Youssef Rakha anticipates a complicated Ramadan Summer time, but the living is harder than ever. Nor is it just a question of rocketing inflation and mad traffic combined with the extra costs of the Ramadan spread seemingly obligatory at every table. This year the holy month arrives to visions of Armageddon, almost. In one sense, at least: the festive evenings of fanouss -bearing children singing traditional ditties along the lines of hallu ya hallu, Ramadan kareem ya hallu (i.e., "hallu ya hallu, Ramadan is noble ya hallu") will be plunged back in the darkest nighttime darkness of their origins in pre-electricity (Fatimid) times. Power saving against the backdrop of a power crisis (already evident in the war-like atmosphere of sundry main roads, arbitrarily chosen, for hours at a time in the last month or so): Summer Time officially ended yesterday, a last-minute, quasi-emergency measure to make Iftar an hour earlier than it would otherwise be at such an insanely hot and humid time of year. Apparently the month of fasting is not all about spiritual convenience. Of course, the issue is not simply this ridiculously unexpected 30-day glitch in the season's functioning of the clock. There is also the fact that, once Ramadan is over, Egypt returns to Summer Time -- for 20 days only -- before winter, as in the beginning of October, sets in. Who came up with this brilliant plan, nobody knows. But for now at least, it is meant to help with the electricity crisis, as an added bonus, if not by unilaterally shortening the night against the will of the solar system, then by a bilateral effective shortening. So be it. The dark hours meted out to various neighbourhoods, one after the other, apparently according to some predetermined rotational schedule, casting not only thoroughfares but the AC-fitted apartments of the faithful into clammy chaos, will just have to be endured. If it isn't about exceptional, once-a-year television programming and post-Iftar family gatherings, however, what will Ramadan be about? And post-Iftar family gatherings, naturally enough, require automotive trips after dark. One shudders to imagine the pitch-black road accidents (let alone the daytime traffic fights powered by nicotine-deprivation), the ceaseless floods of sweat, the pouting resulting from power cuts coinciding with prime (as in Ramadan) time must-sees. Whether through human or divine intervention, however, perhaps what the many-faceted confusion is really about is, after all, the quieter, more pious time for which the month was -- to the best of my knowledge -- originally intended. I doubt if even the most drastic disruption of the annual schedule could achieve the kind of spirituality I am beginning to imagine, but perhaps people will, for once, pay less attention to gorging themselves on the most extravagant meals of the year before melding into their TV screen-flanked couches than to the meaning of the fast. Perhaps that is the Quranic good that lies hidden in apparent evil. Still, one aspect of the holy month will be missed sorely in some if not all places: the by now electricity-dependent Ramadan decorations. For the first time in recent memory, whether in shop windows or in the middle of alleyways, at the entrances of buildings or by the doors of establishments, the fanouss will give off no light. So, at least, following official announcements to the effect that Egyptians can longer afford so much power -- not now -- is the word on the street. Once again I doubt it will hold true, even if that means many more months with many more hours of nighttime darkness, once the lunar month is over. Certainly, now and on 1 October, the time change will compound the temporal lack of rigour already characteristic of life in this part of the world. People will either forget or pretend to forget that life is now an hour earlier, then -- once it is back to normal -- they will think it is two or three hours late. They will complain, specifically, about increases in the price of petrol, as if there are not enough vehicles running on petrol on the streets of Cairo and Alexandria. They may intensify prayers and reading of the Quran, but they will most certainly eat -- and eat. What I am personally hoping is that neither power saving nor power crisis will obstruct the many traditionally rooted, folk and religious performances that take place during the holy months, to which I would probably enjoy walking in the dark. It is not simply by way of ending on a positive note that it is worth pointing out there will be many of these, from chanting in praise of the Prophet Mohamed to recitations of the grassroots epics of Upper Egypt to the accompaniment of rababa, held in some of the most beautiful buildings in Islamic Cairo. Honestly, now, who cares about TV?
