Mcdonalds & Mausoleums


Written by Christine Hannon • Special Features • April 2009

I landed in Cairo on the third day of Ramadan – the month when Muslims around the world fast from sunrise to sunset, eating sehour before daybreak and iftar at dusk. Ramadan, which is the ninth month in the Islamic calendar, is immensely important to observant Muslims since the Qur’an was revealed to the Prophet Muhammad during this time. Few restaurants are open during the day since work starts later and ends earlier. People, at least superficially, tend to be nicer towards one another. Traffic peaks an hour before sunset, and magically clears away the next hour. As if visiting Cairo during the rest of the year isn’t enough of a culture shook, the Middle East during Ramadan can become a completely different place altogether.

Given the sheer number of expatriates in Cairo, it is not expected for everyone to be fasting during Ramadan. Though that does not ease the difficulty in finding food for lunch. Nearly every restaurant in Cairo delivers or at least offers carryout, so most people have lunch delivered to their office during the other 11 months of the year. This is not possible when the restaurants are closed until dusk. A common solution is to pack the good old-fashioned bag lunch. Desiring a few additional minutes of shut-eye in the morning, however, after listening to neighbors’ music throughout the night as they dine with friends and family, there is a more effortless way to eat: McDonalds!

I can say with certainty that I ate more fast food in my first month in Cairo than I did cumulatively in the past five to ten years in the U.S. Most interestingly, the fast food chains take orders over the internet and even deliver straight to your door-step. It’s almost as if they function like a certified restaurant, which in fact is exactly what they do. Inside McDonalds, you’ll find more suits than booster seats, with much credit due to the free wireless internet. The prices are the same as in the U.S., if you are paying in U.S. dollars. Thus, the dollar menu is about five and a half Egyptian pounds, which adds up quickly when feeding the family, leaving the tables occupied by singles and couples, dressed in trendy attire. The psychological significance of McDonalds being an American fast-food franchise is so clear that customers and vendors both regard it with such corporate respect and thus at par with any leading elite restaurant – if not higher.

My first week in the office, my American colleagues and I logged on to www.otlob.com and ordered cheeseburgers and fries to be delivered half an hour later. I had prepared myself for

life and work in Cairo based on my previous experience in the region, but nothing could have prepared me for McDonald’s delivery.

Even though most of my American friends and I were not fasting, we tried to be respectful of those who were. We consumed our burgers and fries behind closed doors. We even partook in traditional iftars (breaking of fast) with our Muslim friends. Like a potluck in the States, a dozen friends brought dishes to our friends’ apartment, anxiously awaited the call to prayer from the mosques, and passed around a bowl of dates to break the fast before digging in to the table of humus, babaganoush, pita, rice, falafel, stuffed peppers, chicken, kofta, and kebabs.

While my friend, Barbara, and I were not fasting, we were determined to experience more of Ramadan than a Big Mac for lunch and dates at iftar. A few weeks later, dressed in long pants and long sleeve shirts on a blazing hot September afternoon, we headed east to Islamic Cairo, where there are the most minarets in the fewest square meters. Stepping out of the taxi at the famous Midan Hussein, we cast our eyes towards the sky in search of the minaret belonging to the Al Azhar mosque. Recognizing it from our friends’ Facebook photos and those in the Lonely Planet, we donned the hijab, slipped off our flip-flops, and ventured inside. The open-air courtyard had immaculate marble flooring surrounded by white arches with wooden latticework, simple copper adornments, and hanging lanterns. Men in gallabeyas sat in reflection, scattered around the walls, out of the midday sunshine. A few tourists strolled in and out carting their digital cameras and backpacks. Trying to be more discreet than the typical vacationer, we snapped our photos and were on our way.

Trekking a few blocks east on foot and running across a six-lane highway, we came upon the City of the Dead, or the Northern Cemetery, where a population estimated to be anywhere between 50,000 and 500,000 lives among the tombs. Mud brick homes in muted hues of red, yellow, and brown lay sprawling at our feet, the cemetery dotted with domes and minarets, and the Citadel visible a few miles in the distance. We descended the stairs to explore the mosques and mausoleums.

Navigating the winding alleys, I tried to maintain my bearing of which way was north, as we sought the Qaitbay Mosque, shown on the map to be in the south central vicinity of the city’s labyrinth. Dating from the 15th Century AD, the mosque is one of the countless structures attributed to the Sultan Qaitbay. Circassian by birth, he ruled the Mamluks from the middle to late 15th Century, AD, stabilized the state and economy, fought over a dozen military campaigns, and contributed substantially to art and architecture throughout Egypt, the Levant, and the Gulf. His mosques, mausoleums, forts, and madrasas can be found from Cairo and Alexandria, to Jerusalem, to Aleppo and Damascus, to Mecca and Medina.

Finding the mosque and adjusting our hijabs, we climbed the stairs, entered the doors, and removed our shoes. A man entering behind us thought we had come to pray, not just to see the historical gem. We followed him to a back corner of the mosque, the only two women inside, and we joined in prayer. Remembering my stepfather kneeling in prayer when I was a child, and having gone to the mosque with my Arabic professor in college, I was able to follow along with ease and Barbara did the same, repeating “Allah Akbar” (“God is great”).

The mosque was not crowded with more than two dozen people, but the collective spirit resonated louder than at any other service in which I ever partook. Slow to disperse when the formal prayer ended, generations of men lay on the carpeted floor of the mosque while the youngest boys kicked a soccer ball, or rather football, as it is known to them, outside. Though the afternoon prayer had ended, many lingered, talking quietly, lying their backs on the cool floor and closing their eyes for a few moments of peace, or gazing outside through the wrought iron window frame.

We sat in observance of the people and the centuries-old structure, tucked away amidst in the old city where pride and character rose above the cracked tombstones. We remained long enough to appreciate the stunning architecture - the marble flooring, the thick black and white striped archways, the vaulted ceiling with the red and gold geometric mosaic. The façade of the mosque was draped in strings of lights in celebration of the holy month.

Making our way out of the cemetery, we found the footbridge across the highway, ascended the stairs, and looked back over the City of the Dead cast in the warmth of the late afternoon glow. Quickening our pace to make the sunset, we journeyed southwest to Al Azhar Park, the greenest patch of land in Cairo. Entering the gates and paying our entry fee, we crossed into a world vastly different from across the highway – one of lush gardens and bubbling fountains where wealthy Egyptians picnicked and women’s heels clicked on stone walkways. We wandered up the small hilltop and perched ourselves on the ledge, overlooking the entire city, awaiting the call to prayer signaling iftar. Minutes passed and then “Allah Akbar” rang out from the thousands of minarets, echoing from the medieval city where we spent the afternoon to the River Nile and beyond the silhouetted horizon.