Everyone we met in Cairo told us: "Humaytharâ? Too dangerous. The military zone, the controls... it's impossible. It's better to forget it."

Yet we couldn't bring ourselves to give up. There had to be a way. It was as if the desert itself was calling us.

Fate helped, in its own way - with a suitcase that gave in to the wear and tear of the journey. So here we were at 9pm in a small shop in Cairo. My eyes were drawn to the portrait of Sheikh Ibrâhîm al-Disûqî hanging behind the counter. The owner, astonished that I recognised this Sufi saint, offered us a spiced tea. An hour later, we were on our way – a new suitcase in hand, a sacred image under our arm, and above all... the right route to Humaytharâ.

The desert and its miracles


Train journey from Luxor to Eidfu. In the dusty square, it took almost an hour to convince Hatim, our guide, with a hesitant look on his face. As the journey was quite long, we would have to spend a night there. In his lorry, Hatim placed several cans of petrol and a good supply of water.

‘Yes, they are part of my family’, he repeated several times to the soldiers at the checkpoints. Gradually, the road faded into a track in the desert.

Humaytharâ, a spiritual oasis housing the shrine of Imam al-Shadhilî (d. 1258), founder of one of the great Sufi paths, was finally unveiled.

Hatim had led visitors here before, but for some unknown reason he had never been inside the sanctuary. Intrigued by the determination of two women who had come specially from Europe, he decided to cross the threshold and even took part in a dhikr (invocation) session.

No sooner had I crossed the threshold of the sanctuary than a white bird appeared in the half-light. It flew in three perfect circles under the dome, like a sign in the air. The first silent message from this place in the middle of the desert.

Generosity


The year is 2009. The sanctuary was being renovated, and right next door the new mosque was being built. After Friday prayers, a stranger grabbed my hand and pressed his thumb against mine: "We'll meet again in Paradise, inshAllah." Then he disappeared into the crowd.

Hatim started looking for somewhere to live. There were no hotels in Humaytharâ (yet). Fortunately, 500 metres away, Sheikha Zâkkiya's zâwiya opened its doors to us. Food, tea, a single bed – we were welcomed with open arms. Here, generosity of heart is embodied on a daily basis and tips were politely refused.

Moments of eternity



The next day, we left Humaytharâ with a light heart, after a stay where time seemed suspended. The immensity of the desert was transformative. Inside me, I now feel an infinite space, like an expansion of consciousness. One thing is certain: the word ‘impossible’ is not part of the divine dictionary!