompanied by two brave ladies and a steely resolve, I donned my Ihram and ventured out just before midnight. My friend, who was at the wheel, had an equally steely resolve and a daunting task: he was not perched on a sturdy 4X4; he was tucked behind a small Hyundai Accent. The water had receded from Faisaliyah but in the lane just outside my compound the car had to wade through a small lake of sorts. That was the first challenge. And the car passed the test. As we drove from Faisaliyah toward Aziziah – Bab Makkah and Balad were shut down due to waterlogging – we saw the roads had cleared up. It was, in fact, a breeze till we reached Madina Road, which was chock-a-block – with huge trailers standing back to back. Nothing moved for nearly 10 minutes. And then, we saw a few cars swerving toward the service road and climbing down. We followed. We then criss-crossed a maze of lanes and bylanes – with hundreds of abandoned and floating cars. Volunteers were all over the place. Young lads – Saudis and expats – were out in full force, clearing traffic, giving directions and offering help on how to negotiate traffic and reach home safely. Adeptly negotiating cars stranded in the middle of the road, my friend took a detour or two before reaching Sulaimaniya. Once, we entered the area I had stopped following the route we were taking as the full impact of the rain and the havoc it had wrecked started unfolding. The maze of cars on the street told their own tale. Some mangled, some completely destroyed and some perched precariously on top of others. It was as if I was watching the aftermath of a disaster on a blockbuster Hollywood flick. Nothing seemed to have been spared. Sturdy Land-cruisers, majestic Lexuses, smart Nissan Patrols... they were tossed all over the place. At this point – and this was the only point, I will add – I seriously doubted we could move much further. The water was still gushing around; streams were flowing under cars; and people with distressed faces were all over the place. It was not just that the roads that had turned into rivers. To make matters worse, putrid odors filled the air as sewage from underground tanks overflowed and mixed with flood water. The only consolation in all this was this: the human spirit seemed to have once again triumphed over natural calamity. Volunteers were digging pavements to make way for the water to drain, giving food and shelter to stranded pedestrians and passersby and even offering families lifts back home – or to safety – in their vans and 4X4s. If anything, it was this human spirit that offered hope in the face of diversity. Back on the road, we crossed Quwaiza, which seemed to have mostly cleared off and most of the area was buzzing with activity. As we hit the Makkah Highway it was a straight run. With few stray vehicles in sight and clear road – and no trace of rain – we cruised along, crossing the Jeddah-Makkah checkpoint without any guard on either side; we were not surprised that there was no one manning it. We reached Makkah at 1.30 A.M. having covered the distance, that everyone had warned would take us the entire night if we were lucky, in less than two hours. We performed Umrah under the stars, in pleasant weather. We took our time to offer our prayers and perform Umrah rituals, relishing the opportunity and the weather. All along thanking Allah for making it possible. It was, I kept reminding myself, nothing short of a miracle. The drive back to Jeddah was smooth even though the Makkah Highway was closed – perhaps due to an accident – and we had to take the old Makkah-Jeddah road. We entered Jeddah in less than an hour, hitting Bab Makkah flyover. The water had receded somewhat but there were cars abandoned on both sides of the flyover. We drove between them wondering how helpless we are before nature's fury. The same was the story in and around Kandara Bridge. On Sharfiah, water was still gushing; with a strong smell of petrol pervading the air. Cars were floating all over the place. But once we crossed that area, we were on a clear stretch back home. The lake near my compound had become a puddle; the sky had cleared; and the sound of adhan filled the air. We entered the house, offered Fajr prayers and quickly headed to the airport to drop my sister. It was not just an eventful night. It was a memorable night. A night that the three of us will never forget in our lives. And not just because we were traversing a dangerous road. Whoever said Black Wednesday?
