Ramadan

Ahhh, Ramadan. How I love thee.

Sure, the malnourished and nicotine-starved Caireans are bitchy during the morning and early afternoon, resulting in an above-normal level of honking and barking in an already boisterous, obnoxious place.

Sure, I feel bad about eating/drinking/smoking in front of Muslim co-workers.

Sure, it’s hard to connect with sources for interviews because nobody is around.

And, yes, sure, it’s hard to get anythiang done – especially looking for apartments or getting laundry done or buying food or getting a taxi…

So, okay, yes, Ramadan can be a bit of a pain in the neck, but damn, when Iftar drops and people finally get home to break their fasts with a glass of milk and a date, Ramadan is a beautiful thing.

The crowded, noisy, disgusting streets of Cairo clean out and the place is peaceful. The rhythm of the whole month really unites everyone here – regardless of whether they’re a lawyer driving an imported BMW or a street vendor living on two dollars a day.

A few other comments about Ramadan:

I was smoking in the staff lounge yesterday when my editor Amr came in looking worried, and said: “Jered, you really can’t smoke in here, because the smoke drifts into the office and breaks the fast for everybody else.” Man, I felt like Commodore Perry drifting into Japanese waters on that one; talk about cultural insensitivity.

Another neat thing is that tables are set on the empty streets and the rich feed the poor. Crazy. It’s like a city-wide, outdoor, soup kitchen.

Then, everybody heads out into the cool night air and chaos resumes.