laura.fo

Last Wednesday we went to Coptic Cairo. I had never been there before and thought it was fascinating.

On the way there we went past Cairo's aqueduct, built in the Middle Ages. We had a guide that day, and as we drove by he told us all about the lively textile district below. Inelegantly, I asked him if it wasn't also Cairo's slaughterhouse district. He seemed a bit embarrassed about this and said that technically that was true but the slaughterhouses were slowly being moved outside the city. A moment later we drove by a dead horse lying by the side of the road. He cleared his throat and said, "Of course, this hasn't happened completely yet."

Since he didn't seem interested in talking about that anymore and instead went on with telling my dad about Salah el-Din and the Mameluks, I took it upon myself to tell K. — who was sitting in the backseat with me — that this area was also famous as a place to buy drugs. Her father and I, I said, had a friend in college who was very wealthy and told people his family had made their money in the Gulf, but really he'd grown up in the slaughterhouse district and had his entire education financed by his uncle, a heroin dealer. He seemed like such a well-mannered boy that you would never guess he'd grown up in such a tough district, but one time he failed a course at AUC and in retaliation blew up his professor's car.

This isn't relevant to Coptic Cairo. I just think of that story whenever I drive through this area and needed to tell someone. K. seemed more interested in that than in Salah el-Din.

The area itself is a gated community. Like, there was an actual gate, with soldiers, that we had to pass through first. Directly inside there were a few gift shops and kiosks, and (once again!) I marveled at how much Eastern Christianity has in common with Islam, since at first glance I mistook these for glass Ramadan lamps.

We began by stopping at the remnants of the fortress of Babylon, a Roman fort that was built in this area before the city became Fustat, before Fustat became Cairo. This thing is old as hell.

From there we went to The Hanging Church, The Church of Saint Barbara, The Ben Ezra Synagogue, and The Church of Saints Sergius and Bacchus, where legend has it Jesus, Mary, and Joseph found shelter during their escape to Egypt. There is a crypt underneath it that runs all the way to the Nile. We saw the stairs going down to it, but couldn't go inside because they were clearing it of water. (Unfortunately I couldn't take pictures inside any of these places.)

As interesting as all this was (and it was), what I found most fascinating was the architecture around these churches. I'd assumed "Coptic Cairo" was just a district like any other, one that kind of bleeds into other areas. So I was surprised that you have to walk down INTO it, and that it's walled off from the neighborhoods around it. Next to all these historical buildings — like "Islamic Cairo" — you have regular apartments, with people hanging out their laundry and watching television. But the place feels like it's a thousand years old.

I've never been to Jerusalem, but it's what I imagine Jerusalem to look like.

Al-Azhar is the oldest still-functioning university in the world. It was built in 971 A.D. and has existed in one form or another for the last thousand years. On Saturday my dad and I visited its mosque.

My dad waited for me in the courtyard while I went into the women's area. The invited him in with me but he declined, which I thought was cool. When I came back outside a few guys had gathered around him and were reciting the Qur'an. Not to him, exactly, but within earshot (see above), which I thought was interesting because it's an older style of instruction and I'm glad he got to see that. I don't know how the university operates now, but historically Islamic universities didn't have "classes" in the sense that we think of them now. Back then the senior clerics would lean against the walls in the courtyard and give lectures, while the younger students milled about and listened to the ones they chose to hear. They progressed individually, on no fixed timetable, by proving their mastery of the religion to senior sheikhs. (Kind of like unschooling.)

Inside the women's area a few women were praying, and several more were sleeping. I've always liked that about mosques, that sleeping is allowed and common. You have to feel either very safe or very desperate to sleep in public. Mosques accommodate both.

This is the main prayer hall. We got there just in time to watch midday prayer (no pictures of that, though).

Part of the original madrassa:

A cat naps next to freshly baked bread off to the side of the madrassa:

The outer courtyard:

..

After Al-Azhar we went to the Al-Ghouri complex, built in 1503 in what used to be Cairo's charcoal market. It's set apart from the street a bit, behind a gate, to the point where I had to walk around the building and back again asking "bab? bab?" until I found the door.

Even after visiting it, I can't tell you exactly what it IS. A mausoleum, a school, a palace, a mosque, a cistern, a theater — and further down the street, a hotel — but I think what makes it notable isn't its architecture (although that's impressive) or the functions it served (although they were too) but that it's an early example of a _public_ building. It wasn't just built for the glory of a sultan, or even the glory of God, but for the people, ordinary Cairenes, to use.

Which is not to say Al-Ghouri himself was a great guy. By all accounts he seems like a bit of a dick. But he was a dick who apparently believed in giving people gardens.

View of the main courtyard from below and from above. This was a Sufi hostel. There is a stage because they still hold performances here, and during Ramadan people will sleep here:

..

On the left is the main hall, if you can call it that, of the mausoleum. Al-Ghouri himself isn't buried here, but his wife and children and concubine are. They died of the plague.

On the right is a fountain. After you're dead, it's said, there is little that can help you; your life as you've lived it is the only thing that matters on Judgment Day. One of the exceptions to this is if you've built a public good that will continue to serve people after you're gone. A fountain is the traditional example. Here you can see where the water was poured; passersby could come and drink from it without having to enter the building itself. There was one of these on each of three walls.

..

They've turned one room into a theater and apparently still hold concerts here, too, every weekend:

The domed ceiling over the theater:

Below the mausoleum was a cistern I wanted to see. The guide was open to that, but he seemed kind of embarrassed and warned me that, um, the steps were small. Oh, that's no problem! I reassured him. Until I saw them. They weren't so much "stairs" as a choppy ramp. They were tiny and sloped sharply downwards. I tried 5 or 6 times but ultimately chickened out.

My dad was braver, though:

I took this one from the balcony of the old kuttab, a school traditionally attached to a mosque where poor children were taught to read and write from the Qur'an. Mosques and other religious institutions were the main vehicle of education right up until the late Ottoman period in the early 20th century — which is probably also why people (Westerners) misuse the word "madrasa," which on its own has no religious connotations; the word just means "school":

Here, by the way, is a 19th century painting of the same scene.

Street life below:

(Later I bought two tops down there, from a 14-year-old girl named Aisha. I was ten pounds short of her final asking price and was unsure whether to try to haggle harder or just give them back when she said, very shyly, "I like your bracelets." I took them off and we made a trade. Barter seemed appropriate to the setting.)

..

The mashrabeya (latticework) over the windows allowed women to see out without letting others see in. Windows aren't made like that anymore, of course, but they're still a common sight in this area.

Finally we went to the roof, where there was a beautiful view of Islamic Cairo's skyline:

I love this part of the city so, so much.

People sometimes write off Khan el-Khalili, Egypt's grand bazaar, as a tourist trap, and it's easy to see why. All the vendors know some English (and some French, and Russian, and Italian, and German….) and they all but assault you trying to get you to come into their shops. Usually it's something as simple as "want silver?" or "best perfume!", but sometimes their pitches are more creative ("This is the best place to spend all your money!" "If you have any money left, I will take it for you, no broblem!"). A good portion of what's sold is kitschy souvenirs, and the prices for things like tea and soda can be double or triple what they are in normal parts of the city.

But to leave it at that misses the history, I think. The Khan goes back to the 1300s, and has been Egypt's major souq for hundreds of years. (It may have been indirectly responsible for the discovery of the Americas, since it was the site of Egypt's spice market, which Europe sought to bypass by finding a new route to India.) So as aggressive as the vendors are, I can't imagine they're much different than the vendors of the 1500s or the 1700s, who would have likewise been catering to international travelers. International trade is hardly a post-globalization development.

It's also just a popular shopping spot, for Cairenes, especially its western edge, Al-Muski Street, which is still the best place in Cairo to get bargain prices on linens, dishes, underwear, and other less romantic household items. There are also several still-functioning mosques in this district, as well as residences. So while the concentration of tourists is high, it's not an experience that's been manufactured for their benefit.

I was surprised, when I went to the bazaar in Istanbul, that it was all indoors and felt like a mall. The Khan is less a defined "space" than a city "district." Some of the streets are covered by a combination of plants, bamboo trellises, and balconies that they feel indoors-y, but most of the streets are open. How anyone could live here with all the noise I have no idea, but you can see there are apartments on the upper levels.

..

..

The famous Fishawy's coffeeshop, reportedly open 24/7, uninterrupted, for the last 200 years:

The front of Al-Husayn Mosque, Egypt's holiest mosque (so much so that non-Muslims are not allowed to enter it):

The minaret of the Shaykh Mutahhar Mosque. See the loudspeaker? Most mosques now automate the call to prayer, rather than using a muezzin:

Randomly:

My dad finds a friend:

These two look much better big, so you should click on them!

Coming soon when I have time: Al-Azhar and the Al-Ghouri complex.

This is my first successful YouTube upload. It came out small. I don't know why. But if you can get past that, the quality is quite good. I'm so proud of myself.

I took this from the backseat of the car while we were driving to K's grandfather's grave in The City of the Dead. Those of you who follow my life in minute detail will remember that the last time I was in Egypt was 14 days after his absolutely unexpected death of a heart attack. We rushed to Cairo in a state of shock and stayed for several months. K was a year-and-a-half at the time.

The contrast between then and now has been quite stark. In my mind I left Egypt in one condition — a state of mourning — and so that's how I expected to find it. I know that's irrational since it's been over ten years now, but there are still small moments when I'm taken aback at how they've moved on. Before going to his grave we dropped off a friend of X's second sister and she joked, "Are you sure you don't want to come along and meet my father?" And we all laughed. Which was weird.

Since the grave itself is hard to find (they all look alike, and the back roads aren't marked) they navigate by asking around for the tomb of Abd el-Halim Hafez, a famous Egyptian singer, which is across the 'street' from their family's tomb. This is what we're doing in the video — driving around, asking strangers how to get to this famous dead guy's grave. It was actually kind of funny, like we were desperately searching for Jim Morrison's grave so we could pray for a random citizen buried next to him.

The City of the Dead itself is a sprawling necropolis on the outskirts of Cairo, and thoroughly un-Islamic. Above-ground tombs are a carryover from Pharaonic times (kind of like pyramids for the proletariat). Despite its (English) name, it's increasingly seen a lot of life as housing shortages have forced families to seek residence in the tombs. Typically a family will squat in a neglected tomb, or take over one of a wealthier family, who will pay them to look after it in their absence and to pray for those who are buried below. Sometimes the caretakers' families will be buried in the same tomb, leading to a sort of patron-client relationship that extends into infinity.

Once we managed to find the place, the woman here materialized out of I-don't-know-where, found the person who had the key, let us in, and sent for a boy to come and splash some water on the very throughly dead potted plants inside, which I think was intended as a gesture of respect for the space.

We said al-Fatiha and one of his sisters read from the Qur'an. (Sometimes the caretakers will do that, too.)

What amazes me every time I come here is how desolate it is. Cairo just doesn't do desolate. It's way too crowded.

But even with people living here the roads are usually empty and everything is quiet. Not a gentle-relaxed quiet, but an abandoned-after-the-apocalypse quiet. It's a bit eerie, and not just because it's a cemetery.

One funny thing: since the tombs weren't intended as housing, they don't have electricity. The tombs of the wealthy and famous, though, will sometimes have it because they're decorated with colored lights. Families living near those tombs might steal some of that electricity to power their own, smaller tombs, so they can have lights and a television.

I didn't take pictures or video inside their father's grave, but afterwards we went to Abd el-Halim Hafez's, which, while not exactly touristy, is "public" enough that I could. The caretaker opened it up for us.

The actual bodies are underground. The men are buried on the right and the women on the left. Or maybe it's the other way around? I can't remember. The space in the middle is an open courtyard.

The caretaker showed us how they pull up the floor to take the bodies down, then bolt it shut again. I'm kind of morbidly curious to know what it looks like down there, since they don't use caskets.

Outside again:

National Geographic did a short piece on the City of the Dead. Their video is better than mine.

Also BBC: "Tomb with a view"

Last Friday I went to Al-Azhar Park, a new (to me) public space in Old Cairo. X’s sister wanted to go there because there would be lots of space for the children to run around. Which they seriously DID. I think we ended up staying for six hours.

And the view was amazing:

This is the restaurant. If you look at pictures of Cairo proper, you can see why building something like this is such a feat: green spaces are so rare, and the city is already appropriating the desert to make room for housing. I remember I used to find it strange that the Cairo Zoo was such a popular picnic destination for families — people would be stretched out for the day on tiny little patches of space between the sidewalk and the zebra cages — but it makes sense if you consider it’s one of the few places with trees and grass. This is like that only way more so.

And the FOOD. Oh my GOD. Connor, you would have died. I am more indifferent to food than anyone I know — I’ve had this journal for seven years and have made, what, three posts about food? four, tops? — so believe me when I say that if *I* think it was incredible, it was incredible.

This was just the meat. Each of those tins contained a different dish: lamb, goat, beef, fish, chicken made five different ways, kofta, stuff I don’t even know the name of…

There was another room full of salads and vegetables, and a third full of pastries and desserts. On Fridays it was all-you-can-eat buffet. I felt like I was in one of those Middle Eastern medieval folktales where the humble servant comes to ask a request of the decadent sultan but has to interrupt him in the middle of his feast. (I, of course, playing the part of the decadent sultan.)

Actually I’m lying. THIS was the meat:

Seriously, it was a stupid amount of food. And then afterwards they bring you tea.

Later we went outside for a while.

At some point Laila decided to co-opt my scarf:

That’s X’s mom beside us. She was very mod in her younger years. It’s an ongoing joke that no one knows how old she is or what her real hair color is.

Laila and Omar go for a climb on the faux-latticework:

A waiter interrupts, offering to lift them over:

Omar goes for it, but Laila books for the stairs. When the waiter gives Omar a big kiss on the forehead her suspicions are confirmed, and she scolds her brother for being too trusting. (She explained to me that her baba told her that only mamas and babas are supposed to kiss you.)

As it got later the park started filling up. It was almost entirely Egyptians, not tourists, which surprised me. X’s sister pointed out that there were so many young (presumably unmarried) couples, much more so than you would have seen a few years ago.

Almost all of the women are wearing hijab now, a huge difference from when I was here in the past. Accordingly it’s become less meaningful as a religious symbol, and people are always complaining that it’s become just another fashion statement, something some women wear with tight jeans, sleeveless tops, or a lot of make-up.

On that note, here’s a funny tidbit: I went into the bathroom while I was at this restaurant and noticed a woman’s long black evening gloves abandoned by the side of the sink. I assumed they belonged to a niqabi woman, but the girl who came out of the stall was young, maybe seventeen, wearing jeans and a heavy metal T-shirt. I wanted to ask her if she thought we should take them to the reception (was there a reception?) or if there was some other way of dealing with lost items, but that was too many Arabic words for me so I just smiled instead and decided the woman, whoever she was, would eventually remember and come back for them. But then this heavy metal girl pulled a niqab out of her bag! And started putting it on! Ah! The gloves were hers! I like to think I’m immune from succumbing to hijab stereotyping, but I really hadn’t expected this girl, who looked less conservative than my own American teenage daughter does, to be the one so concerned with modesty she wouldn’t show her hands in public. That’ll learn me.

View from Al-Azhar park, near the Citadel:

It was sunset and you could hear the call to prayer all over the city.

This is a view of the old wall, built in 1087. Most of it’s gone, but you can see remnants of it here, in the lower part of the frame.

Cairo is the third-most crowded city the world, after Calcutta and Gaza City. I tried to take pictures capturing the scale of it, but without a wide-angle lens it’s impossible. Imagine putting six or seven of these photos next to each other side-by-side and you’ll get an idea.

This neighborhood is one of the oldest, though not one of the worst. Even here, though, you can see the near-total lack of vegetation. The unrelenting monotony of the brown and gray wears on you after a while.

But the sunset is always pretty. Everything blends together under the same light, and you know it’s about to become cooler. Al-hamdulillah.

Swiss move to ban minarets
A row is brewing over religious symbolism in Switzerland.

Members of the right-wing Swiss People's Party, currently the largest party in the Swiss parliament, have launched a campaign to have the building of minarets banned…

In theory Switzerland is a secular state, whose constitution guarantees freedom of religious expression to all. In practice however mosques in Switzerland tend to be confined to disused warehouses and factories.

Across the country, there are only two small minarets, one in Zurich and one in Geneva, neither of which are permitted to make the call to prayer. In Switzerland's capital Berne, the largest mosque is in a former underground car park…

(more)