As for most in Egyptian cities the streets of Cairo belong to God--having been given for use to all ... brothers, sisters, mothers and fathers, peasants and upper classes alike, natives and foreigners. Foreigners normally are never received as strangers and are greeted on the streets by warm smiles often with these eager words of welcome, "Ahlan wasahlan ". Whether the streets belong to the police or not is a gray area, an ambiguity so to speak, for at times the security police are out in force. But where else in the West do you find a city of over 12 million people in which the majority are just folks, a vast primary group? Whenever a visitor gets into trouble, for example, his problem often is that he or she has too much eager help, as it happened to me when my Fiat broke down on the Cornishe,the main road between Maadi and Cairo.

Egypt is overcrowded, yes; but it is filled with friendly, gracious, and generous people‚people who use every blade of grassy space for quiet sitting with their families and friends, or just being alone to find what to expect‚good conversation, the chance to rest and feel that soft time of evening as the sun is bidding yet another glorious goodbye at the far side of the Nile in Giza. How do I know? Because I lived there for more than twenty years.

Despite continual honking of hundreds of taxis, plastic sandals ('shib shibs'), smog, and fast foods like McDonald's and Kentucky Fried, and scores of western inroads of 'modernization', much of the scenery, even in urban settings is still biblical. The mix between old and new is graphic. In 1969, for example, I asked my Egyptian colleague, Dr. Hasan el Shami, "What is the difference between the Cairo Tower and a Minaret?" Hasan laughed and said, "The Cairo Tower has no loudspeaker on it." The scenes of Cairo are diverse beyond telling:

Is Use of Hashhish a Crime?

A complex question for Cairo. Not many are normally arrested for using or selling hashhish, ('hash') though I assume the rate of arrests for that reason is higher under Hosni Mubarak's regime than under Anwar Sadat's. Some say that even 'his excellency' Mr. Sadat was not unacquainted with this substance. It is well known though that Mr. Mubarak is sternly against the consumption of it. Not every policeman, not every cab driver, kiosk owner, and family gardener is a distributor of hashhish, but users knew where to buy it, and for only two Egyptian pounds per 'ersh' (ounce) c. 1970.

In Cairo, in the Khan el Khalili area (the Musky) there is a place called the Botinayyah, (literally an 'island' having no water around it). There, anyone may buy hashhish openly. The police usually leave it alone unless ordered to stop the sales of it or to make arrests. It has been said that some police have been given backsheesh or payola by hash distributors not to bother folks who bargain there. It is often rumored that not infrequently women of more privileged statues make purchases there for use in making interesting cookies than those one finds normally in bakeries.

Hash enters Cairo in the Khan el Khalili area, especially in those parts which still resemble the ancient system of walled off guilds. These places, called harahs are each still 'guarded' by a 'strong man'. Each is a point of contact or a recipient of hash as it comes, ostensibly by caravan from Syria. Some say it is from the Becca valley. I plead the part of skeptic. From the harrahs the drug is allegedly resold to dealers [four major ones] and then resold to the botinayyah and to kiosks in Cairo and Maadi.

A 'Side Bar'. It is widely believed among under privileged urban males that hashhish is an aphrodisiac, and so we have here a male prowess angle involved in the sale of this little goody. Of course, their wives know fully well how very little this has to do with the spouse's performance in bed. And among themselves, it is reported, they giggle about it. Nevertheless, many underprivileged males believe otherwise, and spend their money also on amber, peppers, certain spices and perfumes‚all of which are advertised by perfume shop keepers on their windows, colorfully too, in such paintings and words. "...and go all night...." In the Khan, are hundreds such signs with pictures of fecund women advertising all sorts of aphrodisiacs. In desperation of being filled only with bravado and wishes of the soul some men will spend nearly all their earnings on these substances merely trying to prove their sexual prowess. In a social status of underprivileged men, what other incentive can they aspire to. I mean, which one of them can say with pride, "I am an engineer, a medical doctor, a banker?" To be a man, without any other way to identify himself, what identity can one claim but that of sexual potency?

So, rarely is anyone arrested for 'possession'. The Koran only prohibits alcoholic beverages. Crime may be connected with hashhish, but not to the degree than punishment is Penal sanction, when applied, calls for 25 years in prison.

The Sufi Dancers

Participation in the life of Cairo takes other interesting forms as well.... those who in the historic past wore wool against their flesh to prove their unity with God: the Sufi practitioners who believe that unity with God is emotional, not merely intellectual. I see this as something like Martin Buber's "I‚Thou" unity or bonding which can only be achieved in relating with others emotionally as enthrallment. Prayer in Mosques brings a sense of tranquility for so many millions. Such tranquility is enhanced in that those sharing in prayer know they are one with all worshipers throughout the Muslim world. Still, this tranquility is there not solely because so many know they are one with all. It also expresses and enhances a feeling of oneness as a sacred community, in short, a unity with God. This does not deny prayer by individuals for God's intervention in their own behalf and for their loved ones.

The call to prayer early in the morning, in the dawning, is just awesome. It is one of the most beautiful songs I have ever heard, and likely, ever will. "Bisma Allah al Rahman al Rahim...." and every able and sane person who has come of age knows this by heart. What a wonderful way to awaken and get out of bed! It is 4:30 a.m.. There is this sweet call to prayer coming through my windows, coming in with the call of the mourning dove, the 'hud hud' a rooster or two, and the sweet scent of jasmine. All these soft events together is truly an inspiration. This call to prayer is rather like antidote for angst and frustration. It lasts at least until you feel the crunch of traffic, the riotous noise of two million horns all over the city, all blowing at the same time, and again until you smell the foul odor of the smoke coming from dumps of solid waste on Cairo's outskirts. "On a clear day," someone said to me, "you can see the smog." It is the tranquil morning and that softness of evening that is serene here. Both mornings and evenings are an integral part of prayer. They wake us up. They put us to sleep. All is one here, couloo wahid. An humble man will forget he is in 'the public sphere'; and thus the public vanishes as a social fact, just as the sacred community re-emerges again and again in the presence of Allah, "Allah mogoud" (God is here). "This is God's street." And I am safe upon it.

There are human beings; there is God, and there is nothing in between. One experiences this in Sufi ceremonies called Zikhrs. I take a liberty by calling it the Sufi dance. Experiencing the unity of one with God is a very serious matter which can be achieved as an emotional experience, not just as an intellectual realization. I wanted to know more about this, so I took part in such a 'dance'. I was a skeptic of course, to begin with. During the month of Ramadan one is apt to see four or five rows of men line up beside the central Mosque in the Khan al Khalili area of old Cairo, near Al Azhar Street where stands the oldest university in the world. Between the rows of participants, but at one end, will be a chanter, a man with a tabla (single bongo) who gradually increases the tempo of the beat, guiding the chanter. There is often a tambourine man present to accompany the chanter.

The chant begins. Koranic verses are sung by the chanter. The tempo increases steadily. Our bodies sway with the beat. We are silent and attentive as we sway with the beat. Feet do not change position as we sway. We are conscious of each other and our movements. We close our eyes and sway with the beat and tempo. The swaying seems to defy gravity. It quickens again and yet again. We become oblivious to the crowds watching us. There is a sense, a feeling, that the swaying was swaying me, that what is happening was out of my hands and that one is a part of all. Couloo wahid. All is one. A few among us lost consciousness and in awhile they waken and feel refreshed or clean, free of their particular troubles. I have witnessed asthmatics become wholly relieved once this trance like seizure was over. This did not happen to me, but I am convinced of having felt the same vanishing of 'selfness' and the same sense peace and tranquility, as I believe was felt by the rest of us. I have never felt this way before that time.

Sufis do not object to others taking part; they invite it. I felt a bit foolish at first, and how I might look to other Americans. But I lost this nonsense soon after I began with the others. You get caught up in the music, the beat, the tempo, the undeliberated movement and wind up refreshed, clean, at ease with being in the world. Words fail me here. Some say its 'hypnotic' because that is the only word they may know. I can now readily see why the feeling of the "I-God" unity is credible. It would not take much to make me believe it....if I were not so enthralled by or crazed by (take your pick) rationalism.

One last comment. When I lived in Maadi, a suburb of Cairo up the Nile, in 1970, I saw some workers there who had dug fairly deep holes through the tarmac on Road 9, a main street there. They were putting tent poles in these holes...right there in the middle of a public street. I asked my Arab friend to ask a worker why they dug these holes in the public street, and the man said, "it is God's street." And thus my early amazement began. Be patient with others and with ourselves. Understanding is sure to dawn, or so we prayed with others at dawn and again in the soft time of the evening. Ma salahma, Go with God.