Today we have a guest article from Ghada alMuhanna. Ghada is a cultural and media advisor with expertise in Arabian Peninsula heritage and visual anthropology, focused on authentic cultural representations. She has written about an historic and culturally significant film she found in the Orchard Clips collection. First published in Arabic on her Substack, you can read the original here. This article has been republished with her permission.
Scattered archival clips that redraw the features of the Hajj from eighty years ago.
There are archival materials that suddenly appear to us like a window opening onto a distant time. The clips I’m sharing here are part of a longer film shot in 1938 about the Hajj. Unfortunately, it’s not the complete material, but scattered fragments that survived time—yet enough to glimpse a world that remains only in pictures and memories.
The footage was produced by an Egyptian team working under Studio Misr, one of the most important studios in the region during the 1930s, known for its technical prowess and its documentaries and field trips to Arab and African countries.
Before we begin, thanks are due to Orchard Clips for making these segments available in their original quality, offering us a rare chance to re-read the Hajj and scenes from Hijaz through a visual lens we seldom get.
This is not a reading of the film as a whole, but of the shot itself: what movement reveals, what the angle hides, and how cities and rituals transform when seen from such a distant moment.
The film opens with title cards listing those who contributed to its production, then moves straight to a rare scene of King Abdulaziz—may God rest his soul—sitting on a couch in an open courtyard, surrounded by guards and close associates, reading from a paper and speaking into a microphone in his natural voice as recorded at that moment. Beside him appears King Salman—may God preserve him—when he was a child. The camera then glides smoothly across rows of men seated in the courtyard listening, before returning to a shot of the King. It’s an opening that frames the state before the Hajj begins.
Next, the scene shifts to the port, where a large ship gathers people on its deck. We see pilgrims boarding one by one, and a small car being lifted onto the ship by a crane, while others lean on the railing watching from above. Smoke billows from the funnel, hands wave from the ship and others wave back from the pier. The vessel finally sails, and along the way we see pilgrims gathered on deck listening to an imam delivering a sermon before arrival. The flag of the Kingdom of Egypt rises on the mast, as pilgrims in ihram pass by chanting the Talbiyah. Then the city’s edges appear from afar, and the shots turn to small boats ferrying pilgrims toward Jeddah’s port, where boats crowd around the waterfront and buildings stretch along the coastline—a noisy, intense arrival.
In Jeddah, the camera roams through streets crowded with people, a few cars and carts. Shops are open, vendors spread their goods on the roads, and old houses stand beside new buildings with modern facades. A bus loaded with pilgrims departs through the city gate toward the desert, followed by a long caravan of camels carrying the elderly and weak. On rural roads, pilgrims walk on foot as cars pass by. The lens moves between vehicles and small trucks carrying luggage, then to buses parked near a small house where pilgrims pray in its courtyard. The caravans return to fill the scene: camels moving through the desert, men atop them, faces dripping with sweat under the sun.
A shot shows a truck passing through an arched gate toward Mecca, its roof stacked with luggage, while a child runs alongside the camera. Then the image rises to a high angle overlooking the Grand Mosque as it was before the expansions of the last century: houses packed around the courtyard, pilgrims circling the Kaaba in calm fluidity. The camera moves between those performing tawaf and the inner corridors, where people walk through the mosque’s arcades and outer courtyard.
Scenes of stoning the Jamarat follow, with large groups performing the ritual. The film returns to the Haram where tawaf continues, then to old Meccan streets where pilgrims shave their heads in the open air—simple daily scenes yet loaded with symbolism.
In Mina, white tents stretch across the valley, a small mosque with a prominent minaret appears nearby, and a flock of sheep grazes at the edge. Birds move across the sky as the camera shifts between groups of pilgrims resting or moving among the tents. The place looks like a still frame from another world, before the valley transformed into its current structure.
The film returns to Mecca, this time with King Abdulaziz—may God rest his soul—alongside Sheikh Hamad bin Isa Al Khalifa—may God have mercy on him—and some family members and statesmen inside the Haram. Pilgrims sit on the ground near a small wall as the King walks through the crowds with his guards behind him. The camera approaches him as he performs tawaf, then documents a solemn moment as he kisses the Black Stone, before moving away amid the throng. Shots of tawaf, water distribution, and the King leaving the courtyard repeat.
On the way to Arafat, we see a vast camp filled with camels, carts, and cars. Pilgrims move in caravans, holding black umbrellas over their white ihram garments. The scene returns to Mina’s tents before shifting to Mount Arafat, where the white pillar stands on its summit and crowds gather at its base. Water carriers move with jars, soldiers line up their rifles beside the tents. Then the scene rises to collective supplication, faces lifted toward the sky.
The camera captures crowded streets where people line up to watch official processions: clerics and dignitaries pass between rows of pilgrims, followed by guards in white with belts and ammunition, then tribesmen chanting and playing with swords. King Abdulaziz—may God rest his soul—appears under a black umbrella over his head, watching the military parade, drums, and processions advancing through the busy road. These are truly among the most beautiful scenes in the film, where the play is clear.
The lens shifts to Mecca’s streets themselves: daily movement, domes, sprawling houses, then a gradual descent revealing the Grand Mosque and Kaaba from above—scenes that make the city seem closer, smaller, and more intimate.
Scenes from Mecca: we see the Hijaz Hotel and views from around the city. Then we see distributions of charity money and other things—very interesting scenes. We also hear the mosque’s call to prayer, see soldiers lining up, and King Abdulaziz—may God rest his soul—arriving for Friday prayer. These scenes are truly breathtaking.
We conclude in Medina: minarets, domes, calm architecture, and streets full of people. A sign appears on a building, then a public water square where people perform ablution. Extended markets, wooden stalls, central crowds around the Prophet’s Mosque. The scene enters the mosque courtyard where people sit and rest. Then the camera withdraws from the city to the distant desert road…
What these clips reveal is not just the Hajj, but the vast distance between what was and what is. The scenes we see here—dirt roads, simple tents, slow-moving caravans—seem today very far from the modern experience. This is thanks to God and then to the work of the state that served the Two Holy Mosques through development efforts.
But the truth is that the value of these shots goes beyond comparing past and present. They open deeper questions: How has human movement changed? What does arrival mean here? And how did the Hajj transform from raw human movement into a massive system accommodating millions? The image doesn’t just speak of a bygone time, but of a time that never imagined what was to come.
These clips also reveal that this kind of documentation exists but is scattered, distributed across global archives few know about. Every scene that appears today reminds us that our visual history hasn’t disappeared—it just needs someone to search for it and piece it back together.
What do you think? How do you read these shots? And what can we learn from their details, their silence, and the way cities and people moved in that era?
Ghada alMuhanna, November 2025
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