‘Table of mercy’, how Egyptians feed hundreds in Ramadan

Cairo, Egypt – An hour before iftar time, people start to slow down amid the hustle and bustle of Sayeda Zeinab and gather on a street facing the Sayeda Zeinab Mosque.

Sayeda Zeinab is one of Egypt’s holiest sites, said to be where the granddaughter of the Prophet Muhammad is buried. People come from across Egypt to pray and hold vigils there, seeking miracles that many believe happen there.

During Ramadan, the mosque overlooks a “table of mercy” set up by volunteers to feed the needy and passers-by at iftar time, an old tradition across Egypt.

Table of mercy

The gathering people hurry to get a seat.

At one of the tables, two-year-old Jana crawls from one end to the other.

“Whose baby is this, for God’s sake?” a seated man jokes. Other diners are playing with her as if she were their own.

“She belongs to the lady handing out spoons,” a volunteer responds, pointing at a slim young woman wearing a black hijab who is running up and down. “She’s not one of the usual volunteers. She just showed up today wanting to help.”

Volunteers of all ages, most of them from the neighbourhood, hustle to give everyone a bottle of water, a juice box and a meal pack containing a date, rice, potatoes and chicken.

They’re also fasting but will eat last to make sure none of the 400 or so diners is left unserved as the sun sets, marking the moment attendees can start to eat and drink.

‘We organise easily to help’

“We’re not unique. Every 10 metres [33ft] you have a table of mercy,” says Hamdy, 40, a cheerful, red-bearded man who has volunteered for five years in a row. “[Egyptians] organise easily to help.”

His arms are loaded with food boxes as the Maghreb (sunset) call to prayer sounds – he eats a few dates and continues serving.

Hamdy also lives in Sayeda Zeinab, running a small coffee shop in the narrow streets of the old market. The other volunteers, mostly his friends and relatives, also run small shops and stands in the market, selling fabric, clothes and food.

Once they’re done volunteering, they will go back to their shops to try to make money during a month when revenue sinks as fasting changes shopping times and patterns. Rather than dwell on that, they take things slow and focus on helping others.

“There is no place like Egypt during Ramadan,” Hamdy says as he looks at the cheerful liveliness as people begin eating.

“We receive donations from many countries, especially the Gulf, that want to do good deeds but know that something like this cannot be organised anywhere else.

“Besides the monetary donations, neighbours come and offer help too. One day, someone may donate meat, another day rice or vegetables,” he adds.

There’s a core volunteer team of about 15 men, all vendors in the Sayeda Zeinab market devoted to not missing a day of charity work.

The kitchen is the domain of young Mostafa, who works as a chef at other charity kitchens year-round.

“The rest is done by whoever shows up. There are no hierarchies or specific roles. We leave everything to God, and it always ends up working out,” Hamdy says, a finger pointing to the sky.

A bit of good-natured shouting as the food is distributed is part of the magic.

“Rush guys. Bring a bottle of water to these young men. Come on!” an old man sitting to one side, waving his walking stick, says.

The man says he has lived in Sayeda Zeinab his whole life and has heard about this table but is attending for the first time today. He explains quietly that he’s alone this Ramadan, which is why he decided to come and share iftar with others, but he doesn’t seem to want to say much more.

Hassan, an energetic volunteer in a lime-green hoodie, is scolded by the older volunteers for joking around while distributing the food, but it all ends in laughter.

“We were able to eat one iftar with our families at home, so that mum would not feel sad,” Hassan says as he smiles, “but the rest of the days, we are here on duty, and we’re all like brothers now.”

A centuries-old tradition

At the warehouse where the food is stored, a placard with a verse from the Quran reminds passers-by why volunteers have taken on this month-long mission:

“And [they] give food, in spite of their love for it, to the poor, the orphan and the captive, saying: ‘We feed you only for the sake of God, seeking neither reward nor thanks from you.’”

In Islam, worshippers are encouraged to perform good deeds throughout the year, especially during Ramadan.

In Egypt, these tables of mercy are a massive phenomenon that goes as far back as the 800s.

It is said that in 872, the ruler of Egypt at the time, Ahmad Ibn Tulun, organised something similar to a Ramadan table of mercy for people from diverse backgrounds.

However, the phenomenon really took shape during the Fatimid dynasty under Al-Mu’izz li-Din Allah al-Fatimi (953-975).

Preserved and passed down through the generations, the tradition became more widespread and essential during times of financial struggle.

For example, after the twin calamities of the COVID-19 pandemic and the Russian invasion of Ukraine hit the Egyptian economy exceptionally hard, inflation reached a record high of 41 percent in 2023.

Talking about the current struggles is common across the tables, where newspapers are soon unfurled. The International Monetary Fund is holding meetings with Egypt about past loans and a new $1.3bn package – which everyone knows means more austerity measures are coming.

The kitchen and storage facility that volunteers use belongs to a service that provides free weekly meals to some poor families but on a much smaller scale than this table of mercy, which is an independent, neighbours-led initiative started five years ago.

“We decided to organise these tables during Ramadan because every time there were more people in need, and the available tables of mercy in the neighbourhood were not enough,” says Mostafa, one of the first volunteers to help at this table in 2020.

“Can I get an extra food box?” Jana’s mother asks after she finishes volunteering and gets her baby back – a question volunteers get asked every day.

The policy is strict, though: Everyone gets a single box, whether you are a volunteer, a person in need or someone who passed by at the time to break the fast and was invited to join.

A table for all

Hamdy stresses that these tables are open to anyone. Nobody asks whether you are in need or judges you or your clothes.

“We feed anyone who passes by. All are welcome.”

Among those sitting is a couple in their 70s from the northeastern Cairo district of el-Marg visiting a relative in a nearby hospital.

“We didn’t have time to get home to break our fast. It’s quite far, so we were happy to see the tables and be able to not spend at a restaurant.”

A few Sudanese families are at a corner at the other end of the table, and some younger people are also sitting, mostly students from other regions in Egypt.

“My family lives in Tanta, and during my first Ramadan alone, these tables helped me feel at home,” 24-year-old Ahmed says.

After the stress of the food distribution, Hamdy and his colleagues, joined by passers-by, clean the tables and fold them to be stored until the following day. Inside the storage room, they eat some leftovers. Their smiles suggest the effort was worth it.

Source: Aljazeera