The adaptation to daily life in Cairo is not an easy one. Cars honking, vendors yelling, dusty air, dirty streets, people pushing every which way. To an outsider, Cairo is a complete and utter mess, a vision of chaos at its very breaking point. And yet, despite all the commotion, the disorder of it all, there remains one universal constant that manages to unite the lives of virtually every Cairene in an ordered and controlled way: the Islamic faith.
Shortly after arriving in Egypt, the Islamic holy month of Ramadan started. I had been given some warning as to what this entailed, but having grossly underestimated the role that religion played in the everyday life of cosmopolitan Cairo, I in the same way miscalculated the number of people that would actually be adhering to the strict guidelines set for practicing Muslims in this season. Before ever coming to Cairo, I knew that during Ramadan, Muslims are not supposed to eat or drink from sunup to sundown. What I did not know was that virtually every Muslim, excluding those with extenuating circumstances, actually sticks to this rather severe command.
The everyday ramifications of an entire society choosing to fast during the day are quite great. Productivity is painfully slow, which is frustrating to see in a developing country. Shops, if they are not closed all day, will lock up at 2 p.m., only to open again late at night. Prepared food is quite difficult to get during the day, as the majority of the population is not eating. Institution hours are irregular: Banks are closed past noon, restaurants, all day. During the month of Ramadan, the booming city of Cairo functions at 50 percent.
My initial shock at the dedication shown by Cairenes to uphold their faith prevented me from recognizing the true intentions of the daily fasting for quite a while. It seemed unbelievable that almost every member of the society around me was not eating or drinking for the entire day. I watched in horror as a women fainted on the trains; was equally dismayed when an old man approached me in the Cairo Museum and begged me, through chapped lips, for water, only to take a few guilty drops then return my nearly full bottle. To not eat all day is one thing. Doable, in desperate times. But to not drink water, in Cairo, where the heat is so cripplingly intense that you really cannot do much of anything if you are not constantly rehydrating, seems impossible. And yet, the adherents of Islam in Cairo are so devoted to their faith here that they are willing to abstain from either for an entire month.
The upside to this daily torment, I learned, was the evening iftar meals served just as the call to prayer announces the official setting of the sun. At this time, throughout the city, absolutely everyone stops what they are doing and gathers together to sit down and break the fast. The rich have lavish feasts in their homes, but the poor are not forgotten. Tables are set up, under bridges, besides the river, in the streets—wherever there is room—and large meals are put out for anyone who cannot afford or find the time to go home for them. These meals are sponsored by wealthy members of the community, as dictated by their religion, and it is a cardinal point that nothing should be provided for the table of the poor that would not be served on the table of its wealthy provider. "We do not give a bowl of greens and then save for ourselves a plate of chicken. If we cannot afford to give chicken then we should not be giving at all. It is for them to have a good meal, too; they deserve it just as much," explained my Arabic professor on giving to the poor during this time. These vast tables, set up all over the city, are offered every night of the month and as the rich by day starve as if they are poor, the poor by night eat as if they are rich.
Cairo, it seems, is caught in an intense struggle, as it tries to both compete in a modern world and stay devoted to a religion devised in simpler times. This struggle has both flaws, as productivity slows and citizens faint of exhaustion, and benefits, as charity, on a scale of which I have never seen, is promoted. But overall religion here seems to provide the unifying framework that holds the chaos together, and over the madness of blaring horns, bartering sellers, and arguing women, the one thing that can always be counted on is the coming of the familiar sound of the call to prayer, announcing a brief lull in the storm that is daily life in Cairo.
The everyday ramifications of an entire society choosing to fast during the day are quite great. Productivity is painfully slow, which is frustrating to see in a developing country. Shops, if they are not closed all day, will lock up at 2 p.m., only to open again late at night. Prepared food is quite difficult to get during the day, as the majority of the population is not eating. Institution hours are irregular: Banks are closed past noon, restaurants, all day. During the month of Ramadan, the booming city of Cairo functions at 50 percent.
My initial shock at the dedication shown by Cairenes to uphold their faith prevented me from recognizing the true intentions of the daily fasting for quite a while. It seemed unbelievable that almost every member of the society around me was not eating or drinking for the entire day. I watched in horror as a women fainted on the trains; was equally dismayed when an old man approached me in the Cairo Museum and begged me, through chapped lips, for water, only to take a few guilty drops then return my nearly full bottle. To not eat all day is one thing. Doable, in desperate times. But to not drink water, in Cairo, where the heat is so cripplingly intense that you really cannot do much of anything if you are not constantly rehydrating, seems impossible. And yet, the adherents of Islam in Cairo are so devoted to their faith here that they are willing to abstain from either for an entire month.
The upside to this daily torment, I learned, was the evening iftar meals served just as the call to prayer announces the official setting of the sun. At this time, throughout the city, absolutely everyone stops what they are doing and gathers together to sit down and break the fast. The rich have lavish feasts in their homes, but the poor are not forgotten. Tables are set up, under bridges, besides the river, in the streets—wherever there is room—and large meals are put out for anyone who cannot afford or find the time to go home for them. These meals are sponsored by wealthy members of the community, as dictated by their religion, and it is a cardinal point that nothing should be provided for the table of the poor that would not be served on the table of its wealthy provider. "We do not give a bowl of greens and then save for ourselves a plate of chicken. If we cannot afford to give chicken then we should not be giving at all. It is for them to have a good meal, too; they deserve it just as much," explained my Arabic professor on giving to the poor during this time. These vast tables, set up all over the city, are offered every night of the month and as the rich by day starve as if they are poor, the poor by night eat as if they are rich.
Cairo, it seems, is caught in an intense struggle, as it tries to both compete in a modern world and stay devoted to a religion devised in simpler times. This struggle has both flaws, as productivity slows and citizens faint of exhaustion, and benefits, as charity, on a scale of which I have never seen, is promoted. But overall religion here seems to provide the unifying framework that holds the chaos together, and over the madness of blaring horns, bartering sellers, and arguing women, the one thing that can always be counted on is the coming of the familiar sound of the call to prayer, announcing a brief lull in the storm that is daily life in Cairo.
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