Ramadan Kareem!

I apologize if I have kept my fans waiting, as my father contends; but I do, in fact, go to school here. I have been meaning to write this post for a few days, so hopefully the time I’ve taken to mull over exactly what I am going to say will pay off in more a more concise prose.

First, I wanted to confirm that my fasting is going strong and the father of my “Egyptian family” told me that this is because I have a “strong heart.” Most foreigners don’t make it more than a few days, if they even make it one, he told me. Thankfully, though, I am traveling to Alexandria this weekend, which gives me a reprieve from fasting as it is a journey of more than 86 (some say the minimum is 89) kilometers.

Before I started fasting, I never really understood the traditional Ramadan greeting: Ramadan kareem, “Ramadan is generous” (to which one responds allahu akram, “God is the most generous”). I couldn’t understand how being deprived of food every day for a whole month could be seen as generous. Obviously there is the argument that Ramadan is generous because it is the month in which Mohammed was first told, “Recite!” by the angel Gabriel. But the way people’s faces light up when saying Ramadan kareem betrayed a more immediate, material meaning to the phrase. It was not until I was invited to iftar (break fast) at the house of the family of my Egyptian friend (Mohammed, the lieutenant in charge of security for the hotel across the street from my building) that I grasped just how generous Ramadan can be.

Upon arriving at his family’s apartment, just past Ma’adi, we were ushered to a table and seated backs against the wall to prevent what would eventually become a much-desired escape. With just a few minutes until the call to prayer, the table began to fill with platters of chicken, rice, and potatoes (all lined with potato chips), bowls of soup, molekheya (a gelatinous sauce made from a plant known as ‘Jews’ mallow’), pickled vegetables, eggplant stuffed with garlic, cucumber and tomato salad, baskets of bread, glasses of date juice, karkedeh (hibiscus tea/juice), and kamr aldeen (a cloying yet delicious juice made from dried apricot leather). Instead of napkins, we were given towels. What made this even more impressive was that this meal was prepared twice, one for the men and one for the women, who ate hidden from our view.

As soon as the first refrain of the call to prayer (Allahu akbar, “God is the most great”) was audible we dug in. The food was delicious, but after a day of fasting, it can be hard to eat very much, with every bight, I could feel my stomach un-clinching. Slowly but surely, I got my appetite and managed to eat my share of the spread, and did more than my share on the delicious rice. Rice which Erik was also enjoying greatly until I confirmed my suspicion that the chunks of meat in it were kidneys and liver, and to my surprise heart (but that didn’t stop me from having one more helping). I was uncomfortably sated.

As I stood up—barely—I was ushered to the couch where I thought that maybe I could have a reprieve from food. But no. Next came plates full of grapes, guavas and dates, and large pieces of kunafa (imagine frosted mini wheat meets custard pie). After obligingly attempting to force something down my throat and washing it down with some tea, we leaned back and watched an exciting episode of Alias, followed by the fourth call to prayer live from Mecca. After a few hours of digesting and discussing politics with Mohammed’s father, a former general in the Egyptian army, we pried ourselves off the couch and headed home.

Just three hours later Erik and I were being ushered to Mohandeseen for an overly filling suhur by four of our Egyptian friends. But right now, I’m too hungry to describe any more food.

My point is that during Ramadan, the already ebullient, in-your-face, won’t-take-no-for-an-answer Arab hospitality is magnified ten times. It is a time when everyone is welcome to eat for free at restaurants spilling into the middle of major thoroughfares. It is also a time when zadaq (alms, one of the five pillars of Islam) is widely distributed, and when even the most secular of Muslims strives to keep the faith as best they can.

Ultimately, what “Ramadan kareem” has taught me is that God may be the most generous but Egyptians are pretty high up there on the list.

Kul al senat wa inta ta’ib!

Part 1

Well, Ramadan has finally arrived. I say finally because for the past few days Cairo has been a mess. As my friend from Wes, Nishita, put it, it’s the “storm before the calm.” Every shelf of every supermarket has been thoroughly scavenged; one would think there is some kind of looming natural disaster about to befall Cairo. And I’m beginning to think they all know something I don’t.

Our first mistake was placing our order from Drinkie’s (Egypts largest purveyor of spirits, bottled exclusively by al-Ahram bottling company, whose working motto is “at least its not rubbing alcohol”) at around 10:00pm last night. We ordered 2 cases of large cans of Heineken, 2 bottles of “Cubana” rum, one bottle of “London” gin, and one bottle of “dark” whiskey from Drinkie’s call center (dial 19330 from any Egyptian telephone) for a grand total of LE.516. Despite promising on numerous occasion that our order was just minutes away, it appears that Drinkie’s ran out of alcohol before closing its doors for the month. Thankfully, Mena has promised to take me on a date to the duty free store to buy FOREIGN LIQUOR when she returns from the wedding in Boston. This is a trip we have actually already attempted once only to learn too late, much too late, that one only has 48 hours in the country before the full roughly LE.6000/bottle (yes that is more than a thousand dollars) tax is tacked on. Despite the four bottle per person per trip limit on alcohol, I’m confident that we will find a sufficient supply to slake our thirst worked up over this month of fasting.

Which brings me to my next point: I am indeed planning to fast for the month, though I may be forced to drink some water on the first day or so. A surprising number of my friends also plan to follow the injunction against anything passing the lips between 4:00am and Iftar (breakfast) at sunset. Tonight after a long conversation with my Egyptian family, including a discussion of the highly controversial topic of just who did build the pyramids (by the way, the answer is definitely not the Jews), I had my first Shuhur (meal before the 4:00am call to prayer) consisting of a sandwich of bitingani (marinated eggplant) and tahina and Erik had three tamiya (falafel).

To celebrate my first day of Ramadan I am also going shopping for a Quran for my Quranic Studies course. While finding a Quran in a Muslim country should seemingly be easy, it has actually proved to be a bit of a challenge. The AUC bookstore sold its only copy of the text containing both the Arabic and the English so my options seem to be the large English-language book store on 26th of July st. or else the book market at Soor al-Azbekaya.


Part 2

The first day of Ramadan has come and gone, and as quickly as Metro’s shelves were emptied, they were restocked. I guess this isn’t their first time.

As promised I fasted today, having only a glass of water upon waking up. Usually I have not been particularly hungry until the mid-afternoon here, however the thought of being unable to eat until just after 6:00pm seemed to make my stomach especially grumbly today. I felt pretty good about things until about 5:00pm when on my way back from an unsuccessful trip in search of Yousouf Ali’s translation of the Quran I thought I would have to give in. The thing that was most tempting was walking down the streets and seeing the long communal tables set up for Iftar. But I stuck it out and broke fast with a nice cold orange Marinda and a piece of bread. We had our real Iftar at a Lebanese restaurant in Garden City (The area of Corniche el-Nile abutting the Four Seasons) called Tabouleh.

The most interesting thing about the first day of Ramadan was not my own experience with fasting but rather the way in which the city and its inhabitants have magically changed. The streets of Cairo were stunningly quiet. Normally the traffic is unbearable, which is understandable seeing as a city with an infrastructure designed for 3 million people has 6 million cars. However today, my usual nightmarish midday trip from Zamalek to the American University in Tahrir Square was downright pleasant.

Also shocking was seeing business closed. They say New York is the city that never sleeps, but Cairo is the city that never closes. Stores open at around noon and stay open at least until midnight and many restaurants and‘ahua (cafés), and most supermarkets stay open 24 hours. The other thing about stores here is you can have anything delivered; pretty much if a store exists (anywhere in Cairo) it will deliver to your door. But yesterday, many stores were not open until after Iftar, if they opened at all, and those that opened early mostly closed their doors just before the 4:00pm call to prayer.

Now that I’ve had my Suhur and heard the call to prayer echoing across Cairo, its time for me to go to sleep. But I promise more (hopefully shorter) posts soon insha’allah.

Ahlan wa-Sahlan!

So, I’ve finally found the time to write my first blog post; which is to say I finally have homework. Despite the feeling of endless summer engendered by orientation (apparently all across the world), I am excited to get down to work. But for now, let me fill you in on what I have been doing for this last few weeks.

Within my first few days in Cairo, I learned some fundamental facts about Egypt and Egyptians. The first thing I learned was that summer in Africa is hot, incredibly, oppressively, cook-the-egg-and-the-chicken-on-the-pavement hot. The second thing I learned was that the beauty of Egyptian “efficiency” will leave you standing in this heat for a very long time. Despite the combined difficulties of dealing with Alitalia and Egyptian airport officials, I did eventually receive my luggage in installments over the next three days.

Despite the frustration, which one always expects when traveling in the third world, I immediately saw Cairo’s charm. But more importantly, I discovered how incredibly hospitable and kind the Egyptian people are. When trying to meet my landlord (a slight misnomer as he is really just a middle-man) he directed me to meet him at the “lovely bazaar.” So on exiting the hotel, I asked the security guard manning the metal detector where I could find a “soukh gemila” (literally a beautiful market). While he attempted to shepherd me into a cab to take me to the Khan el-Kelili (Cairo’s most famous market located in the heart of old Cairo) I noticed a man waving at me to come over to the store across the street, the name of which was “Lovely Bazaar.” The family that owns this store (Mohammed and his sons: Ibrahim, a recent graduate of law school; Husayn, a former driver for a tour company; and Ali) immediately announced themselves to be my “new Egyptian family.” They have become some of the only Egyptians working in the tourism industry that I trust (in the next post I will tell you about our trip to the pyramids with Husayn).

Almost every Egyptian who approaches you on the street seems to be running some kind of tout. They always seem to open with the line “welcome to Egypt” and proceed to compliment your Arabic or tell you that you look like a real Egyptian. The touts have ranged from men trying to take us to stores so that they can take a 50% commission on anything we buy to the offer LE. 60 (roughly LE. 5.75 to the Dollar) photographs with camels.

Besides touts, one is also faced by the daunting task of keeping ones wallet full of the small bills necessary for the bakshish which makes the wheels of Cairo go round. Bakshish (pron. bak-shEEsh) is a cross between a bribe, a tip, and charity. One gives bakshish for everything from getting the car through the security checkpoint at the pyramids at Saqqara or taking pictures inside Phaoronic temples, to bathroom attendants, to the guy who runs up and asks you what floor, then pushes the elevator button for you.

As my new Egyptian family taught me, because as they say, “now, you are Egyptian,” the best way to avoid touts and bakshish from draining your wallet is to flex some linguistic muscle. A simple la shukran (no thank you; pron. laa shOOkron) or a more advanced laes indi foulous (I have no money) is enough to convince them that you know what’s going on and its not worth it to waist their time on you.

Expect more updates soon.