Before dawn, ancient drum rite wakes Istanbul faithful to fast

ISTANBUL

It's 3:30 a.m. and lights are slowly coming on in the homes lining a narrow Istanbul street as people are woken up by the rhythmic thump of a drum.

Emerging onto a balcony, Sibel Savaş and her grandson look down as the drummer — or "davulcu” in Turkish — wanders through the Ayvansaray neighbourhood, his drumbeat waking the faithful for a last meal before the daily Ramadan fast begins at sunrise.

For the past 55 years, Hakan Özbingöl has risen at 3 a.m. every day during Ramadan to play his “davul,” a large double-headed drum carried with a strap and played while walking through the streets.

He inherited the role from his father, with whom he started venturing out when he was 10.

Although their nightly sortie is purely voluntary, local residents traditionally give a tip at the end of the month, says Özbingöl, who is now 65.

But for him, it's not a job but more of a sacred duty.

"As long as it's to do with Allah, this drum will never fall silent. We're doing Allah's work, it's our duty," he said hoarsely, trudging with bent back through the winding streets.

Ottoman roots

According to Harun Korkmaz, a music historian at Istanbul University, the Ramadan drum rite "dates back to the end of the 19th century" when the Ottoman military bands, or mehters, performed several times a day, setting the pace of daily life.

"The davulcu are continuing this tradition," he told AFP of a tradition that began in Istanbul and spread to the rest of the country.

Besides playing the drum, "real" davulcu will also chant "mani," or short rhythmic poems, under people's windows to flatter a sleepy audience, Özbingöl explained.

"It's not enough to pick up the drum and bang on it while walking around," he said, proudly tapping his temple to show where he keeps this knowledge.

The tradition began in the Fatih district near Istanbul's historic peninsula, and most of today's Ramadan drummers come from Türkiye's Roma community, who today number around 2.7 million, research figures show.

As the davulcu walks the street where washing lines vie for space with Turkish flags draped from the high facades of the buildings, he is warmly greeted by a pensioner called Zafer, who is also a musician.

"If the Roma weren't here, there would be nothing. They are the musicians and Istanbul's Ramadan drummers," the 71-year-old said.

In a nearby street, another drummer, 58-year-old Yurdaer, is trying to play a little more quietly as he passes the home of an elderly neighbour who has heart problems.

With street vendors hawking traditional foods increasingly scarce across the city's streets, their services replaced by supermarkets, the davulcu is one rare tradition not at risk of disappearing due to his unique role in Ramadan.

"There are no more people selling boza [a fermented cereal-based drink], no more yoghurt sellers, nor other street vendors — they've almost all disappeared," Özbingöl said.

"Only the davulcu are left," he murmurs, wandering off up the street.