Thirty phrases, and how to read the signs.

You do not need Arabic to perform Hajj. The rites are between you and Allah in any language, your group leadership speaks yours, and around the Haram simple English goes a long way — as, usefully, do Urdu and a dozen other languages among the workers and volunteers.

But there is a layer of the journey where thirty memorised phrases outperform any translation app: crowds, noise, a dead battery, or the far end of Mina at 2 a.m. This page is that layer, and nothing more.

The ones you will actually use

As-salamu alaykum — the greeting that opens every exchange, everywhere.

Shukran — thank you. · Afwan — you’re welcome / excuse me.

Min fadlak — please (to a man); min fadlik to a woman.

Na’am / La — yes / no. · Tayyib — fine, okay.

Ana la atakallam al-’arabi — I don’t speak Arabic.

Hal tatakallam inglizi? — do you speak English?

La afham — I don’t understand.

Wayn…? — where is…? The single highest-value word on this page.

Yameen / yasar / seeda — right / left / straight ahead.

Qareeb / ba’eed? — near / far?

Finding your way

Wayn al-hammam? — where is the bathroom?

Wayn al-mukhayyam raqam…? — where is camp number…? Say the number in English; digits are universally understood.

Wayn mahattat al-qitar? — where is the train station?

Wayn bab…? — where is gate…? (Bab al-Malik Fahd, Bab as-Salam — the gates have names, and this is why the waiting days tell you to learn yours.)

Ana tayih / Ana tayha — I am lost (man / woman). Said to any officer or volunteer while showing your wristband, this sentence solves itself.

Wayn al-funduq…? — where is the … hotel?

When you need help

Sa’idni, min fadlak — help me, please.

Ana mareed / mareedah — I am sick (man / woman).

Wayn al-mustashfa? Wayn al-’iyadah? — where is the hospital / the clinic?

Doctor! — understood everywhere on earth, including here.

Ma’i / ma’ee moya? — (do you have) water? Moya — water — is the word you will hear and use most on the hot days.

Itassil bi-hadha ar-raqam — call this number (showing the paper one, which is why it is on paper).

Buying things

Bikam hadha? — how much is this?

Ghali! — expensive! (Half price-discussion, half national sport.)

Andak…? — do you have…?

Al-hisab, min fadlak — the bill, please.

Numbers, spoken: wahid, ithnayn, thalatha, arba’a, khamsa (1–5) — ’ashara (10) — mi’ah (100). For everything else, fingers and the calculator app carry the trade happily.

In the camp and with the group

Al-mukhayyam — the camp. · Al-khaymah — the tent.

Al-bas — the bus. · Mata al-bas? — when is the bus?

Al-murshid — the guide / group leader.

Ta’al / ta’ali — come (man / woman). · Istanna — wait.

Shwayy shwayy — slowly, gently — useful in crowds, and what you will hear officers saying to them.

Khalas — done, finished, enough. The most versatile word in the Gulf.

Reading the signs

The Mashair are heavily signed, and the system is more learnable than it first looks:

• Everything official is bilingual — Arabic with English beneath, on road signs, gate names and facility markers. The exceptions are hand-painted camp-level notices, which is where the phrases above earn their place.
• Your camp address is a number and a zone, and Mina is organised as a numbered grid of streets and blocks. The address on your wristband corresponds to signboards at street level — which is why On the Ground calls the camp number your address: officials navigate by exactly these signs.
• The Jamarat complex is directional: entry and exit routes are separated and one-way, signed by level and direction. Follow the flow arrows, not the shortcut a confident stranger is taking.
• The Mashair train stations are numbered by site — Mina has three; know which serves your camp before the 8th, from your group.
• Photograph, every time you arrive somewhere: your tent number, the nearest street sign, the gate you entered by. Your camera is your best reader of Arabic, and the photo works at 2 a.m. when nothing else does.