It’s 5:30 p.m., about 45 minutes before Iftar (sunset, when the Muslims break their fast). As a non-Muslim, this is the perfect time to go to the supermarket! The narrow, winding, obstacle-laden aisles of the local Fathalla Market, usually jam-packed with yelling customers and squeaky shopping carts, are abandoned. Save for the low trembling voice of the Iman reciting the Holy Quoran over the radio, there is only sweet silence.
I risk my life darting across the Corniche’s 10 lanes just so I can walk home beside the Mediterranean. Restless waves thrash about in anticipation like the hungry bellies charging past me to get home in time to break fast. Rubber burns against hot asphalt and a chorus of discordant horns races down the street towards the voice that will insha’allah ring out across the rooftops reciting something from the Holy Quoran that to foreign ears scarcely means more than “Eat!” and every Muslim in Alexandria holds a glass of apricot juice to their lips awaiting the moment when the Sea will swallow the warm mango peach hibiscus sunset in one gulp.
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