The procession begins at the castle, led by men carrying torches and sticks, performing rhythmic movements. Among them, musicians add to the spectacle, some astride camels, others on donkeys, beating drums or playing wind instruments. Together, they make their way through Cairo’s narrow streets, proclaiming to the people the arrival of the crescent moon and the first night of Ramadan.
A few centuries later,*in the same place known asBab al-Wazir*, a loud voice echoes from the television:“Tomorrow is the first day of Ramadan.” Muhammad Ali decorates his restaurant, servingfoul* andtaamia, and sets up tables in front of the Um Sultan Shaaban Mosque and school, where the procession passes that day. He prepares for his first*Suhoor and the start of his busiest, most cherished season.
Unlike other restaurants in the area, his stands out. Nestled along the Darb al-Ahmar tourist trail, it sits at the crossroads of historic landmarks and traditional craft markets. The Darb al-Ahmar project, an initiative of the Aga Khan Foundation and the Ministry of Tourism and Antiquities, with funding from the European Union, has focused on restoring its mosques and revitalizing its shops.
For an approximate distance of 2 kilometers, the trail draws visitors to other worlds, featuring these days, in every corner, rituals of Ramadan as they were centuries ago.
“O followers of the best of God’s creation! Fast, fast!” The teams chant loudly, roaming every corner of Cairo to announce the arrival of Ramadan. Once news of the crescent sighting reaches the judge, mosques glow with lights, and lanterns are hung at their entrances and above their minarets.
The streets come alive as people gather, staying up late and singing in the alleys of Cairo’s Fatimid wall—a structure built in three phases. First, its founder, Jawhar al-Siqali, commander of the Fatimid armies, constructed it with mud bricks. Later, Badr al-Din al-Jamali, vizier of the Fatimid caliph al-Mustansir Billah, reinforced it. Finally, during the time of Salah al-Din al-Ayyubi, it was extended from the citadel to Fustat, enclosing the entire capital.
A large part of the Salah al-Din wall remains, from which the electric “Golf Cars” provided by the tourist trail project are now taking visitors to various stops.
The car winds through the overlapping roads, and from inside, Leonardo watches the brown signs affixed to the chalky walls, marking the stops he is meant to take in the Darb al-Ahmar neighborhood, the historic city’s north-south axis. Just as the processions of sultans and popular festivals once moved from the citadel to the markets and palaces, Leonardo and his companions now follow the same route, tracing a path intentionally designed along the footsteps of those past processions.
The 55-year-old Italian says, “*It’s not the first time I visit Darb al-Ahmar and historic Cairo, but it’s the first time it’s organized like this. I went into places I had never seen before.*“
What drew him most to Cairo during this time was the month of Ramadan, its decorations catching his eye as he wandered the streets, camera in hand.“I think this atmosphere exists only in Egypt, especially in places like this,” he remarked.
His sentiment aligns perfectly with the vision behind the Ministry of Tourism and Antiquities’ latest campaign,“Egypt Has Its Soul in Ramadan.” Launched for a month and a half, the initiative aims to attract thousands like Leonardo, inviting them to experience and celebrate the unique spirit of Ramadan in Egypt.
As Iftar approaches, “Cairo seems to have woken up from its trance,” as Richard Burton (an Irish traveller) who visited it in 1853 describes it. “People then look out of their mashrabiyas and balconies to watch for the approaching hour of their salvation.”
At that precise hour, Muhammad Ali, known asQuitta (Cat), stands in front of his restaurant, handing out dates and juices. His eatery, known for servingfoul andtaamia, is the first on the street—a legacy started by his grandfather in 1947. It wasn’t until last year that the shop saw any change. That was when representatives and engineers from the Aga Khan Foundation arrived, explaining the importance of its restoration and development, given its prime location along the tourist trail.
His grandfather had been lucky to choose this spot!Quitta didn’t hesitate for a moment before accepting the renovations.“We want to be like Al-Moez Street—tourists and visitors coming from everywhere, especially during Ramadan,” he says, knocking on the table and gesturing around him.“There are so many important monuments here, just like Al-Moez, maybe even more!”
He didn’t mind closing his restaurant for nearly two months, only to be astonished by its transformation. The new façade, adorned with Hashemite stone, wooden umbrellas, and Islamic-style doors, replaced the old steel structure that once blended in with the surrounding shops. Yet, one thing remained unchanged—the Andalusian ceramic walls, which he had designed to mirror those of theBlue Mosque nearby, the Aq Sunqur Mosque. Built by one of the Mamluks of Al-Nasir Muhammad bin Qalawun, the mosque features an open courtyard surrounded by four arcades, three grand entrances, and walls adorned with exquisite blue porcelain.
“I am connected to everything here, and my joy in the restaurant is not only because all the tourists who come to the Vizir’s place have become my customers, but because it has become appropriate for the places around it,” says “Quitta” who was born and lived in the same area.
As the sun dipped and disappeared behind the domes and minarets, a loud blast once echoed across Cairo in an unknown time—startling those who were praying or breaking their fast on the first day of Ramadan. Rushing to uncover the cause, many assumed it was a new way to announceIftar. In reality, it was the accidental firing of a cannon. Yet, this unexpected event soon became tradition, and ever since, the cannon has marked the breaking of the fast from the citadel.
Now, when the cannon fires virtually on television or radio, Abdulrahman Samir is the last to close his shop on Bab al-Wazir Street, waiting until his final customers have left. As he walks home, glances follow him—“What a lucky man!” people murmur, admiring his choice to renovate his grocery store. Some even stop him to ask,“Are there other shops along the trail that will be restored next?”
At 37, Abdulrahman has no clear answers. He doesn’t even know why his shop was chosen.“It was an opportunity that came to me,” he says. But General Ahmed Helmy, General Coordinator of Projects at the Aga Khan Foundation, explains the selection criteria:“Factors such as location, legal status of the shop and property, suitability for restoration, and structural stability all played a role.”
For fifty days, the project team worked on Abdulrahman’s grocery store. He never strayed far, watching their progress day after day, even after renting a nearby space to continue selling his goods.“They changed it from top to bottom,” he says, his gaze sweeping across the shop as he gestures toward the wooden ceiling and the newly laid floor.
The project changed the features of Abdulrahman’s grocery, that is over seventy years old and has become a landmark for visitors at their eleventh stop by Beit al-Razzaz, one of the most beautiful Mamluk houses in the fifteenth century, which was inhabited by a merchant like Abdulrahman, named Ahmed Katkhuda al-Razzaz.
For Razzaz and other families in the region, Ramadan days were spent in“preaching lessons in mosques, work, or mostly sleep,” as noted by Adam François Jomard, the French archaeologist and cartographer. But in the evening, when the streets came alive with lights and movement,“they gathered in their finest clothes, ate sweets, and indulged in all kinds of entertainment.”
Between day and night, their moods shifted. As the English orientalist William Lane observed,“they are moody in the morning but unusually friendly and affectionate at night. Those of average status spend their evenings in cafés, holding social gatherings or listening to folk storytellers, while from the windows of houses, the sounds of praise for Allah echo throughout the month.”
Mohammed Al-Haddad (a maker of artifacts and antiques) is no different from his predecessors in the region, finishing Taraweeh prayers and going to the popular café in the area, then returning and opening his shop, full of statues and decorations of Ramadan, most of which he made in his workshop.
As he walks, Al-Haddad greets the shopkeepers sitting in front of their stores—everyone knows him. Over the years, he has trained about 30 of them in crafting artifacts and antiques through workshops held as part of the trail development project. Some went on to open their own shops, while others expanded and refined their products.
Reflecting on his role, Al-Haddad speaks with pride.“Is there anything more important than opening the door to livelihood?” he says, his voice filled with satisfaction at what he has helped build.
Most of the products Al-Haddad has worked on draw inspiration from the Islamic architecture surrounding him, particularly the Al-Mardani Mosque—the twelfth stop along the trail. This landmark reopened last year after an extensive restoration based on the methods of Master Ibn Al-Sioufi, chief engineer of Sultan Al-Nasir Muhammad, to revive its original 1340 design by the Mamluk prince Al-Tanbgha Al-Mardani. The restoration preserved the mosque’s defining architectural features, including its marble paneling, granite columns, and column capitals dating back to the Roman era, which were carefully restored and reused in the mosque.
The Al-Mardani Mosque fills to capacity during every prayer, especiallyTaraweeh andFajr, just as it did in the time of Prince Al-Tanbgha Al-Mardani. Back then,Al-Masaharatis—the traditional callers forSuhoor—would roam the streets each night, praising Allah in front of the homes of Muslims who could afford to reward them. As the English orientalist William Lane recounts,“Each Masaharati was accompanied by a boy carrying two lanterns in a frame of palm leaves.”
Lane further describes how women would peer from behindmashrabiyas, tossing five coins or a piaster—sometimes more—wrapped in a piece of paper set alight so the Masaharati could see where it had landed. After picking it up, he would reciteSurat Al-Fatihah upon request or entertain with a short, rhythmically unbalanced tale, often about two feuding wives and their endless quarrels.
Al-Masaharati no longer exists as he was before, and if there is one, he does not know every house and the names of all the people living there, but Shaima Ismail, who lives on the trail**,**always likes to remind him whenever she meets him, of the names of her children. She sleeps only a few hours at night and then goes to her shop early in the morning, stacking on the external wooden shelves the antiques she made in the form of lanterns or crescents.
Shaima had always loved recycling and crafting products for her neighbors long before a life-changing opportunity came her way. Through a job and training with the Aga Khan Foundation, she discovered her passion as acraft, gradually investing in her own equipment through installments. With the Foundation’s support, she was eventually able to rent this shop, a place she describes as“a dream come true.”
Fortune favored her once more when her shop, perfectly situated along the tourist trail, was selected for development. She recalls how, before the restoration, she had covered its walls with wornlinoleum—a stark contrast to the beautifully painted space she stands in today.
The lantern hanging in front of Shaimaa’s shop and house and above all the houses of the trail is similar to that hung by the inhabitants of the trail to receive the Fatimid Caliph al-Mu’izz li-Din Allah when he entered Cairo at night on the fifth of Ramadan, which is the most famous narration about the connection of the lantern in this month.
At the final stop of the trail, Khayamiya Street, the lanes are crowded with lanterns, decorations, and eager customers. Beneath its distinctive wooden roof, Ahmed Juma focuses on selling lanterns made of patchwork rather than the traditional copper and glass, which were more common in the time of the caliph.
It wasn’t always this way for Juma. The 47-year-old, who has spent nearly half his life in the trade, recalls a different time. After receiving training through the Aga Khan Foundation project—supported by the European Union—he learned from Italian and French experts, mastering high-quality handmade products and even exhibiting his work in Paris. But as tourism declined, his workers turned totuk-tuks (three-wheeled taxis), leaving him with no choice but to shift to ready-made printed decorations. As he speaks, Juma seems unconvinced, almost uneasy with his own words.“Manual labor is hard and expensive, it takes longer, and it’s not worth it,” he says.
Unlike in Ottoman times, when Khayamiya Street was one of the city’s most important markets, renowned for its handmade products, Juma now follows the demands of traders and the market. Back then, after its founding by Prince Radwan Bey Al-Faqari in the 17th century, it was known asRadwan Bey Kasbah, a hub of craftsmanship and artistry.
The trail concludes at Bab Zuweila, where, from the top of its minaret, one can take in all the previous stops —more than 700 years of history laid out below. It also reveals the work awaiting grants and future projects, such as the Abu Hariba Mosque, its façade restored but its interior still waiting.
The visitors then return to the starting point again, ascending toward Al-Azhar Park, as if stepping into another world. In the quiet glow of sunset, dozens of families gather to break their fast, as before. As the French traveler de Villamont observed during his visit to Egypt in the 16th century, they sit“on the floor in their open courtyards or in front of their doors, inviting passersby to share their meal.”
Sources of historical information:
– English orientalist Edward William Lane – his study entitled “The customs and traditions of modern Egyptians” between 1833-1835.
– Archives of the scholars of the French campaign in Egypt (1798-1801).
– Location of the Darb al-Ahmar trail.
This article was produced within the framework of Media Connect and was originally published on Masrawy.