!رمضان مبارك
For those of you who don’t read Arabic, Ramadan mubarak! And for those of you who don’t speak Arabic either, Happy Ramadan!Yesterday was the first day of Ramadan, the ninth month of the Islamic calendar and a month-long religious period that emphasizes fasting, prayers, charity, and self-accountability. In America, I was vaguely aware of Ramadan whenever my Muslim friends fasted during the day and were subjected to endless rounds of “Why aren’t you eating?” and “Aren’t you hungry?” But, believe me, Ramadan is a completely different experience when you’re living in a Muslim country.A festive air has hung around Cairo for the last week or so. Colorful, twinkling lanterns depicting scenes of stars, palm trees, and camels or arabesque designs crowd storefronts and spill out on the streets; inside, shelves are stocked with overflowing mounds of dried apricots, figs, dates, and almonds. Yesterday, I awoke to the sound of the call to prayer and looked out on my balcony at a city glowing in the sunrise’s misty pink and purple light, feeling the same sense of anticipation that I do on Christmas morning.Then I felt thirsty and took a sip of water. Oops. Looks like I broke the fast.With the exception of the very young, very old, sick, menstruating or pregnant women, or travelers, all Muslims are expected to fast during the month of Ramadan. Fasting includes abstaining from eating, drinking, and smoking. I was delighted to learn that smoking was forbidden, as the only thing I hate about Cairo is the fact that I often feel like I’m sitting in a chimney. The anthropologist in me was also eager to see what happens when an entire city of smokers suddenly can’t get their regular nicotine fix.I didn’t have to wait for long to see the effects of fasting. When I hailed a taxi around ten in the morning, I had to repeat my destination to the driver three times. He had a slightly dazed look on his face and then shook his head and blew out his cheeks to snap out of it. “Ramadan,” he said, grinning and shrugging his shoulders. After learning that I don’t speak a lot of Arabic, he mimicked taking a puff on a cigarette. “Cigar.” I giggled and told him that I was sorry. Encouraged, he pretended to take a sip from an imaginary cup and said in pseudo-English, “café.” “La café,” he sighed again, and wearily squinted at the road like he had just woken up. No coffee. Reminded of my caffeine-addicted relatives, a wave of pity washed over me and, as I exited the taxi, I gave him some baksheesh for coffee when he broke the fast at sunset.That evening, about a half-hour before sunset, the streets emptied and became eerily quiet. My room overlooks a large downtown traffic circle that is normally crowded with honking cars and buses; Cairenes lounging on the circle’s grassy interior, browsing shops, stepping into restaurants and fresh juice stalls, or filing in and out of the Metro station; and shady touts offering shady deals to the Pyramids and Luxor to clueless tourists with fanny packs at all hours, day or night. But that night there was nothing, save a lone car or two that was doubtlessly driven by one of the city’s few Christians. Everyone was at home preparing for the iftar, or breaking of the fast.I sat on my balcony, alone with the deserted cityscape. Then the evening call to prayer began. I glanced down at a building on my right and saw a family standing on prayer rugs spread across their rooftop, men in front, women in back, children arranged by height, praying and kneeling in unison with the muezzin’s calls in the direction of Mecca. After prayers, they sat down at a picnic table laid out with a feast. The adults laughed, the children got up and chased one another on the rooftop, and I wished that I was invited. Fireworks exploded from another rooftop, illuminating a mosque in the distance.That was day one. Twenty-nine more days to go.
Tags: Cairo, Egypt, Holiday, Ramadan, RTW 07/08
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