Ramadan Traditions Worldwide: Spotlight on Algeria’s Casbah | Dzair Tube Ramadan Series (03)

ALGIERS, February 25, 2026 — In the storied alleys of the Casbah of Algiers, where history murmurs through weathered walls and memory lingers in every carved archway, the arrival of Sidna Ramadan unfolds with a rare, almost sacred intensity. Here, in the old quarters of Algiers, the holy month is not merely observed—it is lived, prepared, and woven into the very fabric of communal existence.

As Chaabane approaches its final days, the Casbah awakens in a ritual choreography inherited from centuries past. Homes are scrubbed, courtyards repainted, and whitewashed facades gleam anew, preserving the city’s poetic epithet, “White Algiers.” Families move as one body: mothers polish copperware and scrub mosaic floors, fathers navigate the bustling souks to procure flour, spices, and oil, while children rehearse their first fast with laughter echoing through winding passageways.

Women perpetuate an ancestral craft, coating their homes with lime mixed with indigo and fig parchment, a gesture both practical and symbolic—renewing the dwelling while sanctifying the month to come. Mosques undergo their own metamorphosis, carpets washed, lanterns strung across domes and minarets, awaiting the faithful who will gather for tarawih prayers beneath their soft glow.

In the Casbah’s markets, the air thickens with cinnamon, cumin, black pepper, and caraway. Women select each grain of spice with scholarly precision, preparing ras el hanout—known locally as fouah—whose fragrant complexity defines Algerian cuisine. On rooftop terraces, neighbors gather around clay ovens called nafakh, filling them with charcoal to roast peppers and tomatoes for hmiss, the beloved North African relish whose smoky aroma signals the imminent arrival of Ramadan.

Even as modern gas stoves hum in kitchens, many women insist on clay pots and charcoal fire, preserving not only flavor but the ethic of humility and continuity that Ramadan demands. These gestures, modest yet profound, reaffirm the Casbah’s fidelity to memory.

Before the age of broadcast clocks, the Casbah itself became a timekeeper. Built on terraces descending toward the sea, its rooftops offered uninterrupted sightlines. White flags raised atop minarets announced iftar; green flags marked its conclusion. Later, under colonial rule, cannon fire replaced the flags, and children chanted verses awaiting the thunder that would release them to eat. The echoes of those chants linger still in the recollections of elders.

Social rhythms follow their own unwritten code. The first nights belong to family and neighbors; later evenings open to invitations and gatherings. Women convene in courtyards to play buqalah, a poetic ritual of riddles and improvised verses in Algiers’ vernacular Arabic, where language becomes both game and inheritance.

Through colonization, modernization, and the relentless march of time, these customs endure. In the Casbah, Ramadan is not nostalgia—it is continuity, resilience, and identity. When the call to prayer rises over domes and terraces, it carries not only devotion, but centuries of collective memory, reminding Algeria that tradition, when cherished, becomes a living heritage.