My utmost favourite Ramadan endeavour always took place in Egypt about an hour before sunset. My mother and I would get into the car (avec chauffeur - the days of my mother the Datsun speed monster are over) and make our way through the herd of cars slowly encroaching their destinations. At every intersection we would roll down the windows and pass envelopes to the traffic wardens. Those envelopes contained a small stipend and a humble collection of Quranic chapters put together in loving memory of my grandmother. What you should know is that a traffic warden often working 12 hour 7 day shifts receives the equivalent of about EUR 20 a month. They usually send back about half to their families back in the village and end up with very little for food and shelter. In fact I have no idea how they manage. So, the idea behind this enevelope is that the warden would have the means to buy food to eat and upon reading* the verses would in fact be reading them for my grandmother. My mother's mother. I already know without a doubt that I too will carry on this tradition. And I would certainly hope my offspring (as crazy as they undoubtedly will turn out) will too. It is in this simple act of giving that we have perfected the art of paying forward a blessing to our most loved ones.
My mother and I would continue on this saga daily, interspersing our travels with visits to orphanages, elderly homes, shanty towns, hospitals, etc. My favourite part was whenever my mother would stop to buy lemons off the side of the road and bargain with the woman till she got the price she wanted only for her to moments later hand the woman an envelope worth more than the whole lemon basket. So why bargain in the first place? A spot of light sport as recommended by the Ramadan Booster Pro app.
It is unfortunately fortunate that Ramadan is during summer this year. This means that most of the orphanages and other public institutions that normally suffer during the summer months on account of increased expenditure by the middle to upper class on holidays and cars (fat 4x4), have less to worry about. This is the peril of the Ramadan generosity fever. People give for one month and then forget to give for the rest of the year. A lot of institutions have started buying dried food with the money donated in Ramadan and storing it for the rest of the year. The quintessential 'whatever works' principle. Luckily the tri-faith nature of Egypt means that the Copts will pick up the slack during Christmas this year, leaving the Jews to tend to the Autumn months and the remaining faiths to deal with Spring. Theological cost sharing is what I call it.
On the way back home we would swing past my aunt's house to pick up dinner (iftar). My aunt -maternal obviously - is lovely. She is the kindest, softest, most amazing cook of a gullible woman in the world. And this is an understatement. I truly believe that her prayers for me (all of us!) are the reason I make it home daily. Every time I would leave the country she would drag my cousin to drive her over to our house, regardless of the time, only to light incense around me, read the Quran and cast a million blessings my way. And try and stuff a roasted chicken in my luggage. Bless. Stocked with auntilicious food, mother and I would make the trek back home, usually harbouring an additional stowaway in the form of one or two cousins. Once home we would start making plates of food to give to our neighbour upstairs and our flat guardian (baow'ab) downstairs. Our neighbour upstairs is another one of those incredible people that make this month worth every strand of endurance. This monolith of a man takes a month off work in order to cook and feed the neighbourhood for the duration of Ramadan. At the bottom of our street, everyone is welcome to grab a seat at the long tables to break their fast, quench their thirst and fill their bellies with some amazing home cooked food and drink. This is a common tradition in Egypt - Ma'2edet al Rahman - which translates into the prophets table. The idea being that during Ramadan no one should go hungry... after they break their fast that is. All over Egypt these tables (often under a rather ornate tent or open air) are run by locals, restaurants, and on occasion the famous person. Who would not want to break their fast at the food table run by Egypt's most famous belly dancer ey? Sign me up! This practice is also to be seen all over the world - maybe not as flamboyant - it is often the case outside of Egypt that these 'tables' are associated with mosques and not belly dancers. See here (picture taken from Kuwaiti blog):
Nothing quite compares to Ramadan in Egypt though. The clashing sounds of prayer call and Nancy Ajram on the radio, the smell of exhaust pipes mixed with the provocative scent of freshly baked bread moments before sunset, the bitter sweet taste of tamarind juice to wash down the spring onions in the serving of brown bean stew, the raging insults of the taxi drivers versus the loud screams emitted from the schoolbuses, the turning of the clock two months to soon to pacify the people, the sunset traffic rush followed by the most unexpected calm before yet another vehicle storm ensues, the Ramadan soap operas that by the end of the month have everyone in a visual lock-down, Boogy & Tamtam Ramadan Special!, the people, the humour, the excessive street lights and the Ramadan lantern key chains...Ah! If ever there was a month to signify the goodness of this land, it would have to be Ramadan. What a great pleasure it is to be a part of it all. Even a cynic such as myself can give humanity the benefit of the doubt this month.
*of course we weren't pushing religion on anyone - if ever we reealised the warden was not Muslim we would simply remove the little booklet before passing along the envelope. And sometimes we ran out of booklets, envelopes and/or change. In which case we improvised....
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