There is no question about Ramadan nights being a special time of year, writes Nahed Nassr, but are they equally enjoyable for everyone?
For the duration of Ramadan, from sunrise to sunset -- the fasting hours -- a certain chaotic harmony controls the pace of life throughout Egypt. Even non-Muslims and foreigners are subject to it. Nor are they the only ones to be seen eating, drinking or smoking in public. Still, whether or not they are fasting, everyone feels a difference in the way things progress; everyone partakes of the controlled chaos. Towards sunset, for example, the streets are blessed with a quietude profoundly foreign to Cairo, and some people make a point of going out only then, to enjoy the city as it never is at any other time of year. Not until a few hours after Iftar, however, does the lunar month's unique range of nocturnal activities begin. Different people, as it turns out, do very different things.
Some hit the cafés, many of which are converted into "tents" or otherwise themed venues; they have TV screens that play the month's entertainment specialties while serving these media delicacies' culinary counterparts. By now a tradition of the bigger restaurants and five-star hotels is to set up tents, especially for the late- night meal of Sohour, sometimes with live entertainment involving the best known pop stars. As an employee of one such establishment in Zamalek puts it, "I can tell you the singers make a fortune out of that month. Then again, the audiences are kind of well off; the tents are not for everyone."
Many stay indoors, gathering with their (extended) families around their own TV screens, in the cosiness of their homes; most, indeed, will spend the first week doing just that: an opportunity to affirm the blood ties Islam stresses so much in a somewhat large-scale version of Christmas in the West. According to one young lady, the mother of two, "besides Ramadan's spiritual meaning for every Muslim, it is also a special opportunity to spend time with family and friends you don't normally see much of for the rest of the year. In the first week we gather in one of the family homes, preparing the dishes together and having Iftar all in the same place in front of the TV. Ramadan is the family month." Others, like one university student who says he has kept up the routine since secondary school, capitalise on the month's status as a time of answered prayers and intensify religious rituals for its duration, paying little attention to everything else: "every night my friends and I gather at the mosque to pray taraweeh [a Ramadan-specific extension of the evening prayers], then we stay there reading the Quran all night."
Cafés, especially variations on the traditional coffee house, remain by far the most affordable and popular option for all, at least after the first week of Ramadan has passed. One man in his 40s is especially appreciative: "on Ramadan nights the cafés give the city a special magic. Everyone's awake passing time, whether doing right or wrong; you feel the life oozing out of everything. One of my favourite places on a Ramadan night is Khan Al-Khalili, where Egypt's very distinct coffee-house atmosphere is most apparent. It's particularly satisfying to have shisha in the company of friends." And yet hotels and other tourist establishments remain operational during the holy month, serving alcohol to whoever asks for it except for Egyptian citizens, including Christians, for whom alcohol is legally banned for the duration of Ramadan -- a somewhat absurd rule occasionally mistakenly extended to Arab or Muslim non-Egyptians. Most bars and nightclubs close for the month, admittedly, but some of those that stay open rather more sensibly knock alcohol off the menu altogether, or -- operating in secret -- raise the price. One regular customer of a famous downtown café complains of the alcohol policy: "for years I've met my friends and sometimes done my work here, largely because I can have a beer at a reasonable price. But in Ramadan they stop serving beer, and this always puzzles me because it's not like I become someone else during Ramadan -- why should customers change their preferences for a month and then return to normal?" He added that one bar in Emadeddin stays open "after a fashion" but raises prices to an exploitative degree. Barmen, like Hani, acknowledge that Ramadan is an appropriate time to take off, mainly for religious reasons, but says it presents people like himself with a huge financial problem that they must prepare for in advance: "what if one hasn't saved money for this forced vacation? Then finding alternative work becomes necessary, and work isn't always available on the spur of the moment."
Abu Radi, almost 50, has been working in a downtown bar for 15 years, and he used to have a one-month job in a sandwich joint during Ramadan: "of course the pay isn't even comparable, because at the sandwich place you don't get tips. Some barmen stay at home for the month, but I can't afford to do that." Abu Radi's suggestion is that bar owners should pay their staff, even if they reduce the pay by half: "that way they don't lose much and they get to keep their staff, too. Then again, every employer knows it would be easy to get a replacement if the worst came to the worst." For Henna, a nightclub waitress for eight years and her family's main support, the business of finding a month's work to make up for the loss of income is even harder: "I was working as a maid when my neighbour offered me a job at the kitchen of a restaurant, he said, which turned out to be a nightclub; and I was eventually promoted to waiting tables. I'm earning more than I ever have. I used to save for it, too, but it's not so easy for a girl to find work for a month."
According to one young man who works in a five-star hotel bar, however, "those working in tourist zones wish the whole year were Ramadan. Restrictions on alcohol bring in so many more customers, you see." Samir, a liquor store attendant, says the restrictions on alcohol are understandable and normal by now, pointing out that stores do not even open during the day out of respect for the faithful. Egyptians eager to drink must peruse illegal stores like those located in the suburbs of Shubra, but, he adds, they should be aware of the high risk of alcohol poisoning. Perhaps a cup of tea in Khan Al-Khalili is not so bad after all.
Some hit the cafés, many of which are converted into "tents" or otherwise themed venues; they have TV screens that play the month's entertainment specialties while serving these media delicacies' culinary counterparts. By now a tradition of the bigger restaurants and five-star hotels is to set up tents, especially for the late- night meal of Sohour, sometimes with live entertainment involving the best known pop stars. As an employee of one such establishment in Zamalek puts it, "I can tell you the singers make a fortune out of that month. Then again, the audiences are kind of well off; the tents are not for everyone."
Many stay indoors, gathering with their (extended) families around their own TV screens, in the cosiness of their homes; most, indeed, will spend the first week doing just that: an opportunity to affirm the blood ties Islam stresses so much in a somewhat large-scale version of Christmas in the West. According to one young lady, the mother of two, "besides Ramadan's spiritual meaning for every Muslim, it is also a special opportunity to spend time with family and friends you don't normally see much of for the rest of the year. In the first week we gather in one of the family homes, preparing the dishes together and having Iftar all in the same place in front of the TV. Ramadan is the family month." Others, like one university student who says he has kept up the routine since secondary school, capitalise on the month's status as a time of answered prayers and intensify religious rituals for its duration, paying little attention to everything else: "every night my friends and I gather at the mosque to pray taraweeh [a Ramadan-specific extension of the evening prayers], then we stay there reading the Quran all night."
Cafés, especially variations on the traditional coffee house, remain by far the most affordable and popular option for all, at least after the first week of Ramadan has passed. One man in his 40s is especially appreciative: "on Ramadan nights the cafés give the city a special magic. Everyone's awake passing time, whether doing right or wrong; you feel the life oozing out of everything. One of my favourite places on a Ramadan night is Khan Al-Khalili, where Egypt's very distinct coffee-house atmosphere is most apparent. It's particularly satisfying to have shisha in the company of friends." And yet hotels and other tourist establishments remain operational during the holy month, serving alcohol to whoever asks for it except for Egyptian citizens, including Christians, for whom alcohol is legally banned for the duration of Ramadan -- a somewhat absurd rule occasionally mistakenly extended to Arab or Muslim non-Egyptians. Most bars and nightclubs close for the month, admittedly, but some of those that stay open rather more sensibly knock alcohol off the menu altogether, or -- operating in secret -- raise the price. One regular customer of a famous downtown café complains of the alcohol policy: "for years I've met my friends and sometimes done my work here, largely because I can have a beer at a reasonable price. But in Ramadan they stop serving beer, and this always puzzles me because it's not like I become someone else during Ramadan -- why should customers change their preferences for a month and then return to normal?" He added that one bar in Emadeddin stays open "after a fashion" but raises prices to an exploitative degree. Barmen, like Hani, acknowledge that Ramadan is an appropriate time to take off, mainly for religious reasons, but says it presents people like himself with a huge financial problem that they must prepare for in advance: "what if one hasn't saved money for this forced vacation? Then finding alternative work becomes necessary, and work isn't always available on the spur of the moment."
Abu Radi, almost 50, has been working in a downtown bar for 15 years, and he used to have a one-month job in a sandwich joint during Ramadan: "of course the pay isn't even comparable, because at the sandwich place you don't get tips. Some barmen stay at home for the month, but I can't afford to do that." Abu Radi's suggestion is that bar owners should pay their staff, even if they reduce the pay by half: "that way they don't lose much and they get to keep their staff, too. Then again, every employer knows it would be easy to get a replacement if the worst came to the worst." For Henna, a nightclub waitress for eight years and her family's main support, the business of finding a month's work to make up for the loss of income is even harder: "I was working as a maid when my neighbour offered me a job at the kitchen of a restaurant, he said, which turned out to be a nightclub; and I was eventually promoted to waiting tables. I'm earning more than I ever have. I used to save for it, too, but it's not so easy for a girl to find work for a month."
According to one young man who works in a five-star hotel bar, however, "those working in tourist zones wish the whole year were Ramadan. Restrictions on alcohol bring in so many more customers, you see." Samir, a liquor store attendant, says the restrictions on alcohol are understandable and normal by now, pointing out that stores do not even open during the day out of respect for the faithful. Egyptians eager to drink must peruse illegal stores like those located in the suburbs of Shubra, but, he adds, they should be aware of the high risk of alcohol poisoning. Perhaps a cup of tea in Khan Al-Khalili is not so bad after all.
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