Islamic Cairo

Our small white van drove past the police barricade into Islamic Cairo. I gazed out of the window into yet another unfamiliar and yet exciting new environment. Zamalek, although no more than 15 minutes away, was a whole different world entirely. Here was where the now dominant religion of Islam got its start in Egypt. An air of mystery surrounded the area and I was drawn into the atmosphere of its winding roads and mazes of alleys. The streets themselves were more like a chaotic mix of the ancient and modern, with donkey carts sharing the dusty streets with mopeds and cars. I almost felt like an intruder in this place. I feel like every new section of Cairo that I visit has its own secrets that could take a lifetime to discover fully. That is what is so enduring and exciting about living in a city such as Cairo.

A woman named Iman, born to Egyptian and American parents, was our tour guide for the day. She explained that Egypt, due to its geographical position at the crossroads of the Mediterranean, Africa, and Asia, has long proved a valuable commodity that facilitated the spread of Islam. Moreover, the relationship between human settlements and the Nile has characterized Egypt for thousands of years. Its sustainability depended on, and still does, the waters of the Nile and the hills in which stone was quarried in mass. Islam conquered the land in the 7th century, later spreading its influence as far west as Morocco and Andalusian Spain. Coming from the United States, I sometimes find it hard to fathom living in a country with so much history that goes back thousands of years. The history itself is written on the walls and in the design and influences that were carried into the country from every direction, both via conquest and assimilation. Each mosque tells a story of the history of not only Islam, but of other faiths as well. Iman explained that a common sense of aesthetic design were common in Christian, Jewish, and Islamic buildings throughout Cairo.

Worn walls of beige mudbrick layered in plaster marked the marked the entrance to the ancient mosque of Ibn Tulun, which is one of the largest and oldest in the country. We entered into a cool courtyard that acted as a fortress wall that separated the world of the secular from that of the sacred and holy. We shuffled into the interior which was darkened, except for the ornate window grills that acted as lights as they filtered the rays of the late morning sun into the cool halls of the mosque. Each of these grills had their own unique geometric design.

The soft chatter of birds echoed through the place of worship, breaking the otherwise unexpected silence. Even the sounds of the notorious Cairo traffic could scarcely be heard through the medieval stone walls. Iman explained nearly every nook and cranny as we walked through the mosque. Her knowledge was very thorough and interesting, but by my nature I found myself straying off on my own to explore my surroundings. A decorative niche against the wall marked the spot of the mihrab, which indicates the direction of Mecca in which all Muslims must pray. Its colors had faded but, like the rest of the mosque, it had its worn charm. Every angle and each new step offered a different visual perspective. Decorative lamps on long chains hung from ceiling, swaying gently in a cool breeze whose source I couldn't determine. I truly enjoy mosques more than any other religious buildings because the feelings of peace and contemplation that come when I walk through their quiet halls. For the most part the designs of the mosques here in Cairo are simple and unostentatious, with an emphasis on open space and the lack of anything that would obstruct views or distract worshippers from their prayers. As I wandered around, I got a sense of the historical value of the mosque as well as its architectural beauty and genius.

The mosque was home to a unique minaret that whose exterior stairwell was perched rather precariously over the surrounding streets of the old city. The walk up was terrifying for me, and as my feet moved up and up the old stairs my palms began to sweat and my breath escaped in short bursts. My head was spinning but I forced myself onward as I hugged the wall. I reached the top of the minaret and was rewarded with a sight of the intense urban landscape of Islamic and greater Cairo, although it all seemed to blend into one. I began to see how this mosque had for a long time served as a sanctuary, or a literal walled fortress of sanity, amidst the chaos of the city. Within these walls a certain level of privacy and introspection is more possible here than in many other places. I contemplated this for a moment before quickly heading back down to ground level.

Our next stop brought us to a busy square flanked by two huge beige mosques known as the mosques of Sultan Hassan and Rifai respectively. Although both structures looked remarkably similar, I found out from Imam that nearly 450 years separate them. As we entered the first mosque, a rush of cold air circulated through the high entryway and coaxed me further inside. A series of bends and long corridors opened up to a high walled enclosure. On the four sides were huge imposing recessed arches, each of which was devoted at one time to the main schools of the dominant Sunni Islam. Although immense and imposing, the interior of the Hassan mosque was quite comfortable. I don't know, there must be something about mosques in particular or the people within them that speak to me somehow. One of the imams from the mosque followed our group into the mausoleum. In spite of his youthful appearance, this man radiated a wisdom beyond his years. His carefully trimmed beard was framed by a pair of what looked like designer sunglasses. He recited the longest verse in the Quran for us, partly to show how great the acoustics were inside the mosque. His voice echoed beautifully through the walls, and I heard the faint sound of birds fluttering away. It was quite moving and I began to feel another connection with a stranger in a mosque...