We all want to be remembered, don't we? None of us wants to be forgotten after our deaths. One of the survivors of the Auschwitz concentration camp poignantly said that we all suffer two deaths. The first is when we actually die and our bodies stop functioning. The second is when our memories are forgotten and no one thinks about us anymore. For most people, their names and their memories live on through their children, but throughout the centuries, men have gone to great lengths to ensure that their names and their memories live on after them so that they don't fall into an eternal oblivion, gone from the pages of history as if they had never existed. Some build monuments. Others have elaborate tombs constructed to house their remains. In Mediaeval Egypt, the Mamluke Amir Aqsunqur was one of the chief advisors and Master of the Hunt to Sultan an-Nasir Muhammad. He planned that his name would live on after him in the mosque that bears his name. Whilst the Blue Mosque in Istanbul is much more famous, Aqsunqur's mosque in Cairo bears the same name. Now misleadingly referred to in many tourist guides as the Blue Mosque, the mosque of Aqsungur is not blue at all. In fact, from the street it is rather grey and dusty and looks nothing special at all as it blends in with the surrounding buildings. Mediaeval Cairo had an expanding population problem, somewhat similar to our own. When the walled city of Al-Qahira was full to bursting, people began to build outside the walls. The street leading to the Citadel from the city's southern gate, Bab Zuweyla, seemed a perfect place to build. Known as Darb al-Ahmar, “the Red Street,” it was the route of many royal procession. It was the street used for the route of the Mahmal, the procession which began in Cairo and took the kiswah, or black cloth, which was given every year as a gift to cover the sacred Ka'aba in Makkah. Not surprisingly, the street became prime real estate, and Mamluke emirs sought to build their monuments here when there was no more room in the city itself. Nowadays, there are mosques and the remains of palaces all along the street. Looking nothing special from the street itself, the mashrabeya covered windows conceal splendours within. Begun in 1347, the mosque of Aqsunqur follows the usual plan for a mosque of that period. It is not a particularly big mosque, although it does use the familiar Mamluke skill of positioning itself in such a way that the direction of Makkah is exactly what you see upon entering through the main door. Space was at a premium and the Mamluke craftsmen managed to use every inch of it to achieve the best effects. There is a central courtyard, with four covered arcades around it. In this courtyard, palm trees mark the place where the ablution fountain once stood. This is still a restful place, away from the noise and the dust of the street outside. It was here, too, that the six-year-old Sultan al-Ashraf Kuchuk was buried, after reigning for only five months and being strangled to death at the command of his brother. What people really come here to see, though, are the tiles that cover the prayer wall inside. These were added by the Ottoman army officer, Ibrahim Agha, who had them brought from Damascus to add beauty to the building. These beautiful blue tiles, so typical of many mosques in Ottoman Istanbul, have floral motifs and they cover the qibla wall, which shows the direction of Makkah. So beautiful are they, that the mosque now takes its name after them. Aside from the tiles, which are indeed splendid, the Blue Mosque is worth visiting for another reason. The minaret, also built in 1347, has one of the finest views of Islamic Cairo from its top to be found anywhere in the city. The minaret keeps its circular shape from top to bottom and the stairs wind endlessly upward in the darkness inside, until they bring you to a viewing place. The views of the Citadel and Sultan Hassan mosque from here are magnificent, as are the views back towards the walled Medieval city. It only takes a little imagination to see the people down below, going about their business as they would have done hundreds of years ago. If you have not climbed this minaret for the view, when you visit Cairo you should do so. Who knows, then, the real reason why Aqsunqur built the mosque? Was it for the glory of Allah or was it to the glory of his own memory? In all things, though, there are lessons to be learned if only we have the ears to hear or the eyes to see. Muslims read about the dwellers of paradise in the Holy Qur'an in Surat Al-R'ad: The angels enter to them from every gate, saying: ‘Peace be upon you for that you were patient. How excellent is your final home.' 13:24 Not many of us will build a mosque or any great monument as a lasting memorial to our lives. Our children, who will treasure our memories in their hearts, will survive most of us. How much greater than a monument, though, would it be for us to be remembered for the good we did in this life? It is a simple fact that after we are long gone, the chaotic traffic will still keep flowing and the sun will still come up day after day, whether we are there to see it or not. How wonderful, then, to be remembered for the kind of person we were in this life. How much greater than a memorial in stone it will be, if people can speak well of us after we are gone, reminding others that we were kind and generous, loyal friends and, perhaps, people of faith, prompt to do what we believed to be right.. Why not begin building our monuments now, not in stone, but in the hearts of those around us. British Muslim writer, Idris Tawfiq, is a lecturer at Al-Azhar University. The author of eight books about Islam, he divides his time between Egypt and the UK as a speaker, writer and broadcaster. You can visit his website at www.idristawfiq.com
