East Winds, West Winds: The original sandstorm

Originally published on Baladna English on May 10th, 2011

Originally published in Cairo 1995, “East Winds, West Winds” is a milestone for both author Mahdi Issa al-Saqr and Iraqi literature in general. The book shines the spotlight on a culture that is foreign to many Arab readers who are used to the trademark style of Egyptian and Syrian novelists.

Compared to the rest of the Arab world, the Iraqi cultural scene is quite neglected; political news about the troubled region usually trumps any cultural news. In April of last year, however the American University of Cairo Press decided to release a translation of “East Winds, West Winds.”

Translated by Paul Starkey, a professor of Arabic at Durham University in the United Kingdom, the novel was released four years after al-Saqr’s death from a terminal illness on 14 March, 2006. The author left behind a great deal of writing, such as “Mogrimoon Tayeboon” (Good Criminals), “Waga’ al-Kytaba” (The Pain of Writing), and “Bayet Ala Nahr Degla” (A House on the Tigris River).

Describing his first impression of the novel, Starkey says, “[I] thought that it was very slow moving, and longer than it needed to be,” though the translator’s first impression changed on further acquaintance with the work.

This novel, written in various narrative modes, including the rare second person, can be considered an autobiography of the author himself, who spent years working in the oil fields of Basra, a southern city in Iraq. Hints of first person and third person narration captures the eyes as well.

“There is also the author’s use of change of perspective,” adds Starkey, “so that while most of the first half of the book is seen through the eyes of Mohamed, the perspective in the second half is more varied, and we see things through the eyes of a number of different characters.”

Set in the 1950s, the novel’s plot follows Mohamed Ahmed, a quite perceptive character, who spends years working under the British in the oil fields. We join him on his trip to the camp where he is to spend years working with different and extreme characters such as Abu Jabbar, Hussein, and Istifan, and fall in and out of love with the traditions and social customs of the British Empire.

Between the basic camp of Iraqis working in the field and the British administration offices, bright with wealth, the author tells stories of love relationships, children born away from their fathers, and people dying suddenly. He takes you on a journey to an unfamiliar world, and manages to bring you back breathless.

Arabic is a descriptive language by nature, but al-Saqr takes it to an extreme. It was occasionally hard to follow the extreme details in the English translation regardless of how effective the translation was.

However, Starkey debates this claim. “What is a ‘descriptive’ language?” the translator wonders, “Is Arabic any more ‘descriptive’ than English? I can’t think that the ‘descriptiveness’ of the writing would pose any particular problem for an English reader in itself, though different English readers (just like different Arab ones) may of course have different reactions to the author’s particular style, or indeed the subject matter.”

After finishing the book, the reader can’t help but connect the events and the clashes of the cultures depicted in the book to current events in the region.

“One can hardly read the novel without thinking of later events,” says the professor, “but on the other hand, I think that it is a mistake to go on pursuing the comparisons too far. It doesn’t do anyone any good to pretend that the situations are a precise parallel, because they’re not.”

Years before the nationalization of the oil companies in the area, which took place in 1972, a sandstorm of emotions, love, and social clashes took place. Two different winds collided. These two winds created a tornado in the land of Iraq, and this book tells the story of that tornado.

About the Author: Mahdi Issa Al-Saqr

Mahdi Issa Al-Saqr, one of Iraq’s most pioneering and prominent authors in the second half of the 20th century, was a prolific writer who published six collections of stories, five novels and a memoir between 1954 and his death in 2006. East Winds, West Winds, published in Cairo in 1998, is a strongly autobiographical novel about an aspiring writer working as a translator for a British company in the oil fields near Basra during the 1950s.

Mohammed is shy and bookish, surviving the sometimes brutal, often surreal, conditions in the Iraqi workers’ camp by reading and by recording the world around him in notes towards a novel. His perspective soars high and looks at his surroundings from a great distance.

East Winds, West Winds is his first published novel in a language other than Arabic; and it attracts the attention of many critics and writers around the world. Waterstones.com, a critic-based website says of the novel that “originally published in Cairo in 1998, this carefully crafted novel represents a welcome addition to a body of literature that has so far received less than the attention it merits by comparison with that of Egypt and the Levant.”

Egyptian Antiquities Minister Sentenced to Prison, Under Fire for Fashion Faux Pas

Originally published on HyperAllergic NY-Based Blogazine on 18th of April 2011.

The bad news keeps rolling in for Egyptian Antiquities Minister Zahi Hawass, who yesterday was sentenced to one year in prison for his failure to enforce a court ruling. According to Al-Ahram newspaper, the largest circulating newspaper in Egypt, the report says that the Egyptian court removed Hawass as head of the Antiquities Ministry, forced to pay a small bail amount and an additional of 10,000 Egyptian pounds (US$1,678) as interim compensation to the plaintiff for failing to implement a legal ruling about a dispute with the Egyptian Antiquities Authority. The news is also being reported in the English site of the Al-Masry Al-Youm newspaper.

But this isn’t the only shocker for the once untouchable Hawass. Recently a number of Egyptian tweeters discovered a November blog post by New York photographer James Weber that details what is describes as a “fun night in the museum.”

Please read the rest of the story, including the interview with the photographer taking the photos and the official respond of Dr. Hawass on the original post on Hyperallergic.

Who will lead Egypt?

Originally published on Syria Today in The March 2011 issue. Co-written with Edwin Lane.

Now that former Egyptian President Hosni Mubarak is gone, Syria Today asked Egyptian citizens who they think will fill the void.

Muhammad Magdi, 26, administrator and protestor

I’m not thinking about the elections right now. At the moment, amending the constitution is the most important part. It’s about making the system stronger with laws that limit the power of the president – whoever that might be.

Mohammad Shawky, 30, filmmaker
I don’t have a particular candidate in mind, but I know my criteria: a candidate who is well-known for his integrity and honesty, has a track record of achievements in his or her field, who is not corrupt, who has not been part of Mubarak’s regime, who is widely respected, a liberal and a believer in the civil state.

Fady Ramzy, 43, editor-in-chief, My Egypt magazine
I dreamily wish that the president of Egypt would be some national figure with minimal authority, like the Queen of England. We are emotional and rely too much on having a ‘fatherly’ figure to give us confidence in the system.

Opposition leader Mohammed El-Baradei is not my political ‘messiah’ who will disinfect the system from all its impurities. And any candidate from the Muslim Brotherhood won’t get my vote, because I am strongly against mixing religion with politics.

Eman Shaker, 30, dentist
I may vote for [Arab League Secretary-General] Amr Moussa who is known for his decency and hard work. Also, he is a respected and valued person worldwide. I wouldn’t vote for someone from the fallen regime.

Ayman Abu-Salama, 62, taxi driver
I heard the Muslim Brotherhood has promised not to participate in the upcoming presidential elections, but rather will support someone from another party. I do not support them in this, and I believe they were forced into it.

Chronicles of a break-down: to die in Egypt

Originally written for Damascusian

Cairo- Empty at night during the curfew.

I think that I’m mentally disturbed; I need the help of a doctor.

Since I came back to Syria from Egypt, days before the stepping down of Hussni Mubarak, and I have been feeling generally scared. I spend my days trying to forget scenes I’ve witnessed during the revolution and trying to accept that I’m here safe in Syria.  However strong I think myself to be, and however distant these memories are; I don’t seem to be able to just let them go.

We couldn’t be sure of anything, back in these days, we couldn’t know which news true, and which are rumors. The news was spreading through the air of Cairo and there was no way to double check. On Saturday 29^th of January, we heard that the army started shooting people randomly in the streets. That was a rumor that turned out to be false. However, one of my best friends and my ex were together in the streets reporting. I went out of my mind.

“You come back now! Do you hear me? Come back to the hotel right now!” I tell my ex on the phone as they run through the streets towards the hotel. On the doors of the hotel, the security refuses to let them in. They are stuck in the streets, ten minutes before the curfew starts with news of army shooting people.

I went running down the stairs from the 9^th floor trying to reason with the security when I got a phone call from my editor-in-chief telling me that they are “alright. We got them inside!”

I did not know, back then, that my ex had to rent a new hotel room to get in with my best friend. I did not know that the owner of the newspaper I worked for back then couldn’t do a thing to help the reporters get back into safety.

When my best friend came back to the newsroom, she told stories of thugs taking over the main hospital in the district. She told us of a young doctor who did not graduate yet, who was afraid that if the reporters left the hospital, the thugs are going to kill all the doctors.

My friend wrote the doctor’s story. She cried while writing it on the laptop. The delicate friend, who used to assign me with cultural events to report on, is on her computer, writing a story about a person she does not know if still alive.

I remember that moment when the news of the thugs attacking high-class neighborhoods broke into the newsroom. That magnificent reporter, who I used to look up to her, was crying and roaming the suite in the hotel where we were staying. Her family lives in Rehaab City, on the outskirts of Cairo and near to one of the many jails in Egypt, and she was trying to reach the family on the phone: her tears are storming her face the more she calls and no answer comes from the other side of the line.

She was standing there, that smart strong woman I always learnt from, asking me what to do. Her body language is weak and hesitant; a tear is stuck on her eyelashes and her hands are shaky.

I remember calling a friend who lives in Rehaab city as well, who thankfully picked up her phone. My friend told me that she is scared. “Are you alright, Danny?” she asks me then waits for no answer. She breaks into tears.

My friend assured me that the thugs are not in Rehaab city, but she did not forget to add a “yet” to the end of her sentence. Her father went down with the dogs to protect the neighborhood. My reporter friend was holding my arm. She found shelter in my voice talking to my friend. She started repeating every word I say. “They are alright.” She would say when I ask my friend is she is alright. “They are safe and sound, there is no problem in Rehaab!” she would repeat, mainly to calm herself, while I ask my friend if there are any problems in Rehaab.

I remember going to the bathroom, tears in my eyes. Heba, the new reporter in the office who I got introduced to couple of weeks before Jan 25, sees my eyes. She asks me if I’m alright and I ignore the question. I lock the bathroom door behind me and pick up my phone. Take couple of breaths in and call my father.

“I’m really alright. I’m staying with friends in a five-star hotel, father.” My father asks me if I go out to the streets, I lie. He asks me if I’m alright, I lie. He asks me if I need help and I say that I don’t need a thing; then I break into tears on the international line between Syria and Egypt.

I could hear my father’s voice cracking on the other side of the line. He asks me to come back now. He asks me to leave on the first plane. He asks me for my address and he’ll come to pick me up. The thought of my father’s arms around me, taking me away from all of this made me cry like a lost child.

I did not know that my father, after hanging up with me, locked himself in his bedroom with my grandmother and started crying on her shoulder.

I still can’t remember in details what happened next. My ex was fighting with the owner of the newspaper I work for. There was a lot of screaming about safety, human rights and danger times. Then suddenly, I find myself quitting my job. My boss did not care that my friends were in the streets in dangerous times, she did not care if she is to lose them in these uncertain events and she simply did not care much.

Two days later, I was in the streets again. I was happy with the new found fame I got myself on Twitter. I was working for myself and reporting what I’m seeing to people. I was helping friends, tweeting all around and writing my own articles for magazines and newspapers all over the world.

I did not know that I was about to face my own moment of violence.

I got in a fight with a group of pro-Mubarak people in one of the poorest neighborhood in Cairo. The people thought I was reporting for Al-Jazeera, the Qatari-based news channel. People were pulling me from my clothes, hitting me on my back and dragging me to the floor. They gathered around me and I couldn’t speak to them anymore. Suddenly I was surrounded by over 40 people. All screaming, all talking and they are all thinking of one thing and one thing only: I am the enemy.

Later on, I was told by a police officer that one of the people told him they thought I’m a prisoner because of my arm tattoo. Another person screamed in my face that I’m Hezbollah agent.

I remember feeling that I was going to die. I remember feeling hopeless in the hands of all these strangers. I couldn’t tell who was touching me where, and this feelings of total helplessness made me lose my mind.

I remember walking back to the hotel, lumbering, with my shirt turn to shreds and my ear is ringing nonstop. I was scared. I felt lonely. I felt out of options.

CNN called me for an interview less than an hour after my attack. I couldn’t remember speaking in English, I couldn’t tell what exactly are the questions I’m being asked. I just wanted to be left alone.

Later that day, I gathered my spirits and went to the streets again. I was walking with an American reporter friend of mine when we saw a shop that sells fake guns to the people to scare thugs with. In the shop, we were trying to ask about the guns when someone buying them misunderstood our questions. “We are peaceful. We don’t sell guns. These are fake.” He screamed in my face.  I couldn’t reason anymore with myself or with the man. I just broke into tears.

That night, I went to bed in a room rented by an American Egyptian friend of mine who found it safer for me to stay in a hotel room rather than going back to my house. I couldn’t handle the news anymore and I turned the TV channel to one of the Simpsons episodes. I remember walking almost naked towards the window, trying to ignore the mirror that shows the cuts on my back and the noise of the Simpsons family talking in their high pitched tone, and I remember looking out. The streets of Cairo were empty, the lights were red. The place was calm and silent.

I remember going to put my clothes on, going back to bed, hugging my billow and sleep.

I didn’t get to say goodbye to my friends. I didn’t get to throw the going-away party I always thought I would throw when I finally leave Egypt. I couldn’t fix my pending problems with my ex, couldn’t tell the people close to me how much I love them. I remember calling my best friend, Nadia, on the phone in my way to the airport. I remember telling her that I will see her one day.

“Maybe in a better Egypt,” she says. I couldn’t find an answer.

Now, I have been dishonest. I told my friends back in Egypt that I couldn’t go back to Egypt due to paperwork I have to do here. I told my family that I want to take my chances in Syria. I pretended that both are the reasons why I got myself a job in Syria and started working here. The truth is that I’m unreasonably scared. My eyes tear whenever I hear of any small violent incident around the world; my emotions are now on the palm of my hand. I, now, bruise easily.

 

 

Note: I know that I’m writing this way too late, but this is not a report, this is not an article, this is something personal and I write it for myself and for whomever wants to read it.

Buying birth control: Sexual stigmas and STDs

Originally posted on Al-Masry Al-Youm English Edition on 25-01-2011

In Egypt, where no national survey has been conducted on sexually transmitted infections (STIs) other than HIV in over ten years, a stigma regarding the use of protection and contraception methods remains among the younger generations. This stigma, a result of social and religious censure that comes with any sexual act falling outside the bounds of marriage, is damaging to the health of young Egyptians.

According to UNFPA (United Nations Population Fund in Egypt), less than one percent of the population is estimated to be HIV-positive, which means Egypt is a low-HIV-prevalence country. However with high risk behavior, such as having sex without protection, the risk of contracting HIV rises to an alarming five percent.

“Risky behavior with limited or no condom use is an issue with regards to HIV and other STIs,” says Ziad Rifai, the UNFPA Representative in Egypt. “However, the focus of interventions is correctly on Most at Risk Populations (MARPs), as the prevalence of HIV is much higher than in the general population.”

The World Health Organization’s definition of MARPs includes “men who have sex with men, female sex workers and their clients, and injecting drug users” because it is these individuals who engage in high risk behaviors that include “unprotected sex (particularly anal sex), sex with multiple partners, or the use of the same piercing or injecting equipment.”

According to Rifai, focusing on MARPs is strategic in a country with such a low prevalence of HIV in the general population, limited resources, and many urgent health issues. “However, the overall use of condoms among the general population or among MARPs is very limited, even if its use is for family planning purposes,” says Rifai.

Ahmed, 29, who is unmarried and sexually active, explains that he buys condoms from a pharmacy away from his house. “Although I don’t know the pharmacist downstairs myself, and I’m sure he doesn’t know my family, I always buy condoms from a pharmacy closer to my girlfriend’s house,” he says. His girlfriend, an American, is the one who requested this method of contraception, he says.

“I didn’t learn anywhere at all the value of using condoms,” he says. “There are no sexual education courses that I’ve ever encountered. I always thought that women had to take pills to avoid pregnancy, and the only sexually transmitted disease I’ve heard of is HIV.”

“Socio-cultural factors do play a significant role in contraceptive use,” Ziad Rifai says. “Part of the reason that condom use may be low is that there’s a stigma attached to it, but without definitive evidence we can’t assume we know the reasons for low condom utilization rates (1 percent) and how to address this.”

Last October, the Egyptian government decided to scrap all content in the secondary school curriculum relating to sex education, reproductive health and sexually transmitted diseases. Anything pertaining to reproductive health is no longer part of the school curriculum, and any pages containing drawings of male and female genitalia, as well as the entire lesson on sexually transmitted diseases, were removed entirely from school books.

Ahmed, however, does not see this as a significant change. “They taught us the scientific parts of the lesson and explained the way children are made, but never bothered to explain anything further or help us to understand the benefits of sex for reasons other than reproduction.”

The shame of buying condoms haunts Ahmed every time he heads a pharmacy. “I think that the pharmacists are going to judge me for being sexually active while not married,” he says. “I see them looking at my hand for a wedding ring when I pull out that condom box and produce the money for it.”

“I do notice if they are not wearing a wedding ring,” says Mohsen Ahmed, 33, the owner of a pharmacy in the Dokki district in Cairo, “but I don’t judge anyone. My job is to provide them with the medical care they need, and if they need condoms, I’ll sell them condoms.”

The pharmacy, on a busy main street in Cairo, has a condom stand in one of its corners, where the customer can simply pull out the type of condoms they want and ask for the price at the counter.

“Like most pharmacies that sell condoms, I leave that stand visible for everyone to see, and if my customer needs condoms, he can just take the box without bothering to ask,” Ahmed adds.

Ahmed, however, has never been in a situation where he needed to explain to his customers which type of contraception method is better for them. “While customers prefer to talk to me about all kinds of over-the-counter medicine they buy, picking the right contraception method for them is a subject that they would rather explore themselves.”

“Of course I wouldn’t be able to talk to the pharmacist about my sexual needs and what kind of method I need for contraception,” explains a sexually active Egyptian woman in her mid-thirties who preferred to remain anonymous. “I don’t buy condoms myself, and I go through hell to buy birth control pills here in Egypt. Sometimes I ask my foreign friends or my fiancé to buy them for me.”

Although she tries to keep safe and doesn’t engage in sexual activity with multiple partners, the young woman explains that once before she got pregnant. “I wish I was able to go to the pharmacy myself and buy whatever I need without fear,” she says.

“Contraceptive use is deemed the woman’s role but in many cases the men are the decision makers,” Rifai says. “Gender also plays a role in that there are correlations between the number of children a women bears and her education and economic status [a higher education correlates with a lower number of children]. Also, gender issues generally stand in the way of a woman’s ability to negotiate safe sex.”

In Islam, the main religion in Egypt, premarital sex is considered a punishable sin. While Egyptian law does not follow religious jurisprudence exclusively, such practices remain punishable by law and are considered socially unacceptable.

“The Ministry of Health supports birth control pills and subsidizes their costs, because they care about family planning and considering it a top priority now,” says Dr. Rafik Mohamed, 28, a pharmacist who is sitting in his small pharmacy in Manial. He says a lot of women now are not as shy as they used to be six years ago in asking for birth control pills or injections. “They come here on time every month for the injection and they ask me to write down the next month’s appointment,” he explains.

“To address Egypt’s population issues, one must look beyond offering family planning services,” Rifai explains. “The inception of the Ministry of Family and Population is part of the efforts of Egypt’s government to not only improve access to and the availability of quality family planning services but to also look at the population in a more holistic manner that involves youth, gender, education and human rights issues.”

Mohamed, however, does not think that the new generation is shy about inquiring about contraception. “I think older people are shyer than the current generation in asking for these methods [of contraception],” he says. “The younger generation comes here with a better understanding of sexuality and intimacy and know how to protect themselves from pregnancies or STDs.”

Mohamed says he does not judge those asking for contraception. “I think that the shame they feel is not connected to the way pharmacists are acting, but comes from years of the way society connects sex with shame and sinfulness.”

“It’s my duty as a pharmacist to give them the right and the safest method,” he adds.

While the big pharmacy franchises such as Ezaby and Saif are the best at easily providing contraception methods here in Egypt, some pharmacies are not as welcoming.

“We don’t sell condoms here,” an old pharmacist sitting behind his counter in a Downtown pharmacy says. “Go buy your condoms elsewhere.”

The man refused to answer Al-Masry Al-Youm’s questions, because “contraception is against Islamic understandings of sex. It’s a sin to meddle in how many children God wants us to have.”

Religious extremists disapprove of contraception use generally, even in the sexual relationship between a man and wife, and say that God provides fathers and families with the necessary income to cover their children’s needs. Some moderate Islamic scholars, however, disagree.

Meanwhile a 36-year-old homosexual man, who calls himself “Maher” to preserve his anonymity, explained to Al-Masry Al-Youm that he believes that asking for condoms in a pharmacy poses a higher risk than the possibility of attracting STIs. “I feel that, because of many elements, including the fact that I’m still not married yet, the risk of people finding out about my secret life as an Egyptian homosexual is higher than the risks of getting HIV.”

Maher knows that he belongs to one of the Most at Risk Populations and that his choices might increase his chances of becoming infected, but he is “scared to death of what might happen [if people found out].”

“In this case, I prefer my privacy to my health,” he says.

Streets of Cairo: Rewriting history in Saliba Street

Originally posted on Al-Masry Al-Youm English Edition on 25-12-2010

Back in 1992, a strong earthquake near Cairo toppled buildings in the capital and caused deadly stampedes of panicked residents. Victims left behind families and loved ones whose loss was so great it was hard to overcome. Saliba Street, located in the heart of Sayida Zainab neighborhood, was one of many streets that suffered not only a loss of spirit, but also a total change of social structure.

The impact of the deadly earthquake cannot be measured only by the number of dead bodies or the ruins of fallen buildings. Its impact has lasted for years, and changed the socio-cultural dynamics of many Cairo streets.

At the time the government said 370 people were killed, including over 100 trampled schoolchildren, with at least 3,300 people hurt. Saliba Street in particular, home of multiple historical sights–including the Lagin al-Saifi Mosque with its short minaret and colorful dome and the Sorghatmash Mosque with Kufic style Arabic on its walls–still feels the changes that the devastating event caused.

The street’s residents do not mind sharing stories from before and after the change.

Nadra Ali Hussain, a 65-year-old grocery shop owner on the corner of Saliba Street remembers the earthquake perfectly. Sitting behind her goodies-filled counter, the old lady said “I was in my shop when the earthquake destroyed the buildings around me. I was cooking food, but all of my kitchenware suddenly shook and fell to the floor. I looked outside and found that people were running scared, so I started running with them.”

“By the hand of God this earthquake took place, and it toppled buildings and killed people,” Nadra says in a matter-of-fact tone. “The neighborhood never returned to its previous state ever again.”

According to the veiled woman in thick glasses, people whose houses were destroyed left the neighbourhood never to come back. Meanwhile new buildings were created and new people arrived in the neighborhood.

Atef Abdul-Hadi Attya, who was born at 44 Saliba Street, was sitting with his cousin Sameh Qamar next to their tool shop. Al-Masry Al-Youm’s reporter was treated to a cup of heavy tea and a long conversation with the two middle-aged men about the street and its people.

“After the earthquake, the street was ruined,” says Atef, offering tea and readjusting his vintage sunglasses. “Three quarters of the shops here closed and people abandoned the street to go to the Moqattam neighborhood. This street used to work around the clock, with people walking and buying stuff. Now those people are dead.”

Farag al-Halloti, the owner of a fish restaurant on Saliba Street recalls those days. “My father opened this shop back in 1958,” he says, pointing out a photo of his father with a little black ribbon on its corner, “and when he died I took over the shop.”

“Our work has been in the family for the last century and I’m planning to teach it to my son.” When asked if his son is interested in working in the shop, al-Halloti had a sad look on his face. “He is studying at the moment and I give him that excuse, but after he finishes high school, he will need to come and figure out his future here. Where else would he go?”

According to the 52-year-old Atef, only 60 percent of the street has returned to its previous state. “It’s nothing like how it used to be when we were toddlers. Residents of the street used to be one family together. Now youngsters sit around doing nothing and the people just dream of moving out!”

“Saliba Street used to be home to four major families,” the old man says. After instructing one of his workers to take care of a costumer, he starts recalling names: “The Qamar family, the Jeddi family, Zenihom family…” While he struggles with the last name, his cousin interrupts to say “and the Zabaleen (Garbage Collectors) family.” This ensures a fight between the two cousins, and a long discussion about the Zabaleen takes place.

“They are good people, would you stop calling them that, my brother?” Atef says in an angry tone, but Sameh won’t give him a chance.

“We are stating facts, and the fact is that they are Zabaleen and Wahatya (from the Oasis of Egypt). This is their job and there is no shame in that! This is history of our street and we should take it as it is!”

“These families are still here, their children and grandchildren are still alive and well in this neighbourhood,” a guy in his sixties–they call him Hag Ahmed al-Jeddi–passing by stops to say. “They are just lost among the people coming from all over town and living here.”

After a long bickering session between the two relatives, they decide to move away from these families and talk about the history of the places around them. Sameh hands his cousin his cup of tea and they smile.

“This tool shop that you see used to be a famous coffee shop called al-Miad (the Date), because if you sit here you get to see the clock on the other side of the street,” Sameh says, pointing to a clock on a beautiful building across the street. The clock has now lost both its hands and cannot provide the time anymore.

“This street is called Saliba because it looks like a salib (cross),” Atef says. “It used to be called Rakaib (Horse Carts) Street back in the day.” Sameh continues that the origin of the name comes from the fact that horse carts heading to Saudi Arabia back then, carrying the covers of Kaaba, used to gather here from all over Cairo. “They came from Hussain Mosque, from Sayida Zainab, Sayida Roqaya, Sayida Nafissa and from all over Cairo to start their long hajj (pilgrimage) trip from this very spot.”

“We are living in this street now,” the two cousins say together when asked who lives there nowadays. “Me and my cousin are the grandsons of the owner of the coffee shop. That Hamada down there is the child of the owner of the shop that he owns now.” Sameh points out that “new people joined us in our place, people we don’t know and they don’t speak to us.”

Atef, who seems to be a politically correct person, says, “why should we refuse these new people? if someone bought a house with their money and decided to live there, who are we to stop them?”

Streets of Cairo: The bridges over troubled water

Originally posted on Al-Masry Al-Youm English Edition on 11-12-2010

A city divided by a mighty river, Cairo seriously needs the bridges that link its three main districts. The neighborhoods of Old Cairo, Giza and Zamalek are connected through a number of high-flying bridges that take you anywhere, anytime, at any speed.

A fascination with old bridges around Cairo, however, is understandable, especially with such bridges’ historical significance and the cultural associations they have for Cairenes.

“We meet every Thursday here on Qasr al-Nil bridge,” says Ayman Mohamed, a 22-year-old university student who was trying to climb the lion at one end of the bridge. His friend couldn’t hear Al-Masry Al-Youm’s reporter asking his name due to a traffic jam and the angry honks of cars. The nameless climber was posing for a picture with one of the four lion statues–a typical shot.

Salah Issah, a prominent Egyptian historian and journalist, said that Qasr al-Nil bridge and its lions have many stories to tell.

“This bridge was built back in the time of Ismail Pasha, the Khedive of Egypt, and was named after him as well, before the name changed in the 1950s,” says Issah, sitting behind his desk, visible through a small opening between the piles of books on it.

“There used to be a small wooden bridge in its place, but Ismail Pasha decided to renovate the bridge as part of his plan to renovate the whole city of Cairo.”

According to Issah, one of the most important reasons for the historical significance of Qasr al-Nil bridge is its location. “It was located next to the famous military camps that were the headquarters of the Egyptian army up until the British occupation of Egypt in the 1880s. These camps then became the headquarters of the British Army,” Issah explains.

“For security reasons, they were built to face the river directly, which led to their destruction in 1951; they were destroyed to open the road now known as the Corniche”.

On the other side of the city, another structure comes to mind when thinking of historically interesting bridges: Abbas bridge, connecting Old Cairo and Giza directly.

It is a favorite for fishermen who sit quietly for hours with their fishing gear and cups of tea, waiting for the fish to come.

“I never take the fish home with me,” says Khaled Abdul Mageed, a 45-year-old fishermen sitting near the Giza end of Abbas bridge on his own plastic chair, waiting for the fish to pick him tonight.

“I like fishing for the kick of it; I return the fish to the Nile the minute I catch it.” The man looks amused when asked why he doesn’t take the fish to his family and eat them, but refuses to answer the question.

“This new Abbas bridge was created after the revolution in Egypt,” says Issah, standing up to get an old-looking book so he can demonstrate his stories on an old map. “The bridge used to be the most important in Cairo for years. It used to be the only bridge connecting Cairo and Giza together, and the only bridge that allowed students to cross from Cairo to Cairo University on the other side of the Nile.

“It was a bridge of demonstrations,” Issah points out. “Back then,when the students of Cairo University went out on a demo, they would cross this bridge towards Cairo, and the whole Egyptian street followed them.”

But such demonstrations were not without blood.

In 1935, according to Issah, students went out demonstrating against the British occupation of Egypt, and in 1946 against the Anglo-Egyptian Treaty of 1936, which gave gradual control back to the government of Egypt.

Both times security forces blocked both sides of the bridge, forcing the students to stay on it or jump in the Nile.

Indeed some did decide to jump, and two, Abdulhakam al-Garahi and Ali Taha Afifi, died as a result.

On the other side of Cairo, Imbaba bridge stands still while trains heading for Upper Egypt cross it. The huge bridge, one of very few metal bridges in Cairo, is deserted by passersby but still holds a dear place in people’s hearts. “It reminds me of going back home,” says Zaki Abdullah, who works and lives in Cairo, far from his hometown of Minya in Upper Egypt.

“It’s a sign for me that I’m about to head to my old home and enjoy the company of my family”.

“Baume & Marpent was the Belgian firm that designed and built this wonderful bridge between 1912 and 1924 in Imbaba,” says Karima Haoudy,who works in the Ecomusée in Belgium, which has the firm’s most important archives.

“In fact they built more than 158 bridges in Egypt. Baume & Marpent specialized in railway construction, in metal structures.”

According to Haoudy, Baume & Marpent was one of the most important firms in Belgium and in Egypt.

Siwa: An odyssey of culture and sand

Originally posted on Al-Masry Al-Youm English Edition on 22-11-2010

Wilfred Jennings-Bramly, who journeyed to Siwa in 1896, wrote that the oasis “cannot be said to have fallen from its high estate…only it has stood still while the world went on,” which might be the most honest description of the quiet, sleepy place that lies in the heart of the great Egyptian Sand Sea.

This oasis can easily be considered a center of Egypt’s backwaters, as it still holds the features of a small and anachronistic village. With its traditions and costumes still intact, visitors feel a little as if they are taking a trip back in history to an era they would never have dreamed of witnessing first hand.

While Jennings-Bramly and his entourage traveled to the oasis by horseback on a journey that might have for weeks–starting from Farfra, an oasis closer to Cairo–my friends and I took the West Delta bus that passes through the desert via a relatively newly-opened road (operating only since the 1980s) and allows for easier transportation to the famous spot.

We suffered on the ride, however, as the cold desert atmosphere made our nightly travel a odyssey we could not anticipate. We asked for the air-conditioning to be turned off during our trip, but the bus driver refused on the grounds that “I’ll fall asleep if the heat is turned on.”

But our adventures in Siwa did not end at staying alive in a fridge-like bus. Around the calm oasis, we rented bikes for just LE15 a day, and took them for a couple of hours of rides until we reached the lake of Siwa, located on the east side of the oasis, before heading to visit the oracle temple of Amun.

Although the oasis is known to have been settled since the 10th millennium BC, the earliest evidence of significant culture goes back to the visit of Alexander the Great, who reached the oasis prior to his campaign of conquest in Persia. The leader, according to the lore, followed birds across the desert until he reached the temple of Amun, where he was confirmed to be a divine personage and the legitimate Pharaoh of Egypt.

The temple, however, was destroyed at an undetermined point in time, as the locals wanted to use its stones to rebuild their village. Some of the temple’s walls are still standing among old Siwan houses made of salt and mud, which were ruined–and melted–when a rainy storm hit the oasis.

The bike ride took us finally to Cleopatra’s Bath, one of many fresh water springs around the oasis. We enjoyed some swimming in the round-shaped spring and waited for hours for our food in one of the restaurants. The service was bad, but the spot wonderful with palm trees and beautiful weather.

After couple of days of relaxing in our hotel, the Desert Rose, located on the outskirts of the oasis, we decided to take an adventure into the desert, which, by far, was the highlight of our trip.

We left the hotel at around five in the morning, which was an exception–as we had usually tried for hours in vain to book cars to bring us from the hotel to downtown Siwa–and headed to the heart of the desert in 4X4s, claiming one of the sand dunes to capture the best view of the rising sun. It was a picture-perfect morning and we enjoyed gazing at the endless plain of sloping dunes around us.

Our next stop was Bir Wahid, a hot spring located in the heart of a small oasis inhabited by small grayish foxes, where you can dip in the hot spring, allowing the water to sanitize your skin. Another spring to visit is the fish-inhabited lake of cold water al-Ain al-Barda (the Cold Spring, literally), where it’s possible to swim in the extremely chilling water.

Also open to discovery are the marine fossils embedded in the sand and rock–leftovers from the Tethys Sea which some 40-50 million years ago reached far south of the existing Mediterranean.

Finally, an exhilarating slide on a sandboard will leave you breathless while looking up to the high sandy slope you just dropped down from. If you forget your sandboard, fear not, as you can ask the driver to take you on a car-sliding trip, where the cars jump, almost vertically, off the sand dunes.

Urban Culture Gathering: Singing to remember, dancing to forget

Originally posted on Al-Masry Al-Youm English Edition on 30-10-2010

The energy on stage at al-Genina theatre in Al-Azhar park last Thursday night was in attack mode for the opening night of a three-day Urban Culture Gathering. Dancers break danced, hip hop artists performed and people cheered, their shoulders moving, feet tapping to the rhythm, everyone feeling free to dance, if not on their feet then in their hearts.

The Third Mediterranean Urban Culture Gathering was organized by al-Mawreed al-Thaqafi in collaboration with the Spanish Embassy in Cairo, Townhouse Gallery and the National Fund For Cultural Development.

Each of the festival’s three events shed a new light on urban culture via different methods. The first night’s performance was choreographed by Spanish performer Dani Pannullo, and featured a group of Egyptian and Spanish hip hop artists, parkour performers and b-boys (male break-dancers). The second night featured a “nonstop graffiti” drawing show at Townhouse Gallery, and on the third night there was a movie screening about urban culture directed  by Pannullo.

Thursday’s promise of a night of hip hop entertainment was certainly fulfilled. Listening to the song lyrics, which focussed mostly on social stigmas and cultural struggles, one might be reminded of their own challenges, but watching the skilled break dancers helped erase any sorrow.

The show at al-Genina lasted for an hour and a half, and combined Egyptian and Spanish artists who performed a variety of activities, hip hop and rap, break dancing and parkour. If at first it seemed that these cultures wouldn’t work well together, the final result proved that hip hop is universal.

The show started with a parkour performance by a group called Parkour Egypt. The first moments of the performance were confusing, as the dancers were nowhere to be seen. But soon they appeared, jumping from wall to wall before landing on their feet on the stage and performing an elaborate routine. Parkour (or the art of the movement) is the ability to overcome any obstacle with movement, ie jumping and climbing walls. The art, originally French, requires great physical discipline and training.

Spanish singer Ariana Pullo contributed a couple of songs in Spanish. Although most of the people in the audience could not understand her lyrics, they nevertheless reacted strongly to her performance. Her songs discussed her upbringing in Barcelona, her dark skin color and her life in general.

“I believe that hip hop is the same all across the world,” said the singer, who always sings in Spanish. “I believe that there was no problem connecting between the Egyptian culture and the Spanish one. Hip hop is the same art all across the world.”

Pullo’s favorite song is about the way people see her as a black woman, how people point at her and call her “black” or “African.”

Later, two Egyptian hip hop bands shared the stage to perform some of their original material. Arabian Knightz and Asfalt, both of them based in Cairo, performed a number of songs from previous albums.

Arabian Knightz, who opted to sing some of their lyrics in English, sampled an old Abdul-Haleem Hafez track in their opening song. It was extremely well-received. The band, whose forthcoming album has many guests, including Egyptian singer Hisham Abbas, believe that they are more influenced by Arabic culture than American, despite the American genre they use. “Rap is originally poetry, and we as Arabs are known for our poetry through the world,” says Karim Rush, a band member.  “We hope to introduce the Arab world to rap through our debut album.”

Explaining the use of Hafez, Karim said, “We needed to pay respect to the famous people who built the music scene in Egypt.”

The Asfalt band performed three songs from their debut album, which is currently still in production. The duo, Mohamed Gad and Ibrahim Farouq, brought witty lyrics and were extremely well-prepared, engaging the viewers.

“We try to write songs that talk about the evolving culture around us,” said Farouq. “We see it as our message to talk about the things we see around us and the events that happen all the time. That’s where our name Asfalt (The Street Asphalt) comes from.”

The show continued with great dancing performances by the Spanish Supremos Crew and EGY Crew Dancers, but the highlight was a popping dance solo by Egyptian artist Mohamed Almany.

The performance, accompanied by a Spanish song, narrated the events in the day of a single person. The dancer, with his extremely cheerful expressions and talented moves, managed to translate the song from Spanish via dance.

“Dani translated some of the words of the song to me,” said Almany. “That helped me understand the song and deliver the performance better.”

Popping is “the art of transforming the music into a visual movement,” according to Almany, who is a master of it.

Finally, a free-styling session between the dancers lead to a rap battle between the singers, joined on stage by two Tanoura (Egyptian traditional Sufi dance) dancers, which ended the show with a blast.

On Friday night, Townhouse Gallery hosted a presentation of live graffiti called “Non-stop Painting,” performed by Spanish graffiti artist ZETA and Egyptian artist Sameh Ismael. Spanish b-boy performers were also part of the program.

While the drawings were beautiful and the dancing was fun, that night could not  compare to the previous night. If graffiti is an impulsive art, planned graffiti, despite the talent of the artists, misses an important element, the element of freedom.

Wine-making in the Middle East: Egypt

Originally posted on Al-Masry Al-Youm English Edition on 04-10-2010

English philosopher Francis Bacon once said, “Age appears to be best in four things: Old wood best to burn, old friends to trust, old authors to read and old wine to drink.”

While the saying is both poetic and true, I doubt Bacon ever tried any of the Egyptian wine now available in Cairo. Old or not, most wine brands in Egypt remain less than satisfactory.

In search of better local wine, this reporter stumbled upon an advertisement for a wine-tasting event in Egypt. Slightly confused, I followed the link to the website of Gianaclis Wines in Egypt, where I found information about a wine-tasting tour for those interested in visiting the winery, which is located on the outskirts of Alexandria.

Although booking the tour wasn’t as smooth as my previous experience in Lebanon (where one merely has to show up at the Ksara winery), the rest of my trip with Gianaclis was a positive one.

So, here I am, in a car speeding down the Alex Desert Road, thinking about my little adventure: wine tasting in a country in which advertising for alcoholic products is forbidden and hiding your newly-purchased bottle of wine in a dark bag is a must.

This, however, was not always the case in Egypt.

“It’s widely accepted that the ancient civilizations of Egypt were making wine,” says master sommelie (wine aficionado) Bryan Dawes. “There is evidence to support this in many artifacts that have been found all over the country.”

“It is believed that the Egyptians spread the art of viticulture westwards through the Mediterranean to Greece, who in turn took it to the Roman civilization,” he added. “And from there, it spread throughout Europe.”

Some 130 kilometers later, we left the desert road and headed for the village of Gianaclis.

“They named the place after our winery,” says Ghali Shafik, brand manager for Al-Ahram Beverages Company, who volunteered to join the tour. “As you can see, the road sign carries our name.”

According to Shafik, over a century ago, a Greek entrepreneur named Nestor Gianaclis landed in Egypt and embarked on a quest to find land suitable for growing the noble grapes needed to produce fine wine. This journey lead Gianaclis to Egypt’s Nile Delta, where he built his winery.

The winery, however, was soon nationalized.

“When we were privatized again, we didn’t have any noble grapes with which to make prime wine anymore,” Shafik told me, as we stood gazing at the numberless bottles of wine on display. “So we imported grapes from Lebanon to make the different wine brands that you know and drink today.”

“I have read reports that the [Gianaclis] winery also purchases fruit from outside the country to supplement its production,” says Dawes. “So we have to question its authenticity as a truly Egyptian product.”

“We started to plant vines in 2004,” says winery production manager Sebastian Boudry. “We now have 500 acres of vines, mainly in Khatatba [near Alexandria] and Luxor. We still import some grapes from Lebanon, but our objective is to develop the Egyptian vineyards.”

Winery management assured Al-Masry Al-Youm that only 2 percent of their wine was made from Lebanese grapes, while the rest was made from pure Egyptian grapes.

“If you look at history, you will find grapes in Egypt for more than 6000 years,” says Boudry. “This means that conditions here are good for grapes–we only have to water them.”

“Wine producing countries are by nature ideally suited to climates in which there is a definite winter season to allow the vines time to rest,” says Dawes. “Wine is produced in hotter climates, but the sitting usually coincides with a cool micro climate usually achieved by planting vineyards at higher altitudes to take advantage of cooler temperatures.”

The winery produces three kinds of wine: standard wine (Obelisk, Omar al-Khayyam); mid-range wine (Chateau, Grand Marqis); and fine wine (Leila, Ayam, Zaman). The wine tasting event focused on the fine wine category, and–despite my relatively limited experience–the better quality of the three fine wines sampled was easily detectable.

“Unfortunately, during nationalization, the quality of the wine deteriorated,” says Boudry. But despite the fact that the winery was built 125 years ago, Boudry adds, “We’re still young; we need time to produce fine wine.”

According to Dawes, the reasons for the underdevelopment of the local wine industry are obvious.

“Development has been held back by governments that do not promote the production of alcohol in Islamic states,” he says. “Laws also do not allow direct wine sales by wineries to the public, making wine tourism very difficult–if not downright impossible.”

“We’re almost alone in Egypt,” says Boudry. “If I was back in France, I would pick up the phone and ask for advice from the winery beside me. But here it’s more difficult, and the weather is difficult from Morocco to Lebanon.”

Shafik, for his part, laments the ban on the use of conventional media outlets to advertise alcoholic beverages in Egypt. “It’s not a complete ban, as we can advertise in some magazines, but we can’t use television at all,” he says.

What’s more, the local market often fails to appreciate new wine brands, regardless of quality. “It is hard to see how a relatively small production unit can establish itself as a serious export enterprise without strong local wine sales,” notes Dawes.

When asked if he expected any changes to the law banning advertisements of alcoholic beverages, Shafik avoided the question by insisting that their marketing strategy relied on word-of-mouth.

“We’ve managed to get our message out by talking to consumers directly,” he says. “This way, we have found, the message can actually be more powerful than by simply taking out ads in a magazine.”