Ahmed goes a-courtin'

With nothing urgent on the agenda since my return from Sinai until my brother arrives, I've been going for lots of wandering walks around Cairo.  One such trip yesterday proved quite interesting, as I wandered from Sayida Zeinab south to al-Khalifa, the cemetery/neighborhood where Cairo proper ends.


I didn't initially intend to stop at the Mosque of Sayida Zeinab, but when I hear music and see rhythmic religious swaying, I don't really have much choice.  Though I never got a real explanation of what was happening, it was most likely a moulid, or saint's day.  Though discouraged recently by the government, which seems to fear any uncontrolled gatherings, these are big parties with associated rituals dedicated to a particular shaykh, saint, leader, or virtuous woman.  There are even a few Jewish and Christian moulids, and at least in times past, the various religions mixed and partied together.  As everyone knows, Christmas is about presents and I'm pretty sure latkes were in the Talmud somewhere.  People just want to eat and have a good time.  Someone should make a religion about that.


Where was I?  Oh yes, the moulid at Sayida Zeinab.  As the men in their galabiyyas (AKA dishdash AKA man-dress) swung their heads, some even foaming at the mouth, the women clapped and did the Arabic women's whistle.  Vendors came around selling hats that said "Oh Love, Oh God's Prophet" that every 1-10 year old was wearing proudly.  These events are chances to show one's charitable spirit, so many folks showed up with armfuls of bread, oranges, pretzels, and the like, handing them out to all in attendance.

The moulid celebration

As a fight broke out between a vendor who had been stiffed and the lady who stiffed him, I started to make my exit, but I was stopped by a woman in a niqab.  This shouldn't have surprised me, because Egyptian women are a strong lot, and no veil is going to stop one from speaking her mind, but having never had a conversation with someone who I couldn't see, it was a new experience.  After a few pleasantries, she figured out that I was an agnabi, a stranger in these parts.  She told me that I should not judge Islam by these pagan rituals.  "If the Prophet, peace be upon him, were here, he would be shocked at this dancing and music."  I was too chicken to tell her that I was quite enjoying the moulid.


We chatted for a while more in a mixture of Egyptian, Jordanian, and Italian, which she is studying at Ain Shams University.  As strange as the juxtaposition is for a woman who was criticizing various traditions as insufficiently Islamic, her dream is to visit the churches of Italy.  Conveniently, I had been looking for someone with whom to discuss the architectural dialogue between the Ottomans and the Italians in church and mosque design, so the meeting was fortuitous.


As the fight in the moulid expanded, we said goodbye, and I walked south towards the Mosque of Ibn Tulun, probably the most peaceful and secluded spot in the city.  Fighting the urge to stop and sketch, I walked on towards the Khalifa, one of the medieval cemeteries, which is now a city in itself.  I passed by the Tomb of Shagar ad-Durr, the medieval Turcoman slave concubine who married the Sultan Salih Ayyub, concealed his death (Weekend at Bernie's-style), and married his chief advisor, becoming one of the few independent female rulers in Islamic history, ushering in the period of Mameluke rule of Egypt.  It's mostly run-down now, and a mausoleum a few doors down sitting below street level is largely flooded.


After wandering onward into al-Khalifa, I sat down at a cafe.  Somehow, despite my protestations to the contrary, the waiter 'Alla in the cafe decided after brief conversation that my name is Ahmed, and I am an American Muslim.  Not wanting to seem disrespectful, I just let it slide.  I just have to answer to "Ahmed" now when I'm in al-Khalifa.  The cafe was located down an alley.  As the area is still an active cemetery, 'Alla had to clear the chairs out of the street for funeral processions every half hour.  In between these bouts of wailing and shuffling of chairs, he made it his mission to find me a nice Muslim woman to marry.  Not just Muslim, but Egyptian.


Suddenly, I was surrounded by a three jolly women in their fifties.  "Ahmed, you're not married." "What a pity." "Not engaged?" "You must not marry a Saudi woman.  They are thieves." "You need an Egyptian wife....ME!"

Sufficed to say, this was a very entertaining afternoon.  The youngest of the three, who I think was most in on the joke, had this uproarious belly laugh that could shake a city block.


After a few more pulls of shisha, I, in my new identity as Ahmed, said goodbye to the denizens of the cafe, promising to return soon, and headed back home.