The eclipse of rations: When the night shift goes dark

In the satellite city of El-Shorouk east of Cairo, Mohamed Adel stands at the threshold of his restaurant, “Mazinger,” watching a slow-motion exodus. It is not yet late, but as the clock nears 9:00 pm, his customers begin to dissolve into the humid evening air, pulled away by the curfew.

Since the implementation of the decree mandating a 9:00 pm shutdown for restaurants and shops in an effort to “rationalize”, born of energy shortages and the geopolitical chokehold of the closed Strait of Hormuz, business owners like Adel have been trapped in a pincer movement. Even with the government’s recent concession to extend closing hours until 11:00 pm until 27 April, they remain caught between the dim relief of slightly longer evenings and the white-heat of skyrocketing material costs.

The arithmetic of bitter choices

For Adel, the challenge is visceral. His joint, nestled within a bustling dining complex, draws its lifeblood from the nocturnal traffic of the city; the families visiting the nearby play areas and surrounding cafes. “By 9:00 pm, the customers collect their children and vanish,” Adel's voice carries the weight of the empty chairs. 

As the proprietor of two small joints, “Mazinger” and “Ninja”, Adel is navigating the fuel price hikes, which rippled through the business’ supply chain. The costs of production inputs increased by 15–20%, “Everything surged in unison,” Adel tells Al Manassa. “The chicken, the flour, the spices—even the wrapping paper.”

The timeline is stark. On March 10, the Ministry of Petroleum increased gasoline prices by 3 pounds and butane cylinders by 20%. Simultaneously, as global energy markets buckled under the weight of the US-Israeli war on Iran and the closure of the Strait of Hormuz, the government flipped the switch on the commercial night shift.

For Adel, the price volatility is a failure of oversight. “Gasoline rises by 3 pounds, yet a supplier hiked my costs by 40 or 50 pounds. In the absence of regulation, every link in the chain sets its own price for survival.”

To stay in business, Adel has been forced to cannibalize his own margins. “My net profit ranged 15–20%. Today, that figure has evaporated to zero.” He resists raising prices but knows it is inevitable.

The irony of phantom savings

Perhaps the most stinging irony of the rationalization plan is its failure to rationalize. For a kitchen, the decision to close the dining room early does not translate into a proportional drop in energy use. The refrigerators must never stop humming; only the revenue turns off.”

Adel’s struggle mirrors thousands of small enterprises currently buckling under “exceptional” policies. Despite the vanishing profits, he refuses to let the crisis settle on the shoulders of his staff. “They have their own mounting obligations,” he says. He managed, so far, to shield his 10 workers from layoffs, even repurposing the evening staff to handle the delivery orders; the only remaining flicker after 9:00 pm.

Yet, the demand side of the economy is just as fragile. As the cost of living climbs, the simple joy of a take-out meal has become a luxury. For many regulars, the “Mazinger” menu has become a line item they can no longer afford. “Those who used to treat themselves twice a month have simply stopped,” he observes.

In Egypt, where food and drink command 31.1% of the average household budget, the rising tide of inflation has forced a brutal return to the barest of essentials.

A broken equilibrium

Osama El-Shahed, Chairman of the Giza Chamber of Commerce and a member of the Federation of Egyptian Industries, believes the decree was a blunt instrument used where a scalpel was required. “The decision lacked the nuance of industry-specific study,” he argues.

El-Shahed points to the binary nature of restaurant revenue. Traditionally, the day is split into two windows: the morning-to-evening shift, and the prime-time window from 9:00 pm to well past midnight. Each historically accounts for roughly 50% of total revenue. “When you amputate one, the entire economic equation collapses,” he told Al Manassa.

The result, he warns, is an inevitable “downsizing.” It is a cascading failure: fewer sales, fewer tips, workers see their take-home pay slashed. In a sector that Mohamed Imbabi, head of the Giza Chamber’s Restaurants and Hotels Division, once estimated to employ 3.5 million citizens, the stakes are staggering.

The philosophy of the dark

El-Shahed is equally critical of the logic behind the darkness. According to the Egyptian Electricity Holding Company’s 2023–2024 report, the commercial sector accounts for only 5.4% of national electricity consumption. Residential use, by contrast, sits at 37.2%. By forcing people into their homes, the decree may simply be shifting the load.

Furthermore, he warns of the sociopolitical shadows. “When unemployment rises, the crime rate follows. When streets go dark, the accident rate climbs.”

The Federation of Chambers of Commerce attempted to offer a middle ground: a “night tariff” that would allow businesses to stay open past 9:00 pm in exchange for paying a higher rate for electricity. “We suggested a premium for the late hours rather than a total blackout,” El-Shahed explains. “Instead, we were met with a 20% price hike across the board for everyone, regardless of when they close.”

Whether Egypt reverts to the early 9:00 pm closures after April 27, will hinge on the trajectory of global energy prices and the fragility of regional geopolitics. PM Mostafa Madbouly underscored that the current extension to 11:00 pm was made possible by easing fuel costs and a tentative ceasefire, but cautioned that the government is “monitoring the situation around the clock.”

As the night deepens, Adel returns to his ledger. He knows that every time he considers his prices, he is pushing more of his customers away. Lights are dimming, but for small businesses darkness is becoming increasingly expensive.