Ramadan diaries

By Nur Elmessiri and Youssef Rakha 27 November/1 Ramadan: Could have spent the first day of R in Al-Arish. The idea had been that some of us would spend the night at the border at Rafah if need be, if the Israelis didn't let the food and medicine through. For security reasons (in the light of the shooting at Rafah a few days ago) we didn't get beyond Arish. "If we have to pray 'asr, maghreb, 'isha and fagr here in the square till we are allowed to get to the border, till the humanitarian supplies get through to the Palestinians, we will" one of the members of the Popular Committee for Solidarity with the Palestinians had said at midday, megaphone in hand, to the 1000 or so demonstrating Arishians. That would have been something to pray the first fagr of Ramadan 2000 under a sky in which the stars are visible. But, no, just as it got dark suddenly we were on the buses heading back to Cairo. Three hours into our drive away from Arish, just before the Suez Canal crossing, it was decided that the most sensible thing, given the difficulty in finding a place in Cairo to park the five trailers carrying the tonnes of food and medicine, would be to phone Al-Arish and ask the Palestinian deputy there (with whom we had, "in protest," declined to leave the stuff) to come and get it -- and take it back to Al-Arish! It would have been nice to send hundreds of those little key chain fawanis to the children whose toys lie buried under demolished houses. From Egypt with love.
29 November/3 Ramadan: Post-Iftar, went to the Cairo Choral Society's Bach Christmas Oratorio -- at Ewart Hall. These Cairo Choral Soc. events are for me ritual points, landmarks giving a semblance of stability to the passing of the years. Come rain or shine, births, marriages, deaths, lunar calendars, every late November/early December, Larry Catlin and his choir give an evening which is always a joy to free oneself up for. The Christmas they sang Handel's Messiah (1997) was followed by the first Ramadan in decades to overlap with the "Merry Christmas/Happy New Year" season. The second of Ramadan was 31 December and in the dark post-Iftar hush -- on the way back from Cairo Airport and through the City of the Dead -- there were festive lights everywhere: crescents and stars, fanous- and Christmas tree-shaped, green and multi-coloured, on hotel façades, strung across minarets.
30 November/4 Ramadan: Finally we had our first family Iftar. We all had some qamareddin in solidarity with ma who had been all but bullied for years (and I mean yeeeears) into not making it because quotha (pa): "Nobody likes qamareddin ." Well, last R when he made that sweeping statement, we all jumped on him. Now the qamareddin tradition has been (all-too) firmly reinstated in our family: whether you feel like some or not, it is good (pro-ma) form in the house always to have qamareddin with the meal and to comment on how much you love the stuff. It's not that the Pater is anti-traditional; he likes to pick and choose. Qamareddin , khushaf, radio-on-while-eating, rush-to-TV-post-Iftar: no; Quran-on-radio-before-eating and paper cut-out decorations and fawanis in front of the building entrance: yes. He's lucky to have as an employee Mohamed El-Ashwal who doesn't just share his enthusiasm for paper R decorations, but actually knows how to make them. So are the rest of us in the building.
3 December/7 Ramadan: Feel terrible. The flu everybody has, had or is about to have has hit. So, instead of being at Beit Al-Harawi listening to Abnoudi read his poetry, here I am, a human cabbage, in bed. It hit on Friday. Exactly before the extended family Iftar. But family Iftar was fun. The little ones put on an impromptu puppet show using Maurice Sendack Wild Things puppets; the agonising ritual queuing for kunafa at Quweidar earlier in the day proved worth my bro's while as did their kitchen travails my ma, my sis-in-law, Tante Alexa, Hoda and Gamal (the Messiris did not leave much for the elves); and, other than a few disappearances for an hour (into the TV room which mercifully is in a discreet corner of the house) Ramadan TV did not dominate.
Now, after two days of trying to get over the flu "naturally" (vitamins, sleep, hot libations, soups, unadulterated lemon juice, warm lemon juice with honey...etc), I'm on Rhinopront.
What kind of Ramadan is this, foggy with the burning of rice, fluey, cold and sleepy? Gone are the childhood days when Ramadan was in the summer hols and we were free from all non-R cares, when, after the Iftar hush and lull, life would burst into streets no longer oppressively hot, cooler by the hour with the approach of fagr, merrier and sweeter tempered than they had been at the hellish midday crazy traffic hours... I do miss those Jeckyl and Hyde Ramadans. The fasting was much tougher, but the breaking of the fast was all the more sweeter for that. Things were clearly demarcated then: you suffered dehydration in R and sniffled and sneezed Christmas to New Year time. Consolation: the moon will do its cyclical thing and one day Ramadan will come again in the summer time when the living, at least for the school and university age among us, is easy.
5 December/9 Ramadan: After Iftar, went with a friend to the qahwa in Tawfiqiya which serves ganzabil (ginger): a perfect Ramadan-in-the-winter (and flu) drink, the discovery of which I have Gamal to thank for. If turned into a tradition, it could be R's answer to C's mulled wine or egg nog.
7 December/11 Ramadan: After Iftar Gihane and I took Nadim, Basma, Ahmed and Youssra (ages 6 to 16) to the Merryland which, or so we heard, has a "Ramadani" atmosphere. Sure enough: khayamiya eateries, shisha (cantaloupe flavoured, a hit among the ever-younger shisha crowd) and huge TV screens. Gihane and I were shocked by how the Merryland "lake" had shrunk. The pelicans, swans, ducks and pelican-shaped pedal boats were still there, so were the Felfela-rivaling assortment of caged creatures (deer, ostriches, moose, peacocks, parrots...). But the lake is now a mere pond. It isn't just that what seemed huge to our child eyes has shrunk with age, but, same as what happened to Sharm Al-Sheikh's Naima Bay, the Merryland waterfront has been choked by eateries and commercial stalls. Still, we cast nostalgia aside and had a good time. There were funfare rides -- the kids opted for the bumper cars; there were men dressed as dolphins waving to all and sundry; and we had fresh fruit juice, Egyptian pop tunes blaring from the speakers. Best of all were five dolphins (including cute fin-waving four-month old, Happy, born in Merryland's Splash Park!) and two baloga whales who, who knows how, made their way from the North Sea to Heliopolis. Anastasia the sea lion, we were told, was asleep.
On our way out of Splash Park, we were asked if we belonged to Al-Haraka ("the political movement"). It took a few moments to realise that this question was à propos Youssra's and my wearing hattas (black and white chequered shawls). We said we were. Victory signs were exchanged and we left the Merryland in stitches.
8 December/12 Ramadan: Lightning and thunder today -- and it poured down hard enough in Heliopolis to wash (not merely muddy) the trees. It only drizzled downtown. Teresa said she saw a rainbow -- a full one -- in Maadi. Bushra. Inshallah ya rab.
9 December/13 Ramadan: Finally made it to Al-Harawi. I love the Azhar Mosque side of the Al-Hussein area. The buildings there have been restored but they haven't cleaned the living spirit out of the place as they did the Mar Girgis area. The area behind the Azhar Mosque is quiet and laid back, and the cozy, friendly qahwa en route to Beit Al-Harawi and Zeinab Khatoun is never as crowded, or touristy, as Fishawi's. I dropped in at the Al-Khatoun to say hello to Ayman and Suzy who as usual had very beautiful things in their shop. Soon we were joined by Amina and Youssef who had come to listen to the Rahala troupe on my recommendation. I did find them very moving when a month ago (at a Palestine Solidarity evening at Harawi, organised by Hassan El-Greitly-directed Warsha) they managed, in one song, to restore the word Al-Salam, from its association with a discredited process, to its rightful place as one of the 99 Beautiful Names. But tonight... I won't go on about it. Amina, with whom Youssef and I agreed, will tell of the Rahala evening in her diary. Still, in spite of disappointment, it was nice to hang out with Weekly culture staff en plein air (rain and all). Made a change from a window-less, neon-lit cubicle.
11 December/15 Ramadan: Best Ramadan evening so far. Al-Warsha were great. They have really gotten better and better with time. The Harawi was packed and the atmosphere was warm. What a range the Warsha instrumentalists, singers and storytellers covered: from the "high"/classical Andalusi muwashah sung by the entire troupe, all the way "down" to a hysterically funny sassy baladi Ahmed Adawiya-type song lamenting the decline of quality in the art scene today which Medhat Fawzi sang. I really enjoyed the way they brought in the cries of street hawkers in the riches-to-rags song, Illi ye'ish yamma yeshouf which Hassan Khanoufa, very-veteran music hall performer and last of Egypt's shadow play performers, started them off on. Wonderful too was listening to their voices taking turns singing the mawal of Ayyub El-Masri (Job, the Egyptian). My favourite treat of the evening was the recitation from the addictive Hilaliya epic. When Bassem Wadie sang of, and impersonated, El-Zanati Khalifa preparing for war, I was a spellbound child, politically incorrectly admiring the transformation of the 20-something rawi (reciter) into a moustachioed sword-bearing epic hero. He and the other story tellers and singers acted out their stories so well that English-speaking Mr Blake enjoyed them as much as the music, was in stitches as if he understood every Arabic word. When they closed the evening with three Palestinian songs the audience was beside itself with joy. Mr Blake and I made our way back out to Al-Azhar St, and from there into our respective taxis, in thorough good cheer.
13 December/17 Ramadan: Antibiotics (650 mgs, 2 times a day, for the last 5 days) have not done the trick. Still coughing, sneezing and sniffling. Plus back hurts from uncomfortable (backless) Harawi seating. Still, am glad I made it out to Al-Harawi. When El-Sheikh El-Hilbawi and his group first got on stage, my heart sank. Something to do with one of the back-ups' hairdo, and the way the performer wearing a black suit kept looking at his watch. In fact -- and Youssef and Nyier, I found out later, agree -- El-Hilbawi didn't really need a back up. The singing of the Quran like a choral piece did not work for me, though the chanting of the shahada like Coptic or Eastern orthodox taratil was interesting. Once El-Hilbawi got into his stride I was mesmerised and forgot all about the awkward performance aspect of it all. He sang beautifully Al-Mawlid Al-Nabawi Al-Sharif, the story of the conception and birth of the Prophet (peace be upon him), in which where echoes of the Immaculate Conception, Annunciation and Nativity. "Long ago," he sang, "before we suckled/ We drank from this wine glass/ When the Covenant was still within us." At the door, knocking, El-Hilbawi (and those of us who had entered into his hal [spiritual state]) asked not to be turned away. Do not ask, he sang, how it is that He came to sit upon the Throne: For Him there is no how and no where. Call out to your Lord "Ya hu" (Oh He). Generous, He gives answer.
It was all quite intense. Cinnamon with milk at Fishawi's brought me down to earth. And being rained on.
15 December/19 Ramadan: Took Nadim to the Merryland Splash Park show. Wasn't half as fun as the other night, but Nadim enjoyed. Decorated my palm trees with the Christmas decorations we've had since I was a child in America. A good thing that Sheikh Yassin El-Tuhami is after my deadline. Can go, enjoy, and not think about writing about him in "Weekly 'Ramadan diary' style."
26 November/30 Shaaban: The lamp-posts on the cul-de-sac where I live have inexplicably gone out and nobody has fixed them. In the dimness one can barely make one's way without stumbling. Am having unpleasant thoughts about this when suddenly I notice a subdued turquoise light, so unobtrusive it barely covers the square metre or so immediately surrounding it. I look up and there it is, seemingly suspended in mid-air, a medium-sized fanous (Ramadan lantern) gleaming beautifully in the distance.
Weighty family concerns have rendered me unaware of it, but the whole world -- our little cul-de-sac included -- is shifting into Ramadan mode.
29 November/3 Ramadan: The month of the Qur'an seems but a distant (and pleasant enough) backdrop to what's happening on the third floor of the Townhouse Galleryt. The barely perceptible but crucial transformation Ramadan brings about hasn't yet sunk in, and the cool improvisations of Yaaru Theatre -- hip, young, Western -- are not helping with the transition. The show is impossible to convey. No content. Ecstatic about the performance, my companion and I head for Café Riche, where an unprovoked squabble with the waiter brings home not only the Holy Month factor but official hypocrisy as well: Egyptians, as the waiter gruffly indicates, must sit on the terrace. If they sit inside, presumably, they might want to order some of the alcohol the aganib are being served; only aganib can drink legally in Ramadan.
In the crisp air of night-time Tal'at Harb, I can't help reflecting on legislative duplicity: either permit no alcohol at all, or give a man a drink.
1 December/5 Ramadan: Traffic in Ramadan obeys the laws of the stomach. Hunger makes for daytime chaos, made ever more complex by the weather this year. Conflicts erupt and die sporadically throughout the day, sometimes with mortal consequences. In the morning the manoeuvres are undertaken against a backdrop of heavy mist. In the afternoon taxi-drivers exhale obscenities through rain-soaked windshields that offer a curiously Impressionist and sometimes completely non-figurative prospect. However much they subsequently murmur, asking God's pardon under their breaths, the indelibly hectic atmosphere surrounding their daily toil is unmistakable -- until the half hour preceding Iftar At this point, if the sky has cleared, Cairo turns into one infinitely complex automobile racing course in which the only imaginable goal is to reach the dining table on time. This brief spell of perfectly licit speeding is condoned by both fellow drivers and traffic police -- testimony to a shared sense of urgency, an implicit understanding of this curiously universal predicament. By sunset the streets have all but cleared, the air is clean, the city remains derelict for the next hour. By the late evening, however, herds of complacent-seeming vehicles, heavy with post-Iftar artillery, are to be seen again crawling up the October bridge. There is less tension, but the bottle-necks (sometimes occurring well after midnight) are equally frustrating. And taxi-drivers who have broken their fast no longer feel the need to ask God's pardon when they curse.
3 December/7 Ramadan: Try to participate positively in family get-together. Amazing how far a group of middle-class Egyptians can stretch three simple themes. As I enumerate the topics of the conversation, I notice that they just happen to be identical with the three products around which Ramadan TV advertising has revolved: mobile phones, Egyptian-made electric appliances, and ghee. What a very interesting coincidence.
Family members are visibly turning into couch potatoes before the screen. Both the TV volume and their voices have suddenly gone up.
Head off to Zahret Al-Bostan accompanied by an unsuspecting friend: the usual, Ramadan-free mixture of "intellectuals," khawagas and artisans does not strike him favourably, and he comments on the litter strewn around the corridor in which we are seated. The city centre is lonely and lacklustre on Ramadan nights. The game of dominoes we eventually embark on fuels a fight between the two of us, as it nearly always does. Two beautiful girls not wearing hijab come and talk intimately to our waiter.
6-8 December/10-12 Ramadan: A stealthy weekend in Ne'ma Bay -- my first experience of a five-star resort in Sinai -- dispels the illusion of a homogenous Egypt. Sharm Al-Sheikh is a country apart. Individual privacy is respected. And nature is incredibly pretty. There are no "tables of mercy" here, no rain, no city centre, no priggish piety, no Ramadan. Admittedly, the occasional fanous does make an appearance, though Christmas decorations are predominant by far. The automobile racing phase is in evidence among drivers and restaurant personnel (who, while making no provisions for Iftar, refuse to provide dinner until six or seven pm).
11 December/15 Ramadan: Outside the Hussein Mosque -- madad ya sayyidna Al-Hussein! -- a set of ugly structures resembling enormous umbrellas have risen to protect open-air prayers from sun and rain. The area around the mosque is cordoned off, as usual. Too many people buzzing about listlessly. Large trucks are parked in strange places. Signs bear the words moltaqa al-fikr al-dini (conference of religious thought).
Khan Al-Khalili is as tacky as Ghouriya is simple. Hustlers everywhere, proclaiming restaurants, cafés, "nice family atmosphere;" tissues, nuts, nutcrackers; diverse memorabilia, ancient Egyptian or Islamic, assorted trinkets, head-swaying little dogs and wine glasses filled with a solid that looks convincingly liquid; copperware, silverware, pottery, jewellery, fabric, chess and backgammon sets; herbs, spices, condiments, refreshments; pipe-size "mobile shishas" made of glass, dolls with a flashing bulb in the hollow of the tummy-button, electrician's kits, "very special price."
Al-Fishawi proves as loud, tawdry and unpleasant as any of the other tourist-overpriced cafés. Even the five-star Naguib Mahfouz Café involves compulsory third-rate live music all night. We opt for the most nondescript ahwa in the area, spend an hour or so, pay an outrageous bill and head straight back.
On my way out of Khan Al-Khalili it seems apt to stock up on Yassin El-Tohami cassettes for late-night listening. I buy six.
17 December/21 Ramadan: Dar Al-Shorouq's gala Iftar at Shepherd Hotel (see Pack of Cards). Flattering to have been invited along with three Weekly heads of state. Slip out of the post-Iftar nadwa and make it to the Centre Français one hour before the Yassin concert (the idea is to reserve a place early on). At the door am told to come back in one hour. And despite this, the occasional misgiving about the event being too contrived, Yassin's long Abdel-Halim Hafiz-style intro (half of which seemed self-indulgent), the inauthentic setting and the terribly artificial majdhoub (a wandering dervish supposedly in a permanent state of rapture), this beats Shiekh Mohamed El-Helbawi's Firqat Al-Inshad Al-Sufi (Beit Al-Harrawi, 13 December), which relates to Yassin in the way that classic relates to folk. City centre dwellers join in when Yassin's Upper Egyptian entourage begins to sway, breaking a very perceptible division and merging the authentic ceremony and contrived performance aspects of the event. Get a whiff of what (Sufi) ecstasy must smell like.
A quiet night browsing the Internet, during which I learn from Reuters that nearly 200 Algerian civilians have been killed by extremists since the beginning of the Holy Month. No. of Algerians killed in Ramadan = no. of Palestinians killed since the flare-up of the Intifada. Reflect that nobody has said anything about this. Suddenly realise it's five am. The air on my balcony is clear, chilly and refreshing.
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