By Elliot Woods
First Published: September 26, 2008
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“You came to Cairo at an odd time” — a statement of sympathy from fellow foreigners who’ve lived in the Middle East for a while, expressed upon my arrival in Egypt at the end of August 2008.
I was in Cairo for less than a week before the start of Ramadan. During that week, my new friends grumbled in anticipation of the holy month’s odd business hours, the pre-iftar grumpiness epidemic that spreads across the city in the afternoon, and — perhaps worst of all — the scarcity of restaurants open for lunch.
It wasn’t long before I realized the opportunity at hand — rather than echoing foreigners’ moans about the lunchless, beerless doldrums of Ramadan, why not join in the fun?
“You’re crazy,” my friends said. True, but not entirely. I’ve run a couple of marathons and a few triathlons, and I saw Ramadan as a similar test of discipline with an obvious reward: I would put my mind back in control of my body, and in the process I would come to understand the Egyptian culture in which I’ve chosen to spend a year of my life, maybe more, insha’allah.
“You’re fasting?! ... But why, why habibi?” asked Jehan Allam, director of the Arabic Language Institute, where I began classes on Sunday, Sept. 13. Upon hearing that I am fasting, Egyptians are more credulous than fellow expatriates. Their curiosity and amusement reassures me.
Shopping for my nightly iftar, I see the hollow-eyed languor of the supermarket employees. In those moments, I feel a sense of common understanding, mentally and physically, with Egyptian Muslims. I think to myself, “I too am considering a nap on the floor of Metro Market. I understand.”
At the critical hour, when Cairo’s blood sugar plunges to abysmal depths, shopkeepers sometimes fail to return my masa’ el-kheir (good evening). It’s okay. Friendliness requires energy. I understand.
I understand despite knowing that, like me, many fasting Cairenes are beating the system by staying up late, gorging on sohour, and then sleeping into the afternoon. It’s only fair.
I understand, at 5:30 pm, when my waving hand has little effect on taxis flying down Aboul Feda, in hot pursuit of iftar. And when that first drop of water splashes across my tongue — milliseconds after the muezzin’s call to prayer floats through my window — I know that I’m sharing a simple pleasure with millions of Cairenes: hydration.
For this foreigner, Ramadan is magical, precisely because of the spirit of simple pleasures. I have made new friends and remembered how important it is to share life with others. I have visited neighborhoods all over Cairo — from the quiet, embassy-lined streets of Zamalek, to the enchanted arcades around Khan El-Khalili, to tragedy-stricken Duweiqa. Throughout all districts, simple acts of kindness and generosity have left me humbled.
“Do you know the real meaning of Ramadan?” Mohamed Ashmal asked me one night, as we sipped warm hommous el-sham on the Corniche. I replied, “I know the Prophet demanded that Muslims fast for one month each year to remind them of what it’s like to go hungry. Isn’t it also one of the five pillars?”
My well informed, but somewhat lame answer made Mohamed happy. However, he was quick to remind me that Ramadan, above all else, is about coming closer to God, and about re-orienting priorities and purifying the soul.
Islam requires Muslims to contribute to the spiritual, social and physical health of the umma, or community of believers. In this regard, charity and generosity toward fellow humans are akin to prayer. During Ramadan, additional charities accompany the zakat —the “social pillar” which requires the rich to donate 2.5 percent of their income to the poor.
Businesses, mosques, and community organizations serve iftar each night at mawaed el-rahman, or “mercy tables.” Families pack bags filled with rice, lentils, and juice for distribution among the poor. Even those without means are generous with dates and cups of qamar el-din and erqsous, special Ramadan drinks made from dried apricots and licorice respectively.
It is this spirit of Ramadan — the spirit of hospitality and generosity to strangers — that I continue discovering all over Cairo, in the busy boulevards at dusk, above the din of honking taxis and screeching tires, and in the magical alleys of the old city. Among foreigners, there is a chorus of complaint about the daily annoyances imposed by the Ramadan schedule, and about the License to Grumpiness that many fasting Cairenes carry proudly by late afternoon. Cairenes complain about the same things. But after sunset, when Cairo’s stomachs are satiated and the air begins to cool, there is an aura of peace in the streets — a sweet reward for a day’s abstention.
Nightly iftars have brought me closer to my new friends and opened my eyes to the Cairo’s charms. Each night, I enjoy hearing the mesarahaty’s drum at 3 am, waking the neighborhood up for sohour and the early morning fajr prayer. Usually I am still awake when the masaharaty comes by, eating cereal and yoghurt, drinking water, preparing my body for the next day’s fast. I will miss walking in streets lit by strings of Ramadan lanterns, or fawanees, and I will be sad when the colorful Ramadan tapestries come down at the end of the month.
As much as I have enjoyed learning about Egyptian culture and the Islamic faith through participating in the Ramadan lifestyle, I know that Ramadan is much more than a month of charming traditions, fasting and late night meals. Ramadan is about spiritual ascension.
Over the last month, I have seen Muslims praying in the streets, celebrating taraweeh, reciting the Quran during quiet moments; I have felt the power of prayer, which is the power of human beings willing themselves toward better lives, toward healthier souls.
Here on Earth, Islam requires those who yearn for God to translate their piety into generosity, selflessness, and compassion. Ramadan reminds Muslims that their duty to fellow human beings is sacred; as such, Ramadan transcends religion.
Fasting is not the challenge of Ramadan; rather, the challenge is to keep the Ramadan spirit alive for the rest of the year. One does not have to be Muslim or even religious to accept Ramadan’s challenges — to be more generous, more compassionate, more grateful.
Personally, I have found Ramadan to be enlightening. Late next July, when I encounter a newly arrived foreigner in the street, I know what I will say:
You came to Cairo at a great time. Ramadan kareem.
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