Pasha

DRY NILE SONG

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Sing, Adaweyah! of the microbus’s wrath
That, rattling death and venom-fuming, a demented sphinx,
Carves through the flesh of traffic like missilery,
And brings car-owning Pasha to his knee.
Sing of the asphalt urchin, creature of the dust
Who in its smoggy wake performs noir rites;
His muffled yelps, as pædocock stretches his child’s asshole,
Transforming into clouds.

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On Fiction and the Caliphate

Towards the end of 2009, I completed my first novel, whose theme is contemporary Muslim identity in Egypt and, by fantastical extension, the vision of a possible khilafa or caliphate. I was searching for both an alternative to nationhood and a positive perspective on religious identity as a form of civilisation compatible with the post-Enlightenment world. The closest historical equivalent I could come up with, aside from Muhammad Ali Pasha’s abortive attempt at Ottoman-style Arab empire (which never claimed to be a caliphate as such), was the original model, starting from the reign of Sultan-Caliph Mahmoud II in 1808. I was searching for Islam as a post-, not pre-nationalist political identity, and the caliphate as an alternative to the postcolonial republic, with Mahmoud and his sons’ heterodox approach to the Sublime State and their pan-Ottoman modernising efforts forming the basis of that conception. Such modernism seemed utterly unlike the racist, missionary madness of European empire. It was, alas, too little too late.

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