عيد مبارك‎

...or 'eid sa'iid, as is more common this year in Egypt, where the use of the more traditional 'Mubarak' is cause for mirth if you're lucky, scorn if not. We have just returned from 9 days of travelling in the south (more on this to follow) and been pitched unceremoniously back into Alexandrian life via the extra-zealous bellow of minarets from every corner, the bustle of already crowded streets now filled to bursting with entire families in holiday mode, and the streets paved with innards.

Eid al-Adha is the public holiday observed by all Muslims in celebration of the story of Abraham; specifically, his willingness to sacrifice his own son before God. Men, women and children are expected to dress in their finest clothes and attend prayer, and households with the space and means to slaughter an animal (usually a sheep, cow, or goat) to commemorate God's provision of Abraham with a sheep to sacrifice instead. The meat is divided into three parts, with one third going to the household's family and friends, and another to the poor, the intention being that for the duration of the festival, no Muslim will go hungry.

In practice, in a growing world, and in a city in which most residents are stacked on top of one another with barely enough road space to fit a car, let alone a car with a cow in it, this goal is rarely achieved. Nonetheless in well over a thousand years the festival's religious significance has not faded, and booms from mosque to mosque throughout the early morning, when Alexandria's 8 or 9 million residents pour out into the streets to pray.

Having spent the majority of friday in a post-travelling limbo the Godless majority of our flat remained asleep - however, we have Deko's account of her first Salat al-Eid in a Muslim country, which began at 4 in the morning and did not end until several hours later, when she crawled back into bed dazed and, it's fair to say, more than a little awestruck. The Eid prayer is supposed to be over by 9am, and so for the early hours of Sunday the streets are entirely blocked, with mosques so crowded there can only be a ten-minute changeover between services and the faithful spread their prayer mats right in the path of the cars - not that there are any this morning, as walking to one's local mosque is still strongly emphasised, more than anything else perhaps to break up the overwhelming human traffic that chokes the city until the sun is high in the sky.

Then the sacrifices begin, which is round about the time I surface at half past ten - already the terrace opposite ours is awash with blood. The eldest of the family hacks at the skinned carcass with a cleaver while children race back and forth with squeals of terror and delight, the worst parts of the grisly spectacle mercifully obscured by a tree. Huge swathes of the Islamic world still follow the tradition of leaving the unused portions (of which there are few) of the sheep out in front of the home but here, thankfully, most people omit this part of the ceremony, and carts go by occasionally to pick up the unwanted skins - an old man rumbles by with one such cart crying something I can only assume is along the lines of "Bring out your dead".

For the first time since we arrived in Alexandria, it is possible to navigate the streets without fearing for one's life. According to Deko the function of Eid, despite appearances, is quite the opposite of Christmas or Easter - instead of rest and reflection, it is crammed with social obligation of the kind normally embraced by Western societies on a daily basis, and over the festive period one is expected to visit all the people normally avoided or ignored for the other 364 days of the year, tying up loose ends, exchanging (not necessarily heartfelt) well-wishes and re-establishing one's place in society. As such most of the population remains inside one home or another for most of the day, and the only taxis as far as we can tell are driven by the Christians.

We wander through near-empty streets, skipping over the occasional binbag leeching its gory contents into the gutters and dodging among children in fits of excitement over this year's haul of Eid money, gleaming toffee apples clutched in their fists. As we near the Corniche pedestrians become more numerous, and suddenly we are in a crowd of young people, mostly teenage boys, milling around the cinema entrance and walking arm-in-arm and ten abreast down pavements meant for a maximum of two. It is now physalis season and between the cars overflowing carts of the tiny orange fruits in their papery casing rumble by.

Out along the seafront, families and friends wander up and down or sun themselves on the wall - most young men who spot us assume we are tourists here for Eid and cheeky remarks (and worse) abound until I finally have to turn around and shout in Arabic, leading to an immediate apology and shamefaced "Happy Eid, sister." We also have to decline the most offers of horse-and-carriage rides I have ever experienced in Alexandria, the idea being perhaps that once the poor skinny creatures are decked out with tinsel the prospect becomes irresistible. We do, however, splash out on a half-kilo of good baklava for £2 as an Eid present for Deko, who is naturally missing home.

Surrounded by so many smiles, I feel a wave of nostalgia for the pre-Christmas buzz at home. In a country currently so rife with uncertainty, where curfews have been imposed, demonstrations continue despite their apparent futility and national media is now frequently subject to military intervention, it is pleasing to see that this fundamental aspect of Arab culture has remained intact and not been sabotaged for political gain; indeed, religious feeling may be stronger than ever as a result. A faith grounded in love and gratitute, as Islam is meant to be, does not require literacy, analysis or question, and for this one day the devoted majority stand as they once were: happy and united before the only figure of true infallibility, with stomachs full and hearts gladdened under the November sun.