Jakarta. For many Indonesians, the journey to Mecca is not just a religious obligation — it is the culmination of a lifetime of discipline, sacrifice, and quiet hope.

In a modest neighborhood in Pasuruan, East Java, 85-year-old Mislicha has spent half a century pushing a small cart of cilok (chewy tapioca balls) through narrow streets. Every day, she set aside a few thousand rupiah from her earnings, building a fund that would eventually take her to Islam’s holiest site.

“I’ve wanted to go on Hajj since I was young,” she said. “I saved little by little.”

This year, that dream becomes reality. Mislicha, now the oldest registered pilgrim from her city, is scheduled to depart for Saudi Arabia alongside her daughter as part of Indonesia’s 2026 Hajj season, which runs from May 24 to May 29, with the first pilgrim group departing on April 22.

Her story — marked by widowhood, raising eight children alone, and decades of street vending — reflects a common reality for many Indonesians: the pilgrimage is earned through years, even decades, of persistence.

Across the archipelago, similar stories unfold.

In Cirebon, West Java, the clang of a kemung (small gong) instrument signaled the arrival of Ili, a traditional ice cream vendor. Since the 1980s, he has walked village roads selling es mung-mung, a simple dessert made from coconut milk and sugar, priced at just a few thousand rupiah per cup.

From these small daily sales, Ili and his wife, Yayah, began saving for Hajj in 2005. Some days they could set aside Rp10,000 (less than a dollar), on better days Rp100,000. Rainy seasons often meant returning home empty-handed.

Still, they persisted.

After more than two decades, their savings were finally enough. They are now preparing to depart in May.

“I never imagined we could go,” Ili said. “But slowly, it became possible.”

In Yogyakarta, another couple — Rahudin Hasan and Siti Koringah — followed a similar path. Selling gudeg, a traditional jackfruit dish, from a roadside stall, they saved between Rp50,000 and Rp100,000 daily. Fourteen years after registering, they received confirmation they would join this year’s pilgrimage.

“We were shocked and moved,” Siti said. “We didn’t expect it to happen this soon.”

Their stories highlight a defining feature of the Hajj in Indonesia: the long wait.

As the world’s largest Muslim-majority country, Indonesia receives the biggest Hajj quota globally — around 220,000 pilgrims annually. Yet demand far exceeds supply. With roughly 5.7 million people on the waiting list, some prospective pilgrims must wait up to 26 years before their turn arrives.

The system allows applicants to secure a place in line with an initial deposit — often raised through years of saving like Mislicha, Ili, and Rahudin — before paying the full cost closer to departure. In 2026, the average out-of-pocket cost for the regular Hajj program stands at about Rp54 million (around $3,150), a significant sum in a country where many work in the informal sector.

For elderly pilgrims like Mislicha, the wait can feel like a race against time.

Yet the desire to complete the pilgrimage remains unwavering. Many continue working well into old age, not only to sustain their livelihoods but to fulfill a spiritual goal that defines their lives.

In the final days before departure, preparations go beyond finances. Physical endurance becomes crucial, especially for older pilgrims who must perform demanding rituals such as tawaf — circling the Kaaba — and sa’i, walking between the hills of Safa and Marwah. Many attend religious training sessions and even turn to online resources to better understand the rites.

Back in Pasuruan, Mislicha is preparing a simple thanksgiving gathering with neighbors who have watched her journey for decades. Her grandchildren — 22 in total — now witness the reward of her persistence.

For communities like hers, such departures are shared moments of pride.

The pilgrimage to Mecca may last only a few weeks, but for millions, the journey truly begins years earlier, in market stalls, roadside carts, and quiet acts of saving.

And for pilgrims like Mislicha, Ili, and Rahudin, every coin set aside was not just money; it was a step closer to a lifelong dream.