Naguib Mahfouz

Egyptian Nobel laureate Naguib Mahfouz passed away today in hospital aged 94.

Time for Mahfouz is a constant theme, in the opening chapter of Midaq Alley we hear Kirsha argue in favour of the instillation of a radio leaving the poet without a venue to recite his stories, “everything has changed” insisted Kirsha.

The tram lines seen here along Sharia Port Said are, like the coffee shop poets, a thing of the past, the trams would rumble over the junction coming from Sayyida Zeinab often with small boys hanging from the last carriage.

In the name of progress and to help alleviate Cairo’s ever increasing traffic chaos they were ripped up to make way for more cars and busses.

It was coincidental, entirely coincidental that I happened to find myself out side a teenage girl’s school, I can assure you that hanging around outside such places is hardly something I do on a regular basis, although I have to say the girls all seemed pretty pleased to see me, not everyday they get treated to the attentions of a bald headed middle aged photographer, there was a great deal of giggling and the girls were not much better.

It was a fairly chaotic scene and there was little chance of me composing a picture in my own time, I just took my chances and rattled off a few frames when I could, the mix of girls wearing hijab and designer labels is typical of many places in the Middle East.

My friend Gomer had some business to attend to and asked if I wanted to tag along, we set off along a side street from Darb al Ahmar and meandered through the alleys, we climbed a low wall and threaded our way carefully through a smouldering rubbish tip, I wasn’t sure what Gomer’s business was but it didn’t seem like a meeting with the bank manager.

In fact our destination soon became clear as we entered a car repair workshop, the alley didn’t seem wide enough to get a car along it, I sat in a corner on an oil drum with a carpet thrown over it, there was a sheep tethered in the other corner, Gomer’s friend shouted along the alley for some tea.

The tea boy’s face looked kind and gentle and seemed out of place in the harsh depressing surroundings.

Eating my breakfast several floors up I watched the two policeman going about there business of guarding the tourists flocking to the Khan El Khalili bazaar, I have always felt a policeman should cut an imposing figure but this pair were holding hands and gazing into each others eyes like star crossed lovers.

I finished my boiled egg and jam roll, had a second cup of tea and wandered down to my room to pick up my camera, I feel photography should never be rushed, like law enforcement, when I returned to the restaurant the couple were still absorbed in each other, I had plenty of time to compose and shoot several frames.

Once again the Egyptian coffee shop is my studio; this one is right outside my hotel in Midan Hussein and always my first port of call in the morning, one of the many joys of Cairo is not having to wander to far in search of a picture.

While waiting for my coffee I loaded film and started to prepare for another hard day at the office, the man looked friendly and I said hello, I noticed the portrait looking over his shoulder, I changed the lens and asked if he minded me taking his picture, he didn’t mind but I only shot the one frame, my coffee had arrived.

Sitting in the tiny coffee shop no bigger than an average size bathroom, the old man was sitting opposite me, it was December and cold outside, the shop door had been pulled shut, the old man didn’t seem too interested in the foreigner sitting an arms length in front of him, I on the other hand was drawn to him, a thousand and one years of Egyptian history seemed to be written into his face, with two cameras hanging from my neck my intentions must have seemed pretty obvious, I raised one and smiled, looking for permission, a nod of reluctant approval, the old man faced me and I clicked in the dull light of the fluorescent tube, he looked away as the door opened and I clicked again.