The first time I saw it I thought it was a birthmark.
I was walking through Midan Tahrir past the Mogamma, when I saw a middle-aged Egyptian man-dressed in the completely western Cairene work attire-with a black patch of calloused skin right in the middle of his forehead.
A few minutes later, I saw two more men with the same mark. And by the end of the day I had seen dozens the same mark: in shops, on the metro and walking home along the Nile.
The mark, I learned later, is called a zebiba, and to many devout Muslim Egyptians it's considered a mark of piety.
The zebiba, which means raisin in Arabic, is supposed to result from the frequent prostrations practicing Muslims make during their five daily prayers.
But here's the thing: Millions of Muslims all across the world pray, yet the zebiba is only prevalent in Egypt, and only recently so.
With millions of Muslims across the world pray five times a day, why is it that only Egyptians-and Egyptian men at that-seem to develop the zebiba?
Because they consciously try to.
Like keeping a beard for men and wearing the hijab (the headscarf), the zebiba has become another cultivated sign of piety in Egyptian society. It's a public declaration of faith, an advertisement that says: "I pray a lot."
Its increasing prevalence-along with more women choosing to wear the hijab-is indicative of the larger trend of greater religious observance across the country in particular and the Arab World in general.
And like all other such symbols of faith, the zebiba is not only a religious statement; it's often a political one too. Its outright religious nature is a stab at Egypt's secular state.
It's a form of dissidence that Egypt's autocratic government can't clamp down, because the sanctity of Islam is something that even the state can't question. It'd be difficult for them to claim that anyone who prays too much isn't a true patriot.
And unlike the beard, which is associated with the Muslim Brotherhood, the zebiba lacks an outright political affiliation even though it makes the same political statement. It's a comparatively safer way to bear criticism of the Egyptian government on your face.
Having a zebiba is also a sign of class. Walk through one of Cairo's leafy, wide-avenued, European-inspired upper-class neighborhoods like Zamalek or Maadi and you'd be hard-pressed to find a single person with a zebiba, but if you take a stroll down a narrow lane in one of Cairo's more humble neighborhoods you'll find them to be a little more ubiquitous.
It can also act as a bond between people, a way to communicate trust and affinity. In a city of so many millions, the zebiba is a symbol of solidarity among those who may not know one another but who share a common religious experience and common economic reality.
But for those who are not of a similar disposition-Egypt's large Coptic Christian community or even other Muslims-the zebiba is another reminder of a sense of alienation from parts of their society.
Yousef Abugharbieh is a Trinity junior. His column runs every other Monday.
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